Momentary Intercession

Waiting for the moment...

2005-09-02T13:52:00.000+01:00

And so begins another year. The passing of the stifling humidity of July, and the settling in of the August and September breezes. Strange, though, how this year I can't smell freshness in the wind. Or at least, it doesn't seem as present as it used to be. There's a kind of dust hanging about, the remnants of previous ages and times, that manages to cling to the air despite the wind, and layers of it settle ever so softly on my skin. It isn't a dust that itches. It's the kind that settles deep down to the bone and gives a feeling of pervasive weight.

I find myself wishing for October. I want to see the leaves fall, the crisp touch of the winter beginning to displace the dust and make it flake off into the earth. And in winter, I'll wrap my topcoat around me and don my fedora, and walk out among the flaking snow that keeps the dust in its place. I need the cold to feel warm again. I need this old ivy to die back so my feet can move. I need the solace of snowfall.

And how I wish (but what a faint idea it seems) that there would be another set of footsteps in the snow ahead. But that's a December dreaming, and meanwhile the sun falls from the leaves like rain, and the dust drifts along the currents of the air. The snow melts and dries before I even see it.

Timing

2005-08-11T23:37:00.000+01:00

A season too soon and a week too late,
my fate to have timing a jester would scorn.
Should I mourn the lost meeting? The mere
searing thought of it, distraught with it,
What could I have got with it? At first there seems
That dream of oneness so complete,
a feat the loss of which should be enraging.

So engaging, that fantasy, but useless,
and just a little truthless, an easy deceit-
A retreat from the truth of what might have been,
had I been there a week before. The allure
of surety, at first so arresting despite
its tritely certain lack of certainty, has broken-
Spoken its insults and left instead
the broken treads of fate and chance.

Romance will fail without fruition,
and intuition in bliss ignores
the chores of rules and signals. Ideal love is fiction,
unheeding of friction until the wrong word,
an absurd little phrase, reveals the mistake.
And then the cake falls, a sweet confection,
on the surface perfection- but nothing remains.

Mundane seems true love by contrast-
A hand held fast over years, not days,
in so many ways like the building of bridges-
enriches not by reaching the goal;
the whole of the work is its own reward.

Toward this I hunger, not infatuation,
but salvation without a sure destination.
Such a creation takes more than a chance,
yet with chance it begins. And now I’m bereft,
through a theft by the calendar’s contempt,
of any attempt to reach for the vision.
Derision in such ironic coincidence,
Common sense criticizing my illogical treason-
A season too soon and a week too late,
My fate to have timing a jester would scorn.

Absolution

2005-04-13T14:46:00.000+01:00

A phantasm yet, both met and obscured
Procured from past wishes.
Relish his wavering form,
Forlorn and huddled,
Puddled tears about his feet.
Greet those eyes with, what?
A shut triumphant mind,
To find solace in his grief?
Relief at the thought
That he’s sought the same
And gotten the pain he gave?

Or save us both perhaps:
The traps may fade eventually,
Potentially as we age,
One page to the next of the text unwritten,
Bitten but not inflicted
With the insipid seeds of retribution.

Absolution rests with the hands and the eyes,
Not to despise but to hold and to weep.

We keep too many things hidden,
Forbidding them to reveal our fragility,
That capability for love. Love and hate,
Two fates so easily mixed. If only
The lonely could see.

Escape in the Underground

2005-04-11T20:53:00.000+01:00

The hesitated hush of my feet atop the ramp
The damp unwinding clamp of stair upon stair
Unaware, as passersby stare, that I’m slow in my step,
A broken flow to my step.
My thumb just leapt to the ‘Send.’
Should I descend?

A moment’s wait and he might reply,
But so then I will have halted my gait,
And just that weight upon the rest-
No, it must be best to remove my finger
No longer linger, and make the choice.
Deny his voice, deny its reach,
Deny the message of my speech.

Escape can be found in the underground,
Oh, yes it can be found, where the lack
Of the pack of digital distresses rings,
Sings its silent gloried gumption-
A non-function, the “No Signal” brightly lit,
And blessedly fit to give me a chance
To escape this useless, proofless romance.

Night Dance, or Momentary Intercession

2005-03-01T19:18:00.000Z

Eyes, a hundred windows glancing
Shadows turning in succession
Each a gaze that lasts a moment
‘Till one turns and looks away

A solitary dancer standing smiling at the wall-
Eyes on fire, raptured, waiting ready for one rhythm

(Soap, cologne, the scent of sweat-
Each one brings a recollection,
Memory of a brief attraction
Brought on by a rhythm’s sway.)

DANCE WITH ME, you brief connection
Momentary intercession
Muscles flow with tight compression
Touch and taste this living clay!

Soon the sound becomes a silence,
Eyes and breath, then breath alone,
Eternal though it lasts a second
Giving in, the pressing skin
Ascending to a height unknown.

I Love the BBC

2005-01-18T22:52:00.000Z

Yes, I do. Really. And not the crap BBC that they show in America, or the cheesy British shows from the early 80's that are still broadcast on latenight. Here there are five wonderful channels of publicly-funded television, and I love it.

I do admit there are some issues. I mean, the license fee is inequitable and not paying it is a criminal offence punishable by prison time. And yet watching television without commericals, with so much educational content, is so unbelievably refreshing.

The lead news story typically takes 5-6 minutes. If anyone is interviewed, they are given enough time for a complete answer, which actually lasts more than 10 seconds! For speeches, they'll allow a whole paragraph of material! You know what all of this means? There's an intelligent discourse where people are allowed to explain their reasoning and don't rely on gut-emotion responses. (Just thinking about Crossfire now makes me physically sick.)

Also, I was astounded to see that during prime time, every night, there is at least one hour-long documentary on each of the channels. And they're GOOD! This isn't the dumbed-down, dead fact reportage that you see in the States. The material is interesting, extremely well-edited, and provides some knowledge of real value. Well, at least on some channels (some of the documentaries are made to fulfill government requirements and really are questionable).

And finally, TV here is so much more sensible. Last night I was watching a show called Tribe where a British man goes and lives among African tribes for about a month each, trying to learn as much as he can about the culture through participating in it. He doesn't know the language going in, just enough basic customs to avoid being killed on contact (in the case of more violent peoples). Anyway, the show was just really intelligently done and very engaging. But of course there are some naked children running around and the women don't wear tops, and at one point the man takes part in a social ritual that involves his genitals. They don't focus the camera on him obviously, but there were one or two inadvertent flashes of frontal nudity. The editors realized that what was important was giving an accurate depiction of the culture and the man's experience with it rather than sanitise the whole thing. Good for them. Good for them.

One last comment- British children on TV are so much more articulate than their American counterparts. Really makes me wonder.

Upon Seeing the American Embassy in London

2005-01-14T19:17:00.000Z

Surrounding it were giant concrete barriers. And I have to say, it made me feel foolish. Granted, the barriers have a valid point- a terrorist hitting a US embassy in London would kill two birds with one stone- but they represented so much more. At that moment I saw how ridiculously fear-oriented American society is, from our obsession with owning firearms to our foreign policy. Here in London guns are illegal and mace/pepper spray is considered a firearm. Yet you can venture pretty much anywhere in the city and feel relatively safe, provided you use common sense. I can't even imagine what must go through the minds of British folk visiting the US's capital for the first time and seeing so many gun-toting, fully armored police officers and concrete barriers around anything remotely important.

I'm not saying that security measures are a bad idea, given the sentiment about the US in the world today. But I do have to wonder just how much of the violence is a reflection of the policies we've used ourselves when supporting dictators and ignoring the populace. Shouldn't we have learned something from the Cold War? When you take measured steps toward peace, you CAN eventually reach it. But arming yourself to the teeth and walling yourself in is a gamble indeed.

Walk with me in the garden...

2005-01-08T01:31:00.000Z

I feel so loved tonight.

It's a rare feeling for me. I know people love me, but usually it's just a feeling in the back of my mind. I think the only exception to that was this past February- one of my friends at the time remarked that I was more calm and at peace than he'd ever seen me. It may have only been meant to be a passing thing, but it was real while it was there.

But the point. I've had infatuations where temporary goodbyes seemed unbearable. But these have been the "goodbye, love"s of true friendship. I feel an incredible excitement at the time apart because getting back together with these friends will be fantastic. It's the kind of goodbye that feels wonderful because it isn't "When will I see you again" so much as "I will see you again, and it's only a matter of time."

A small part of me is also wistfully considering the people I wish would be included in that. That is, there are certain people that I feel an almost unconditional love for and I know it's reciprocated. But there are also certain friends that don't allow themselves to feel that kind of love, and I wish I could show it to them. How I wish I could! If only they could see how lonely they make themselves.

I can't love constructions. I can't love the mansions people build around their personalities to impress or mislead. The bigger the house, the emptier it is- unless you allow people inside and share it with them. I can only love friends who build a door in their home, whether of stone or thatch, a palace or a lean-to, so that the two of us might tend a garden in between. Friendships aren't about fortifications. They are about doorways and gardens.

Tonight, I feel that some beautiful flowers have been planted. I look forward to when they bloom again.

Hyacinths

2005-01-05T01:57:00.000Z

"If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft,
And but two loaves alone to thee are left,
Sell the one, and with the dole,
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul."

-Attributed to the Gulistan of Moslih Eddin Saadi, a Persian poet 1184-1291

Pause

2004-12-13T13:48:00.000Z

Life is just a little weird in that everything seems on pause until I leave for London. And with the things I have left to do, it's easy to forget that there are a lot of people I won't be seeing after next Wednesday. For a good five or six months anyway. That is particularly hard to deal with, though I've started to reconcile myself to it.

Once I do head home for the holidays, there I sit for about three weeks. Granted, it'll be good to relax. Yet part of me wishes I could spend three or four days at home, pack up my things, and ship off to London. I have this tingly feeling that once I arrive my life will experience some tremendous growth, but until then it's just suspense. An unbearably long tensing before the springboard, or gathering up energy like some plant about to send off a hundred offshoots in all directions. It just seems like until I get over there I'm going to be thinking more about the things I'll be missing. I want to arrive so I can get caught up in the things I'll be learning.

I think the closer the departure gets, the easier it will be. And then it's sailing into the deeper waters.

The Sound of a Rejection

2004-11-11T18:35:00.000Z

The sound of a rejection on the unrelenting pavement:
Click, clock, click, echo once, twice, thrice
The soles are hard and made to dance
My soul was soft and trod upon
My mind is hot, cold, hot, click, clock, click
-A brisk trot, click, for if I relent my pace
Against the unrelenting pavement,
His steps will follow, brush, brush,
The crush of sandpaper with his touch
Brush clock click, brush clock click
Three-step waltz, pain is false,
So I must say to a slashing sashay,
A stumbling step, click, and he is gone clock
Click, clock, click, echo once, twice, thrice

Work and Weather

2004-10-31T22:57:00.000Z

You know, it's an amazing thing to have free time. After spending the past year running almost nonstop, doing "productive" things probably 50-60 hours a week or more, I really begin to question the American work ethic. Looking at how I feel now with how I was feeling a month ago is interesting. A month ago, it was fun being occupied, but any opportunities I had for quiet reflection were overrun by thinking about what I had to do next. Now, I'll be walking to spend an hour or so practicing singing, and I'll suddenly notice the beautiful patterns the clouds are making, or how the leaves shimmer with the wind.

Part of it's the fall of course (it's much more visually interesting than the summer). But part of me is remembering larger considerations. Way back in high school I used to be a student hot air balloon pilot and I've found myself thinking back to that, right around sunset when the air starts to calm, or when a storm looks like it's coming in.

If you ever want to gain some perspective, consider the weather- a massive, complicated, interconnected pattern, beautiful in its unpredictability, that hovers over thousands of people at a time and affects them all at once. Ever perfect, always changing. It's a hard feeling to describe, watching the shift of something that large and unaffected by human concerns, but I find it peaceful.

Symmetry

2004-10-25T13:16:00.000+01:00

In Kiss Me, Kate there was one moment where the show truly hit me. Opening night, backstage, waiting on the steps with everyone before the big entrance. Everyone was excited to put it in front of a real crowd, the buzz of the audience and the orchestra tuning covering our quiet chatter. I had gone through the entire rehearsal process for that moment- that feeling was why I was on stage.

Of Thee I Sing, on the other hand, never really hit me as a show while we were doing it. I think the lack of drama in the plot is what did that. We all came, had fun, put on a comedy, and left. It didn't feel so much like a show because our goal was to make the audience laugh, not feel. So my moment for this show happened afterward. Just after finishing strike, I went and washed my hands, and caught myself whistling a bit of "Love Is Sweeping the Country." I realized I probably wouldn't ever sing that song on stage again, and never with the same people. At that moment it hit me that I had done a show, and could be proud of what we had accomplished.

The symmetry of this is interesting. In the spring my justifying moment happened just as the show was about to begin, and in the fall it happened just after everything was over. Something about the balance of that feels right.

Part Two

2004-09-06T01:19:00.000+01:00

If I didn't need any more proof that those recently written words were true:

It turns out that the title of Coehlo's book is a direct reference to the biblical passage: "On the banks of the rivers of Babylon, we sat down and wept. On the willows there, we hung up our harps." I hadn't known this, reading the title. So a song titled "On the willows there," of which I heard a few notes in the background, inspires me to write about how we should pay attention to details that capture our attention in poetry and music. And then the very book I'm reading, the book that is making me think deeper about these things, uses the same passage to capture its own meaning.

I can't tell you how much of a shock it was to have just finished writing that last entry and have the words from the song appear on the page. I sat there for a good minute just staring at them in unbelieving revelation. If this kind of thing doesn't tell me that I'm on the right track, I don't know what does.

Reminders, Part One

2004-09-06T00:33:00.000+01:00

I'm sitting here having spent the day rediscovering a few things. I found my love of the library again as reading reserve material became enjoyable for the sheer peace and quiet of it. The feel of wandering among stacks of books, wondering what they would contain. Having at last finished my first comparison of translations of the Dao de Jing, I picked up another two copies to look at. And I also selected "By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept" by Paulo Coehlo. It's the first novel I've read by him- I was looking for "The Alchemist" but they only had the French, and similarly "One Hundred Years of Solitude" by Marquez was only in Spanish. And now I sit reading it as Ryan plays music from Godspell in the background.
In one of those strange confluences of happenstance, the content of the novel and the music are awakening similar feelings in me. The novel floats through a dreamlike exploration of spirituality and love, simple yet interesting. And the memories I associate with both love and the music of Godspell have me feeling thoughtful.

I did that show my senior year of high school. I played Jesus, and though at first I wasn't sure what to think about that particular choice of casting, in the end it really wound up resonating with me. It reintroduced me to the idea that our understanding of God and spirituality should be about gentleness, love of others, and respect for the world. And that pure joy can result from these things. Our cast wasn't particularly religious; nor did we research the background of the show. But in one of those strange twists of fate, I began responding to the Jesus character. A good portion of the group were underclassmen and looked up to me, and I began to see them as younger siblings.

There is a song in the show titled "On the Willows," where Jesus says his farewell to the cast, knowing his foretold separation from them. Though they don't entirely understand, they have shared the meal with him and each share a fond moment from their friendship before lying down to sleep. The first few chords of that song began a moment ago, and though Ryan switched to another track, my breath caught. I can still remember that moment onstage, during our last performance. Soft blue lighting covered the set, except for a single spot on me. As the band continued softly behind us, the audience faded away as I began the farewells. I didn't need any inspiration for the tears that came to my eyes. In those moments I said my farewell to the days of high school and marked in my mind memories of friends, both on the stage and elsewhere, that would remain with me from then on. Hearing that song, I feel joy and sorrow, and remind myself to make new memories that will allow them to continue on.

I've made some beautiful memories in the past two years. Some are beginning to fade a little as the people in them move on. Yet every so often I'll read a passage in a book, or hear the refrain of a song, that makes me remember. It's good to pay attention to these things. They serve as a reminder to evaluate our present condition and whether we're happy with it. Do we have good memories that glow or make us wistful as much as the old? And if not, perhaps we should listen to the little voice carried within those words or notes that whispers our secret joys and paths to contentment.

Dao de Jing 71

2004-09-04T21:22:00.000+01:00

"Not-knowing is true knowledge. Presuming to know is a disease. First you realize that you are sick; then you can move toward health. The Sage is his own physician. He has healed himself of all knowing, and thus is truly whole." 71

The premise here is that acquired, systemized knowledge has its limits. When you go too long accepting teaching from others, you lose the ability to think outside the box. Every fact, no matter how big or small, has a set of underlying assumptions, whether scientific or cultural. Until you see the situation for its whole, you run the risk of assuming you have learned enough. This is why we see supposed experts throwing up their hands in the face of a backfired experiment, or shocked politicians at failed foreign policy initiatives. Assume you know enough, and chances are you've missed a fairly significant detail that could change the entire outcome.

This also, however, extends to a philosophical argument. Systemized knowledge is almost entirely based on language, and we often make the assumption that everything worth knowing can be put into words. Likewise, we assume that language is language, unvarying and giving us all the information we need for clear communication. Anyone experienced with translation knows just how false a statement that is. Language is based on shared cultural experience and has hidden assumptions of its own. But besides even translation issues, language can act as a limiting force. It muscles a concept into a few short sentences and modifiers, and we assume reading that sentence automatically gives us the concept.

In one translation I found an interesting accompaniment to this verse, taken from the Zhuangzi: "The fish trap is how you catch a fish. Having caught the fish, forget the trap. The snare is how you catch a rabbit. Having caught the rabbit, forget the snare. Words are how you capture meaning. Having caught the meaning, forget the words. Where am I going to find someone who has forgotten the words so that I can have a conversation with him?"

And for final consideration: Recognizing the limitation of words allows you to move beyond them. Cannot the same also be said of one's own limits? Does recognizing your limits allow you to transcend them?

Dao de Jing 70

2004-09-01T01:03:00.000+01:00

"But if those who understand me are rare, I am to be highly prized." 70

'Nuff said.

Evolution

2004-08-29T17:29:00.000+01:00

In the past month I've only had passing thoughts about relationships and friendships, and have more just been making sure I set aside some time for the people I know already. As always happens, friendships change, but for the most part I'm handling those that do pretty well. One of my best friends has been slowly growing apart, however, and is heading away from a while, so I sent off a simple letter reflecting on the past and present.

I still haven't gotten any kind of response, which I guess confirms my impressions that there won't be much effort to renew the friendship. More than a little sad, but for the most part I've accepted it. There's nothing I can do but remember the good times and move on with my life. I've tried for several months to keep it going, but when the other person doesn't reciprocate, it's only wishful thinking.

If circumstances bring it back into blossom, so be it, but for my part there isn't any more to do.

Sensual

2004-08-16T22:34:00.000+01:00

Liquid bodies,
breathless lounging,
Leaning back on
black-lined linens.

Body white, the water body.
Beaded, sweated surface

Beating

How much of you is mine and then
how much of me is missing,
milling hotly through your mind?

Muscles unwind
Intertwined

Inkblot Test

2004-08-08T16:19:00.000+01:00

Just took the inkblot test at tickle.com. Surprisingly accurate:

You are driven by a higher purpose than most people. You have a deeply-rooted desire to facilitate peacefulness in the world. Whether through subtle interactions with love ones, or through getting involved in social causes, it is important to you to influence the world.

You are driven by a desire to encourage others to think about the positive side of things instead of focusing on the negative. The reason your unconscious is consumed by this might stem from an innate fear of war and turmoil. Thus, to avoid that uncomfortable place for you, your unconscious seeks out the peace in your environment.

Usually, the thing that underlies this unconscious drive is a deep respect for humankind. You care about the future of the world, even beyond your own involvement in it. As a result, your personal integrity acts as a surrogate for your deeper drive toward peace and guides you in daily life towards decisions that are respectful toward yourself and others.

Beautiful Thunder

2004-07-01T18:40:00.000+01:00

Definitely feeling good today. Some things have changed for the better, and I can be happy with that. And if things get even better, I'll have even more to be happy about.

But now, it looks like there are some thunderstorms approaching outside. I'm going to head out and sing, and if I'm lucky, perhaps the storm will be raging when I get back. Sure, I'll get wet, but it's been a while since I've been able to walk through the rain and have the opportunity to enjoy it. Speaking of, that reminds me of a good quote from the Tao:

"It is natural to speak only rarely.
Be like the forces of nature:
Violent winds do not last a morning,
Torrential rains do not last a day.
If the heavens and earth cannot sustain these things for long,
How much less a human being?" -Verse 23

Mostly good advice. Yet those intense passions are worth having. Which do I enjoy more, a drizzle that lasts all day, or a torrential thunderstorm? Perhaps the thunderstorm is so beautiful due to its brevity. And when it fades to a calm, steady rain, that rain is no longer tedious- for it holds the memory of the thunder. The thunder made us ready to watch the rain gently fall and renew the earth.

And after a little rest, the thunder can catch us up in its glory and passion once more.

Spiral

2004-06-30T21:38:00.000+01:00

I need to get more sleep, and hence I'm in a very strange mood. Not entirely a good one, but not entirely bad either. I'm currently listening to Rufus Wainwright's "Oh What a World" and it fits just about right. I'm kind of plodding along in this little mental circle, a relentless little pattern. Just like the music, the pattern is at first slightly disturbing, develops into something almost soothing, and yet even then there's something a little unsettling.

I guess it feels like my life is moving in a horizontal spiral. Not a mere circle; I haven't come back to where I started. But certain things seem to be a ghostly repetition of what happened before. In some ways it's comforting and gives hope, in some ways potentially worrisome. There's just enough of a reflection on my past that it makes me stop and reevaluate, out of sheer concern that if I'm not careful, those loops will compress and become a circle in fact. A spiral could potentially be good- some things the same, but with the chance to branch off and grow into something beautiful and breathtaking.

Yet part of me wants to shuck off aspects of my life and branch out in a totally different direction. I highly doubt that will happen. As I've said before, we can never truly escape the past without forsaking the lessons it taught us. Similarly, though it might be fun to drop my tenderheartedness, or my concern for my future, they're a part of who I am and to lose them entirely would be to change myself. Still, I'd like to experience reckless abandon for a little while. It's a thought that comes back every now and then.

So what do I do? I suppose, for now, just keep going on as I have been. I honestly don't have much I can complain about, and do have many things- and people- to be thankful for. And you know, things will probably turn out just fine. "Life is Beautiful" would be a lovely headline. And in my dreams, that spiral will keep turning through my mind, as I consider how things might be different, for the better, on this turn or the next. Do all our lives move in spirals, twining about each other in an unending dance? What a lovely riddle. Oh what a world...

Butterflies and Wolfhounds

2004-06-28T21:22:00.000+01:00

It's been a while since I've updated, but many things have happened in the interim to make me want to pass along something Milan Kundera writes about in "The Unbearable Lightness of Being." His basic message is that chance and coincidence is mostly what gives our lives meaning. The things we do day in and day out, sheer repetition, say very little about our lives. It's sudden changes, unexpected little happenings that can give us glimpses of joy and truth. You can't seek those glimpses out, because when you do, they scatter like butterflies- the more you reach for them, the more easily they slip through your fingers. Yet if you make yourself still enough, calm yourself enough, they approach and find a pleasant place to land in your soul.

I've just had it happen a couple times in the past couple weeks. An unexpected accident that delayed my returning home from work somehow turned from annoyance into an amazingly satisfying evening at an art museum. Don't ask me how, but it did. The trick is to realize that the curves life throws at you have hidden gifts if you let them work for you instead of struggling against them. Every cloud truly does have a silver lining in some form. You just have to let it reveal itself. I could've been frustrated by the accident and gotten angry. I could've rushed home as fast as possible to make up for lost time. But I didn't, and that was the key. Instead I took an entirely different route back from my normal one and found myself pleasantly, enjoyably distracted. And that sidetrack led to other things as well.

One of my friends created a wonderful metaphor for what I'm talking about, which I'll share here. Holes Allow For Pretty Shadows

I find it beautifully poetic and I think it fits better than my butterflies :cP And I hope she doesn't mind too much, but I think I'll expound a little on hers. I think she's right in that those wolfhounds of truth can hurt. But as she said, the holes we get from injury allows a certain light to illuminate us. Some of us learn faster than others not to grab the scruff of the hound's neck when it growls a warning- force life's events at your own risk. You have to trust that the wolfhound knows what it's doing better than you. The moment you try to leash it and drive it to your own desires, it will bite. Yet if you befriend it by letting it go wild, occasionally it will hunt things down and bring them back for you. Granted, that hunk of meat may not have been exactly what you were looking for. Somewhere down the line, though, in the next town maybe, you'll find someone who wants to trade you.

But back to where we started. I think that events of random chance and truth are very similar to each other. Science tells us that truth exists in mindless repetition. Maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic, but I believe in higher truths than formulas and laws (though they serve their own, useful, purpose). And I think that those kernels of higher truth, carried by skulking wolfhounds, can be found in events of random chance. I believe that every so often life sees that we are patiently waiting, and decides to reward us- or sees we're being too driven and decides to knock us upside the head to get our attention. Either way, I've found that trusting life to teach us is what brings contentment.

Let it Go

2004-06-14T22:16:00.000+01:00

I think I've gained a little measure more of wisdom this past weekend. It made me see that sometimes I try to force others to see me for who I am. Ironically, this serves precisely the opposite purpose from what it should. I'm a firm person in what I believe, but not pushy or demanding that others follow those beliefs. I am very content with who I am, and hold myself in high value, though not as a comparison to others. But sometimes I forget this. Sometimes I want so badly for a person to understand me for who I am that I forget that forcing my attentions upon them does exactly the opposite. It gives them exactly the opposite impression. I cease to be a tenderhearted, romantic philosopher, and instead (I think) appear as a needy, sometimes irritable intellectual.

I need to remember that the most efficient means of doing something is to do it naturally. I try to follow that philosophy and sometimes struggle with it, as I suspect most people do. After all, American culture in particular is very strong in supporting the idea that you can do anything if you just PUSH hard enough. We forget, though, that the harder you try to push two magnets together, the harder they try to drive each other away.

What it all boils down to is this. I am who I am. No more and no less. I am a very layered, compassionate, loving individual who lives for little moments. Every so often I accomplish something wonderful, and find myself laughing in amazement that I can be so lucky or persevering. Those moments make everything worth it. And the trick to getting them to wander into my life is to stop building landscaping and fences in my soul, and let the world flow freely into it. When we build those fences, we stop the breeze from flowing over the landscape. And I've discovered what lovely things a breeze can bring.

Expounding

2004-05-30T22:25:00.000+01:00

A follow-up to my last one as I reread it. I said that beauty and ugliness are statements of comparison, similar to light and darkness. That is, beauty is the absence of ugliness, and ugliness is the absence of beauty. Some people might argue with me on that. They might say that beauty is a description that contains its own meaning, not relying on a relation to something else. Allow me to refine my statement on that point.

If you read the Tao te Ching, or 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,' you'll find some discussion on what makes beauty and ugliness. Both maintain that there is a state of perfection in the natural world. You can refer to it as the Nameless, God, Quality as Pirsig does... naming it honestly doesn't help you to understand what it IS. But it's there and everyone has some knowledge of it. Beauty is attained by achieving closer resemblance to this perfection, and ugliness appears by moving away from it.

I'm talking real beauty here, not surface appearances. Not little discriminations of style. So when I say that Tim Burton showed the beauty hidden in those 'ugly' characters, what I was really saying is that he was able to move us past surface appearances. He was able to show the true beautiful characteristics of those characters. The kinds of things that other people had overlooked.

So in short I still think beauty and ugliness are comparisons relative to each other, but this should give you the context of my thinking. And I hope it also explains why I believe we should consider ourselves very lucky the more people we get to truly know. When we know people we see the ways in which they have struggled to grow closer to that perfection, and the ways in which they still strive. There are few things more beautiful than being able to help another in this, or even simply watch as they begin to get things right.

Shades

2004-05-28T00:04:00.000+01:00

I just finished watching Big Fish, and though it's the second time I've seen it, somehow it resonated with me even more than the first time. I guess that there are certain themes in it that are timeless, and grow as you have more experience to relate to them. It's only been a few months since that first viewing, but I've changed a bit even through that.

One of the things in the picture that really moved me is the exploration of appearances. First there is the idea of beauty and ugliness. I've talked about polar opposites before, and this is the perfect example- as a matter of fact, the first two lines of the second verse of the Tao te Ching mention it specifically. My translation reads, "When people see some things as beautiful, other things become ugly." Another alters 'people' to 'the whole world.' There are at least three ways of looking at that simple phrase. First, standardized concepts of beauty are ugly- the beauty of the world is based on variance. This leads to the second, that having ugliness is what allows us to fully appreciate beauty.

Both of these make up the third meaning. Beauty and ugliness are statements of comparison, which means you can't have one without the other. Darkness is absence of light, while light is absence of dark. In other words, each implictly involves the other in its definition. And so, in all things beautiful you can find some ugliness, and where others see ugliness, you can find beauty. Tim Burton deals with this in the witch, the giant, and several other characters. At first glance they are strange and frightening- but this surface appearance is based on a comparison to 'normality.' Each of these characters is beautiful in their own way, and you have to move past the surface to see it.

This movie is all about those kinds of appearances. We never really know the true Edward Bloom; we can only attempt to understand him through the metaphors of his stories. Yet really, he'd probably be easier to understand than most people. Most people create stories like his without thinking, acting in certain ways around certain groups of people. It's a rare man or woman who can be themselves, totally and completely, with anyone. Most of us are like Edward, carrying the common thread of truth in the way we live, but hiding or revealing the details depending on who we're with. And this means that generally we're wandering in the dark, only having a few glimpses of the real people we know before that curtain falls again.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that the person who is truly blessed, is the person who can say that he truly knows another. To share with another the fullness of being, beyond those surface appearances we create for ourselves, is the greatest gift we can offer or receive. In sharing our lives, we come closer to understanding ourselves and being true to what we believe. In this manner, we may hope that the memories we leave in those around us, when at last we leave this place, are more than just stories. They carry the truth of who we are. They carry the purpose we had. And in this manner we live on, not as the haunting ghosts of photographs and newspaper stories, but as the spirit of what we believed.

Experience

2004-05-16T02:36:00.000+01:00

I'll just launch right into this one. Some people feel that you should forget the past, that when something goes wrong in your life, when you make a "bad" decision or do something embarrassing, you should simply put it behind you and move on. Well, much as some of us may not like to admit it, the past does define who we are. We may go through incredible changes, we may become completely different people over the course of as little as five or ten years, but our past actions are still important. They provide a reference point.

Everything is about context. Without your past, your life has no meaning. This may seem too abstact an example, but say you're floating through a vaccuum at an incredibly high speed. How do you know you're moving? There's no air to hit your face, nothing for you to see, essentially no reference point. It's as if you aren't moving at all. That is, the fact that you're moving means absolutely nothing. It only gains significance when you are moving with regard to something, when you have a way to judge the distance you've traveled. All movement, all measure of distance, is relative.

Examining the past is the only way we can establish a context for our lives. That means all of the past, even if some of the memories still sting. So what if you made a bad decision? So what if you had an experience that left you bruised and in pain? Having those kinds of experiences is important for two reasons. First, it gives you context for the times you make the good decision, for the times you feel joy and elation. Being able to feel both joy and grief is healthy because each provides a reference point for the other. They are intrinsically connected. True love and true hate are so easily switched precisely because they are so closely related. It is important to recognize polar opposites because they provide the reference for all the shades of gray you can experience between them.

Secondly, every experience we have teaches us more about the world we live in. We paint an ever-growing reproduction of the world in our consciousnesses, and grow by the actions we take. Any event, no matter how horrific or awe-inspiring, has something to teach us. And I don't mean factually, I mean in the sense of wisdom. Science and facts can only take you so far- sure, love may be caused by the firing of certain synapses in the brain or the release of certain hormones... but that is not what gives it worth. The importance of something like love is that we have it, and that we learn from it, not that it is a function of certain chemical processes. Saying love (or anything else) is caused by a series of facts is an absurd way of trying to teach you about it; you do not ride a bike by reading a manual. Essentially what I'm trying to say is that both good experiences and bad give our lives meaning and let us know we live. Without realizing the full range of experiences you live in a world dominated by second-hand, less-valued information.

To link this back to the idea of the past, however- you cannot live entirely in the moment. Experiencing great joy or great loss can be overwhelming. Yet what is the point of experiencing these things without a reference? What is the point of venturing out and becoming bruised when you forget about it the next day and repeat it? This is not to say that living in the moment is a bad thing, far from it. Similarly, you should not live obsessed with the past. What I mean is that each new experience should simply be looked at in context of the past. You don't need to know where you're going, but you do need to know where you've come from and how your present circumstances relate to that. And this requires that we bear in mind the past, and remember that in one sense or another it still lives with us as a reference to the present.

Sorry if all of that was disjointed... writing at 3AM will do this to you.

Softly in the Night

2004-05-08T15:24:00.000+01:00

Softly in the night
The presence of the dark begets
our welling whispered fantasy

Gently I press and
Gently you fall

Take this drunken state of mind
Take this time but not to dream.
Waken something else that sleeps
Waken what is surely there
For I have gently, gently stroked it
For it stirred, though unaware
Under my insistent touch.
Under my persistent gaze.

The streetlight through the window wavers
As do we, and silently.

Will you let me be your teacher?
Dare I let you be my muse?
Mixing paint upon my palate
Grasping blindly at the brush
My voice, your ear, the sibilant song
My touch, your flesh, the beckoning breeze
But in this dark we cannot see
And without sight we wait too long.

Softly in the light
The presence of the sun pursues
Our sweet but fleeting fantasy.

It parts, as we, and silently.

Lovers

2004-05-03T23:57:00.000+01:00

We've all heard the debate about whether good lovers are born or made. I think there are certainly people who are born good at it- a simple matter of having the right personality. But everybody has the potential for it. What I mean about 'the right personality' is a certain amount of sensitivity. Not in the sense of being a nice person, because some complete asses can be great lovers, but in the sense of paying attention to the other person's desires.

In other words, being IN THE MOMENT. You can't let your mind wander to whatever else happened in your day or what work you have in the morning. Nothing should feel rushed, and everything should feel intense. Your entire focus and intent should be on your partner and what makes them feel good. They say it should be about communication, but it's more than that. You have to be turned on by their pleasures. And the best thing is that when you meet another person who functions along the same lines, it establishes a rapport and a give-and-take that just crescendoes into something spectacular.

If you want practice at this kind of mental state, try giving massages. Give them until you like giving them. Because a massage requires you to relax a person, to figure out what muscles like to be pressed how much and the physicality of the situation. It's all about getting people to their comfort zone. When physical concentration becomes second-nature to you, all sorts of things start happening. People claim you have a 'magic touch' that heals soreness. You become confident in your own actions and what you can do with your hands. And when you're with your partner, you start discovering the often-missed sensitive places like the underside of wrists and legs that can make them shiver with pleasure.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that being a good lover is not entirely about experience. Granted, more experiences definitely give you a greater 'bag of tricks' to choose from, so to speak, which can certainly bring some excitement and pleasant surprises in. But the key factor, the most important thing, is treating the moment as eternal. When nothing else matters but your partner, the whole world falls away. And then they discover the amazing things you can do.

My Life Calling

2004-05-01T00:21:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I was talking to one of my close friends out in this gorgeous weather. We got to talking about a common class we were in, photojournalism. I'd come to the conclusion at the end of the semester that the career wasn't for me. The class taught me a lot more about the craft, I loved the professor, and it's good that it narrowed my focus. But I realized that everyday, pure news photography would kill me. My friend didn't really understand my position, because he loves photography and visual images so much.

Here's the thing. I don't really love photography in and of itself. Same with video production. What I love is the potential for what it can DO. Though photography primarily developed as a means of keeping a record, its highest plane of exercise is art. But I have to be specific here- I mean 'art' in a very particular sense. Art acting as a medium to connect viewer and creator. Not images for their own sake, or as one of my favorite authors (Robert Heinlein) put it, "pseudointellectual masturbation."

And this is when the realization hit me. Everything I love to do in life centers around one purpose: making people feel. When I write, when I make photographs, when I get onstage and act or sing, my primary purpose is to ellicit an emotion in the viewer. There is no higher praise for me than to make someone gasp in awe or cry in empathetic sorrow. It's the same reason I love to give people massages; to establish that slight emotional and physical connection that allows me to read them and make them relax. My life centers around my emotional connections with people and my ability to use those connections to make them feel.

I suppose a little bit of this is a control issue as well. Part of the reason I hate pure news-gathering is that I have little creative control over it. The meaning is almost entirely factual or dependent on the circumstances. Yet in order for me to create, I need to be free to act as both an observer and a manipulator as the circumstances dictate. Photojournalism doesn't offer that.

I want to use words and images and movement and voice to share ideas with others, to pass them on. More than anything else in this world, I want my life to stand as a testament to my beliefs. I want to help others find themselves by showing them my own thoughts and emotions. I want to show bits and pieces of my personality in performances and pictures. My life calling is to inspire people to experience true emotion. And my hope is that in doing so, they begin to think, and so come closer to knowing themselves.