Boat Across the River

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The Mansion and the Lilliputian

I was driving home yesterday with the kids, and as so often happens after a long hard day, my brain — or my awareness – starts to feel like it’s rising out of my head.  I assume this is from fatigue.  I am functioning on a basic level of survival — must drive this car safely — but also feel kind of disconnected from things going on around me.  It’s like my mind is split in two.  So I was dwelling on this other split-level as I passed by a row of very large and fancy multi-million dollar homes.  I noticed a thin, petite woman, dressed in khakis, a loose white shirt, and a straw hat out working in the flowers in the front yard of one of these homes.  I often see crews of men working on the lawns of these houses, but rarely would I ever see a woman, by herself, out gardening.  In fact, I never have.  It seemed obvious to me that this woman must actually LIVE in the home in whose yard she was working.  How novel!

As I passed her by, it seemed very strange to me that such a little person should live in such a large home…It was as if I expected a giant to be out in the yard because only a giant would need so much space in which to reside.  Truly, I could not believe how tiny this woman looked in front of her residence.  Oddly, I almost felt sorry for this her.

Joy and Darkness

When you rent a condo by the beach, you never have to go to the beach!  You’re always there.  It’s a beautiful thing to be lucky enough to do.  My daughter said, “I wish I could have a house like this…”  Three years old!  I said, “You do!  For seven days.”  And, without the responsibilities of ownership, I might add.  As they say, you think you own something, and it ends up owning you.  The owners might not know it, but renters have the better deal by far.  S. woke up dazed and crying, “I want…I want…!”  Isn’t that the natural condition of humanity?  We wake up wanting — we don’t even know what it is that we want.  Growing up means training yourself not to want beyond what is reasonable.  What is reasonable is hard to determine, though. 

Is it reasonable or ethical to want anything beyond what we actually need?  Is it ethical to go on vacation when there are starving children?  Should we save all year and donate thousands to UNICEF?  Is it ever okay to go on a trip aimed at enjoying the world we are fortunate enough to be visiting?

We always have a choice to feel joy or to feel darkness.  Woody Allen’s character in Annie Hall says, “I-you know, if one guy is starving someplace, that’s … you know, I-I … it puts a crimp in my evening.”  Sometimes I have to say, in my mind, to those who suffer greatly: “I remember you.  Right now, I must feel the great joy that life has to offer.  But while I feel this joy, I remember you who are suffering.”

Choosing Our Illusions

Having been a competitive swimmer for many years, including in college, I’ve come to resent sports more than I might have otherwise.  There are good things about competitive sports: they teach discipline, self-control, about ”winning” and “losing” with grace (but what are we winning and what are we losing?), and about working with others, among other things.  I think, however, that sports further the illusion that some of us are on one team while others are on another team. 

We are not on different teams; everyone is on the same team.  This fact does not change if we are from different countries or from different religions.  I shouldn’t be uppity about competitive sports, though.  Although I truly don’t see the point of them, besides whipping people up into a frenzy over nothing (clearly I can’t veil my snobbery), there are illusions that I participate in as well.  Words, for instance.  I love words — in any language, I love words.  I love language — commas, semi-colons, dashes.  The whole shebang.  And language is just symbolism — words are only fingers pointing to the moon, as it were.  There are different teams, even within language, given that there are different languages. 

I guess we all just choose our own illusions about which to be passionate.

Wordy

Spent a lot of time at the Meeting House today (i.e. church).  There were all kinds of events as the season of Advent begins.  As I sat in the pew holding my baby son, (my daughter was down the hall rehearsing for her role as the literal star of the show that pointed the way to Baby Jesus), I gazed at the books in front of me that rested on their special little rack.  On the covers of these books read words like “hymns,” and “psalms”.  I wonder what it is about words with silent letters that make them seem even more beautiful.  The letters aren’t pronounced, so why should their presence make a word sound differently?  It’s psychological I guess, but that “n” and “p” make those words so delicate and…I’ll say poignant, just to bring up another one of those words that I love.

Looking around the room today, another word that came to mind was “together”.  I could meditate and pray alone, and often do.  Sitting in extended silence with a roomful of people, though, is a different experience.  Even truer to reality, perhaps.  We are in this together, all of us, whether we like it or not!  Some of the people we are here in this life with can be so frustrating, but we belong to each other just the same.  Being together in silent prayer with like-minded people, however, leaves me with such a peaceful feeling.  It feels so true.  Like…how things really are, all the time.  Like how things are for real.  

I think of a television show I have been watching lately on the Biography channel called “I Survived…Beyond and Back”.  These people have technically died for anywhere from 5 to 20 minutes.  On the show they recount their experiences while dead.  It’s riveting, I’ve got to say.  J. is suspicious, which is what I count on him for!, suggesting that some of these people may either be lying or misinterpreting what happened to them.  I have no reason to suspect either of those things.  I don’t claim to know more about death than someone who has actually died, and I prefer to believe that these people – often moved to tears in the telling of  their stories and whose lives have often done 180 degree turns after survival – are telling the truth. 

One woman died on the operating table in a hospital and she tells about rising up out of her body and looking down on the doctors and nurses trying to save her life.  She was able to tell them the exact conversation they were having while she was flatlined.  She describes seeing some kind of shimmery “chords” going from one person to the next such that they were all connected.  It created an effect that looked something like a spider web.  The chords appeared to her to go from one person’s chest to another’s, and she was able to know what each person was thinking and feeling.  Another aspect of this show that is so fascinating to me is that I have sometimes seen images like this flash in front of my eyes when I meditate – that is, during several of these shows I have been able to say, “Yes!  I’ve seen what you’re talking about!”  But I might have thought at the time that it was just randomness popping into my head for no reason. 

Together…moreso than we even realize I think.

6 pm

I take back my previous post.

I want to be able to get out of my driveway!

I want something in my head besides constant loud beeping!

Strange Comfort

Is it weird that the constant construction noise in our neighborhood, as the city puts in sewers, has started to become soothing?

Strange that I smile in my sleep and turn over at 6 am as the man driving the backhoe in my yard begins his day’s labor?

Odd that I have considered making cookies and coffee for my old friends slopping away out in the street?

love. guitars.

at the show
guitarists play
 
one guitar is cherry red
shining in a bright light
 
i start to feel
that it’s become my heart
 
the room shakes
music beats inside my chest
 
either that or I
am inside this song
 
pieces of the ceiling fall
our seats vibrate
 
they are pulsing
the whole balcony
 
beats the rhythm
that beats on stage
 
and in our chests
will we all fall down? 
 
i think that any minute now
during any one
 
of these songs
we could each break open
 
like eggs and ooze together
in the frying pan.

Lost and Found

Cleaning up my house, I found this poem written nearly a year ago.  It’s not that original at all, but was written during an activity I facilitated with my students.  Now I want to remember the activity, and throw out the paper the poem is written on, so I will type this little guy up as a memory. 

We took a walk around the school in the Fall.  The assignment I had given them (after a couple weeks of talk and activites about poetry) was to write a poem with two stanzas and at least one metaphor and one simile.  This was what I came up with to read to them after the walk.  I have their poems somewhere — I’m sure theirs are more interesting!  I remember one girl’s in particular; she is a refugee from Somalia and is an English language learner, and her poem was fantastic.  The fact that English is not her first language made her poem that much more unique in its descriptive language.

Autumn

The trees are a book of matches
that have all caught fire
together — leaves like red and yellow
flames.  Some trees are bare already:
burned out matches.
 
Next to us as we walk,
the cars hurry by
making a sound like waves
at the beach.  It’s strange
to think of water walking through
 
these dry and crackling leaves.
 
– Fall, 2010

Stuck on an Escalator

Here’s one more video that they showed at my work conference!  It’s pretty funny.  When they showed it, it didn’t have the ad part at the end — just the escalator part.  The speaker said the funny thing is that he has seen this type of thing actually happen.  People are pretty out there sometimes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47rQkTPWW2I&feature=related

Dancing Guy Video

I went to a three day work seminar recently, where we were shown this video.  I really liked it and wanted to share it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fW8amMCVAJQ

 

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