Carl Sagan I:
Growing up, my oldest brother was the geeky science-y one, but it gave him the foresight to record the entire now-legendary and classic Carl Sagan "Cosmos" documentary series when it first aired on PBS in the early 80's. He recorded it on our cutting edge, state-of-the-art Betamax, which was the size of a small English sportscar.

About a decade later, I had the foresight to ask my other brother, who still had a Beta machine, to transfer the entire series to VHS. He not only obliged, but he had the foresight to record it at high speed to try to maintain the Betamax quality (historical note: Sony Betamax format was more compact and better quality than VHS, but due to poor marketing by Sony, VHS became the standard videotape format).

Now, a decade after that, I still have the VHS tapes, even though the series has been released on DVD. I don't know, doesn't that make me sorta hipster in a vintage pocket protector-geek sorta way, yo? I'm the real deal, homes, old school! *flashes slide-rule gang signs*

But, man, even with a few dated ideas and a Western-centric bias, there is no more poetic and elegant spokesperson for cosmology than Carl Sagan. I just watched an episode ("The Backbone of the Night", #7), about the journey of cosmological knowledge from its infancy in Ancient Greece to near maturity in modern times.

He nicely juxtaposes in his own journey of broadening knowledge with recollections of growing up in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. And then to put a fine point on it, he returns to his elementary school to give a lecture to the kids on astronomy, replete with shots of eager, young, fresh faces, "oh, oh, oh!"-ing and hands groping for 70's-era photos that Sagan was handing out of images beamed back from the Voyager spacecrafts.

A fascinating bit in all this is when he explains theorized basic techniques for discovering planets around other stars. He impresses upon the kids that within your lifetime we would be discovering maybe hundreds of planets around other stars, perhaps having them all mapped out to several dozen light years!

And, as we all know, in the past several years, scientists have been regularly detecting extrasolar planets using those same basic techniques. Those kids were probably just a bit younger than me.

Like I said, I don't read overbearingly Christian blogs. I heard all I want to hear from them after the first time they said I was going to burn in hell for not believing what they believe in. The extent to which I'm still willing to listen to their message is in the form of the Flanders on 'The Simpsons'.

I have a thicker skin with blogs of other religions because I haven't had their dogma forced down my throat all my life, either through media or accosted in person, and can approach them on my own terms, looking for good ideas. Unfortunately, you get the same thing in any hegemonic religion, including Buddhism, Islam, and dogmatic atheism, that reduces humanity to concepts, and weighs "righteous" abstracts more heavily than the human beings who are their subjects.

My naivete had me engage in what turned out to be a fundamentalist Muslim's blog. The picture of the author, who allegedly lives in England, wearing a burqa didn't ring a bell, if you need to know how incredibly dense I can be. I didn't even clue in when I read her piece on how she has proof of Allah and that Islam is the only way to Him. My reaction: Well, she seems to have an interesting point of view, perhaps I could sit down for spot of tea with her. Yea, her, me, and Jimmy Swaggart.

I decided to leave a comment after reading her spiel lambasting the (liberal) idea that everyone's opinion has equal validity, and that post-modern thought is completely wrong in positing that humans and truth are social constructs. It would mean that everybody is right and nobody is wrong, and that can't be so. Of course, in this moral dynamic, she and her narrow, intolerant view bearing the flag for Islam and God are the "right".

I naively left a comment, ironically worded in a way meant to respect her opinion, pointing out that certain moral values she mentioned in her post were the same ones that George W. Bush would attribute to himself, suggesting these things are subjective.

Stepping into the vernacular, I mentioned that only God holds the truth, and it is only before God that the truth of Judgment will be known. Until then we should be mindful of our own intolerance and hate because those are ugly things to bring before God.

Her response was that my comment proved her original post exactly. See? That's what I'm talking about!

It didn't take too much longer for me to realize I had encountered firsthand the Islamic counterpart of the Christian conservative right, and that this was not a person with whom anything could be discussed. She called opinions the "bastard daughter of conceit" (and you'd think that would have clued me in to stop reading and get off that page, but NOOOO!).

So this was a woman posting an opinion piece, and I do remember she used "IMHO" in the first sentence, so she was at least nominally aware that it was only an opinion, criticizing the equal validity of subjective opinions. And maybe I proved her point by preaching tolerance instead of outright telling her that her opinion was full of shit and that she was a hypocritical idiot, like I should have. I don't know. The logic of fundamentalists confuses the hell out of me.

Sometimes I let my feelings almost catch up to me. Sometimes I think I should let them overtake and overwhelm me. Sometimes I wonder if that's going to happen during my trial period at the monastery, inshah'allah, anyway.

The suggestion is that it can't be pretty if it happens :\

I have to go to the monastery, I have to make this happen now, there is nothing left to pursue at this point in my life. Going to the monastery was the only living option as an alternative to killing myself, and since I failed miserably at that, this is what I have to do. I promised.

I wasted 11 years in San Franisco, blew all the relationships that I had, abandoned half of the people who meant something to me and got abandoned by the other half (all the same people, btw), fumbled all the opportunities that came my way, gave up, quitter, loser, moved back in with my parents, pathetic, I have nothing, no potential, no motivation, and a terrible haircut.

I don't know if I'm ready for the monastery. I felt so comfortable there when I was there last year, it was so right, it was so peaceful and I don't know if I deserve or if I'm ready for that. The community was so joyful and I still have these roiling rapids of issues careening through my psyche. I'm still looking backwards, looking over my shoulder, looking for what I want, looking for a line to grab onto, where did all my friends go? The friends who would have stood on the sand waving as I sank beneath the surf. Oh yeah.

The same "friends" who will wish me luck at the monastery. Not the ones who will ask me what the hell do I think I'm doing, and what the hell am I doing in New Jersey; to move back to wherever, move to wherever they are, I can stay with them until I get settled and until then they won't let me out of their sight. And not the one who will tell me to fuck whatever happened in past lives and tell me to marry her because, boy, were we meant for each other, spiritually at least.

why didn't i leave in june? why didn't i leave in june? why didn't i leave in june? why didn't i leave in june? why didn't i live in you?

Visualization meditation for anyone who condemns suicide:
Close your eyes until all you can see is just a crack of light. Concentrate on your breath as it enters your nose and exits. Follow ten breaths. Concentrate on your ears and notice everything you can hear. Maintain concentration for ten breaths. Concentrate on your mouth with your tongue gently pressed to the top of your mouth and the back of your upper teeth, and focus on your mouth's sensations for ten breaths. Likewise, do the same for your whole body (skinbag), and then for your mind and thoughts.

Now, visualize a dark space, a void. It's very quiet and calm. In the distance, visualize a person, just a speck, walking towards you. As the person gets closer, you discern it's a dude. When he's 10 paces away, visualize him as of Asian race, with a terrible haircut and an even worse blue dye job that has faded to a gross algae green. As he closes the distance, you notice in your visualization that he is holding a wet trout in his right hand, and as he comes up to you he smacks you across the side of the head with it.
End visualization meditation.

Thank you, I feel better now. Yes, keep moving forward towards monastery. Get to shave my head.

childhood living is easy to do:
So what's your reaction when your parents say to you, out of the blue, "For Halloween, we will still be on vacation. You will be the only one home. You don't have to open the door for anyone. Just ignore. Don't have to give candy"?

Family dynamics are funny things. Of course I thought to myself, 'what the hell?', but just dismissed it with, "uh-huh". Ignorable.

So why the random statement? Expression of power? Shot-calling? We set the rules around here. It doesn't matter how random it is, we can tell you what to do even though we can't enforce it and actually couldn't care less, and you probably will do whatever you'll do?

Possibly. They sure weren't making conversation. The subtext probably is "we can make these silly demands to mildly humiliate you because you don't have a job and have no value". Whatever they're insinuating doesn't bother me, that's not why I'm writing about it, but it's interesting to mull over the intricacies of family dynamics and consider the various and sundry ways that exchange could have escalated and become heated.

Most of the time, like this one, it's not worth it, just concede, all the while knowing you'll be handing out candy (unless from years of experience and lore, neighborhood kids already know not to even try at this house). True, sometimes you need to fight for even a little bit of your pride in order to survive the ordeal of family, and then it's understandable, but make sure you're conscious of it. It's not substantive, and if you think it's substantive, you protect your pride at the expense of your soul.

I've repressed most of the memories (or just forgotten them – moving away and not having to deal with the 'rents for 11 years does wonders), but little bits and peeks have been reminding me that I think I perceived my father a tyrant while growing up, and that is what I was fighting against. It's weird to recall that because he's a feeble old man now. I think it would be weird for him now to know I might have perceived him as a tyrant.

And we're at the point where we're supposed to be looking back at it all and it's all supposed to seem funny.

Pushing that damn rock. It's already halfway through September and I need to move forward. Being here at my parents' house is the part of the journey where I fall into deceptively delicious circumstances and have to fight temptation. 

It's so easy and comfortable here. I pay no rent. I'm fed. I function on my own schedule. No one disturbs me. No one imposes on me. I sit twice a day for 45 minutes. I read to my heart's content. I'm memorizing the 10 novice precepts for Deer Park Monastery (and trying not to criticize them from my legal writing trained perspective). I go on bike rides on sunny days. I go watch matinees when there's a good one. I ride into Manhattan. I have my own room. I have a kick ass stereo. I watch sunsets and squirrels on the lawn. I practice guitar. I practice shakuhachi. I blog. 

But this isn't freedom, either. It's my parents' house where tension is a form of communication. I have to function within their parameters. I have to be sensitive to their wants and needs having no way of knowing or finding out what they are. I have no social life. I have no friends. I'm completely useless and unproductive. All take, no give. I'm worse than a parasite. And my parents know that. They're not interested in how I fill my days. All they know is that I don't have a job. 

It's come to a head. It's so easy to fall into entropy, to not move if nothing is moving me. I hadn't heard from my contact at Deer Park for a while, undoubtedly because he's been busy preparing for an extended retreat that starts this weekend. So I sent off a general email to the monastery trying to get information to plan out when to begin my trial period. I got a reply right back from my contact, and things are clearing through – not much left to stop me from going *starts hyperventilating*. 

It's a game of trust. Close my eyes. Hold my arms out. Shift weight backwards and start to fall . . .

Crap, I keep writing about religion, a topic which is blog poison. I, myself, can't get off a blogpage fast enough once I see "Bible study", "church group", or by anyone named Matthew, Mark, Luke and/or John. Folks who, I assume, can't get off a blogpage fast enough once they don't see those things.

I swear to god, I kid you not, I came across someone's page yesterday with pictures of a group of white girls in Oregon washing each other's feet in one of their parents' living rooms in some church related ritual. In gray, Rubber Maid basins! It was so freaky I didn't even get a link. Ran to the bathroom and washed my eyes with soap.

That was mean. I shouldn't have said it. It's growing up non-Christian in this Christian country that made me do it. I really have no problem with Jesus and his teachings, but the vocal American Christians are a scary lot (I realize many, if not most, Christians don't go around spouting it, on blog or otherwise, and I apologize if I offend).

Although I do have serious problems with Pauline Christianity, as it seems much more about Paul than Jesus, and apparently most Pauline Christians don't even really know who St. Paul was or how he re-shaped Jesus's message. If Jesus were resurrected today and said, "What's with all the goyim?", point to Paul. And if you introduce him to the Roman Catholic Church and he asks, "Wasn't Pontius Pilate Roman?", just shrug like you have no idea what he's talking about.

(Here was a good place to end this post, and it's still a good place to stop reading, but noooo, I just had to go on and walk out onto the thin ice.)

But even if you were kind enough to give me that, my issues with Christianity don't bother millions of Christians, why should they bother me? It's about their faith, and if it grounds them and guides them, so be it and respect it.

I did read through one Christian site that cited twisted facts and hateful interpretations trying to debunk Islam – where does that get anyone? Where does that get him? And debunking Christianity will have as much effect on Christians as Christians telling me I'm going to burn in hell has on me. They are going to burn in hell for being so self-righteous and having so little compassion for someone like me who's going to burn in hell (see ya there! I'll bring the hot dogs, you bring the grill, we'll have plenty of fire).

In the end, I think the Qur'an puts it best when it says (interpretation and paraphrased*) it doesn't matter what your faith is or what you do or think you did, God will decide. Emphasis on the "God will decide". Or using non-religious terms, it's not in your hands. But good deeds are good deeds. They don't stop at the borders of religions. And hate is hate. It's ugly in any interpretation of divinity.

Who amongst us is so arrogant as to belittle God so much to say that he or she knows God? Who knows the direct way to God? Show me the path, and it and your life better be pretty perfect and be able to account for the salvation of all humankind, because any less is not God's love. Of course the folks who wrote the "Left Behind" series are going straight to so many levels of hell simultaneously.

*I'll try to find a cite, but don't hold your breath.

Saying that I don't consider myself spiritual or religious probably needs to be qualified. Everything is spiritual. It's just reality. I'm not particularly spiritual. It might be like the fish being told to describe what water is. It also probably has something to do with my rebel-without-a-cause reaction to labels. 

Another reason I don't like being identified as Buddhist is because that describes a separation between the self and that most personal descriptive, whatever religion we affiliate with. It reminds me of that ironic scene in The Simpsons when Lisa is running around town proclaiming, "I'm a Buddhist!", a most "un-Buddhist" thing to be doing. 

I've always wondered if the writers knew enough about Buddhism to consciously put in that irony. I wouldn't put it past them, when their humor takes the high road, the references can be pretty obscure (lantanides and actinides, anyone? (from when Homer goes back to college)). 

I react against the "Buddhist" label because for some stupid reason in my mind that automatically registers the possibility of "non-Buddhist". And when applied to my core identity, there is no "non-Buddhist", and working backwards that means no "Buddhist" either. Opposites, duality, you can't have one without the other. The existence of one automatically creates the other. 

My core identity just is. I can't not be this core identity, I can't ever lose "faith", I can't ever not be developing from this core identity, I can't ever convert to it or renounce it. If you take the beliefs associated with this core identity and call it "Christianity" or "Islam", then I'm either Christian or Muslim. 

But no, our reference systems and language place most of what I say into the Buddhist category, so that's what I am, but that reference is not for me, it's for you, and you couldn't care less what I am or what I'm ranting about, so wtf? 

What does it mean anyway when someone says, "oh, that person is very religious"? Is it that they follow certain laws or precepts, certain proscribed behavior? How they behave towards other human beings? How much they study their canon and pray or chant? Is it internal or external and which is more important? Is outside perception important – that people see you "being religious", going to church, mosque, synagogue? 

The questions go on and the answers differ according to religion. Ultimately I find the inquiry meaningless and tedious. What happens to being religious when Christianity is associated with persecution and colonization and Islam is associated with terrorism? 

Buddhism isn't infallible either if you start buying into the Bush double-speak of bringing peace through war. It's a big world, there are undoubtedly pro-Bush Buddhists who buy into that. Better to renounce the whole concept of religion altogether. Focus on the self and the community, but once religion creates an "other" that's where the problems start.

I've been thinking a lot about the monastery option, trying to get clear and critical about it. It's not going to change anything, but . . . I'm procrastinating. 'Trying to get clear and critical' is what I do as long as I'm not making and implementing the decision. 

I visited that monastery last month in upstate New York, and their practice just didn't resonate, and I could tell if I stayed longer and was exposed to more aspects of their practice, it still wouldn't resonate (my imaginary alter ego says that's precisely a reason why I should try it out there – a good point, but one on which I shan't dwell). 

Even though the head honcho there is pretty incredible, and, mind you, not present when I was visiting, I was very critical, nit-picking maybe, about a bunch of aspects of their practice which was very distracting to me. But part of my consideration is taking apart and letting go of my criticisms of that monastery's practice, as well as being critical of any idealization or romanticization of the monastery I do want to go to near San Diego. 

And part of the whole consideration boils down to 'why become a monastic?'. I don't think of myself as being particularly religious or spiritual. I'm more into the metaphysical, even the psychological, and as far as the religion is concerned, the central attraction is the promotion of peace, understanding, and a wider, holistic view of the world and the people in it. 

Hm, damn. I thought there was a larger discussion in this, but it's easy to question monasticism while I'm sitting at my parents' house with no other human interaction or concerns, and I can't go on living like this much longer. I certainly have no desire to go back to secular life; get a job, get a life, make friends, get a relationship, ride a bike, play an instrument, buy music, buy DVDs, call friends, drink beer, lose friends, drink whisky, drink gin, blog my little heart out, on and on and on, no and no and no.

intimacy:
I haven't responded to Madoka's email from over two months ago. With the loss of all my emails in the computer crash, it's even easier to just ignore it and be comfortable in our communications having been non-substantive and relatively superficial for more than a year now.

I wonder how things may have been different if I had made some effort to be closer to her through the years. Say, "Dammit, yer my best friend and I'll move to wherever you are if I can't coerce you to move where I am". But it was not meant to be, and truth to tell, I can't even imagine it. Still, I wonder if she might have been an anchor for me in some way. It would have been nice to have someone around who was more enlightened than me.

In a surprise move, however, I did finally call Sadie, who, as pathetic as it was, was my closest friend in my waning years in San Francisco. One of the last things she said before I left SF was wondering if she could have done anything to make me stay. In hindsight, I'm wondering, too. But no, there was nothing she could do, me being way down the totem pole of her friends; a principle reason for why it was so pathetic that she was one of my closest friends.

I finally made it last night to catch the Panorama Steel Orchestra competition, part of the Labor Day West Indian American Carnival in Brooklyn. I first heard of Panorama when I was in a steel drum band in college, and we had always talked about roadtripping to Panorama (to attend, not participate), but were never able to get it together in time since the school year had always just started.

We were a comparatively tiny 15-piece party band, although that's much larger than most college party bands. We played a range of gigs aside from parties, but we were all about grooving and shaking booty. There was one year that we had the connections to be invited to play at Lincoln Center, opening for a real steel drum event, but we were so amped just to play at Lincoln Center, I have no memory of seeing the real orchestras play.

Steel orchestras are upwards 100 members and are a sound to behold, albeit an acquired taste perhaps. The arrangements are mad complicated and there are times I'll be listening to a CD and bust out laughing at some cool counterpoint or sick run that I would notice for the first time.

Unlike the mellow beach or lounge stereotype associated with steel drums, the "real thing" is a bombastic, kinetic wall of percussion. How many harmonic ensembles in the world are there that consist of more than a hundred pieces of percussion? The rhythm section is called the "engine room" because for the 10-minute length of the pieces, they just chug along, guiding the orchestra through a range of latin rhythms.

It was mind-blowing being there. The level of musical and technical proficiency was amazing, and consider that these orchestras aren't incredibly well-funded and have their roots in street gangs. I couldn't even get my head around what I heard about the arranger of a band teaching each part of the 10 minute piece section by section, instrument by instrument.

These aren't simple pieces with lots of repetition, either. Part of the judging in the competition considers key and rhythm changes, complexity of the arrangement, and variations on the main melody. Several CDs I have include in the liner notes a break down of one of the songs with minute to minute analysis so the listener can follow along and hear what's happening when.

Anyway:

Harmony Steel Orchestra on stage. There are four sets of 6-basses on this side of the stage and more on the other. The engine room is on the platform in the middle along with a bunch of leads and other melody instruments. It looks like their front line has a whole array of different pans. The bassists are the most fun to watch because they have to move around a lot. There are usually 3 notes per bass pan.


Pan Tonic running through their piece in the parking lot before going on stage.


Adlib Steel Orchestra running through their piece in the parking lot. You can see their engine room on the platform in the back. In the middle are some tenors, and up front, of course is a 6-bass. "War 2004" was the song they played.


I don't know what band this was, I shot this on my way out, making my way through a sea of pans that were yet to make it to the stage. This is a set of 9-basses with 4 notes per pan, increasing the range of this set. In comparison, lead pans have almost 3 octaves in a single pan, about 29 notes.


Finally, two sets of either 4-cellos or quads. I'm not sure what quads are or what range they play in. But the size of the notes and the skirts of these pans are the same as the cellos with 3 pans we had in college.

Panorama, West Indian Carnaval 2004 from keauxgeigh on Vimeo.

Harmony Steel Orchestra bass player. She was so much fun to watch. She even danced when she wasn't playing. A certain amount of movement is required to play basses, but most bassists I've seen don't bounce like this to the beat. It's enough just to constantly turn and get from pan to pan and hit the right notes at the right time!

topic:
I so rarely hear of karma being mentioned in a way with which I agree, so either I'm just plain wrong or everyone else is just stupid; and my attention to grammar is too meticulous for me to be wrong.

Even at the monastery, I had to cringe when I heard someone mention something about a car accident and injury, and "What have I done to get this karma?". Dumbass. I think as a general rule, when one thinks about karma, don't be thinking "me". There is no 'me' in 'karme', er, karma.

Think of karma as a squishy stress ball, and if you press in on one side, it presses out somewhere else. But it's all one thing. My karma is the same thing as your karma and everyone else's karma. It's just the manifestations that are different, and manifested reality, the difference, is delusion. The "linear equation" karma is just so egocentric and dualistic, it can't be right. And any human morality or subjective indignation should just be let go. The universe isn't that petty.

And another thing! All discriminating and dualistic thoughts and actions, which is to say short of enlightenment, create karma. So even calling that guy "dumbass", if I'm attached to a notion of a dumbass, if I think of him as a dumbass separate from everything else in the universe that is not "dumbass", that creates bad karma. Fortunately, we are all dumbasses.

Actually, I think I'll stop there since I'm not sure I had any direct insight into the idea, and even though I feel I know what I'm talking about, it does come a bit too close to the Buddhist party line on the subject. Not that that's bad or good, I'm just not into dogma. It tempts the need for stamps of approval, which I eschew.

new topic:
I think my resistance to the label "Buddhist" is probably futile, and eventually I'm just going to have to accept it. Buddhism, and I say this with a grain of salt planted firmly in my cheek, hasn't taught me anything. It was more my thoughts were my own, and writings associated with Buddhism articulated them very well, and have continued, along with ideas from other traditions, to help guide the development of my being.

The danger, of course, is that it's like a church with something nice written on the front. So you step in the door and someone gives you a pamphlet. Next thing you know, you're espousing stuff from the pamphlet which you haven't critically digested, but you do it because you like being called the label that got stuck on you when you entered the front door.

But the problem with resisting being identified as Buddhist is that a lot of these things may be terms of art, and resisting the identity risks losing the point of reference. In fact, for most Americans, "karma" is dualistic, moral, petty, and smug. So I am wrong in my formulation of karma because I'm not talking about the same thing as most Americans, even in an American Zen Buddhist monastery. (which is not to deny the possibility that I am, in fact, just plain wrong).

I used to have this idea that if I ever had children (all theoretical since I never seriously thought about having children), I would try to participate in their lives as much as possible by checking out whatever they were interested in for myself. I wouldn't be all nazi about it, it would just be a guiding principle. At least dip my toes into whatever they were interested in, if not fully engage in it.

And there would be an age window in which I would implement this. There was some line in the movie "Hook" where the mother says that there are a few precious years when the kids are chasing after them for attention. After that, it will be the parents chasing after the kids. Theoretically, this approach would take advantage of those years where the kids were doing the chasing for attention.

My father had a guitar lesson yesterday. In his old age, he has been doing a lot of karaoke singing, and my mother got it in her head that he should try singing and playing guitar. If my parents had taken my theoretical approach to parenting, my father would already know how to play guitar, or at least he'd have the basics or know what it was about.

But my parents didn't pay much attention to our lives beyond our grades and that we were fed. They had little idea, much less interest, in what we were doing with our lives. They begrudgingly paid for a few months of guitar lesson, bought me cheap equipment through high school, and tolerated rehearsals in their basement. They could nominally say they supported my interest, but it felt like either they couldn't care less or that they were discouraging it. Not that I cared, since by that time I was hating them full-time. Being their child was a blow to my pride.

When senior year came around and I won some award in excellence in music, I asked the school not to tell my parents, but they said it was protocol to inform the parents. So when my parents came to the award ceremony without saying anything about hearing about it or that they were coming, I saw it as the pinnacle of their hypocrisy. When my name was called, I refused to go up and give them the satisfaction of taking credit for something for which they had no right to take credit.

That was then, this is now.

Now, my father had a guitar lesson yesterday. They had asked me whether I could teach him, but I declined. I legitimately said that I don't know how to teach. I've tried teaching various people through the years to remarkable failure. But I think the point here was that I wasn't even willing to try. I did offer one of my guitars, though. A nice one.

I guess I was mirroring them. I'm willing to provide the material object, but no moral or emotional support, no benefit of my experience or knowledge. I won't even play when they're in the house, but that's a whole nother issue.

He didn't enjoy the lesson. He might not continue. He looked like he might have been a little depressed afterwards, and my mother took him out afterwards so that he could get some exercise.

So what? Should I feel bad about this? I say that the past is over, let it go, and my unwillingness to engage in my father's current interest is not stubborn refusal. This isn't some sort of smug retribution. Although there definitely are issues floating around.

I do feel bad. If my father wants to learn guitar, I want him to learn and I want him to enjoy it. I don't want him to feel discouraged or depressed because it's not easy to learn an instrument. But I'm closing my eyes and listening to my breathing and I'm not throwing myself to make it easier for him; to make it fun enough to keep at it, but making it known that it will take time and practice to gain some proficiency. The causes and conditions aren't here at this time for me to be a part of this. And it's possible that those causes and conditions that aren't here are rooted somewhere in the past.

It's September and Summer is coming to an end. I feel dying in the air. It's wonderful.

I've been pursuing a "great despair", chasing it through dark woods, flying across interstellar space, digging in the dirt, wandering in a fog. Sounds odd. Most people have their despair walk right up to their front door and knock. I've got it so good. I don't know if it's that kind of despair.

If I'm not suffering from the despair that most people seem to grapple with, it's because I'm in denial. And I'm happy about that.

And because I've got it so good.

I really need to stop creating manifestations of abstract thoughts.

I first caught a glimpse of the despair when I was up at the monastery this past time, and it was pretty horrid and deep, sinking completely into my body and being, lying in the complete darkness of the dorm room. If I claimed to have posted about my deepest, darkest secret, I haven't.

But it's not the substance or source of the despair I'm going for. What happened in the past happened. I can torment myself feeling bad about it, I do feel "bad" about it, but attaching to it is something I just won't do. Torment is OK, but guilt is for suckers. I don't even know what the repercussions were or if there were any. There must have been.

Despair is just mind.

I don't want to make light of the great despair. I'm not sure I even understand it. Maybe it's the same thing as the "great doubt" I sometimes hear about. There seems to be many similarities. But just from the glimpse I got, I think it's something I need to chase for a bit because it's got something I need.

Not that I know despair. I recently re-read two books, Hasidic Tales of the Holocaust and Maus, and there is no even imagining that kind of despair. And the stories of the Holocaust that have come down are "only" the ones from the survivors! But maybe it is that huge, incomprehensible despair I'm angling for, but theoretical, conceptual. But that's sort of making light of it. Back to the sketchpad.