I haven't been remembering dreaming much lately, and even if I remembered that I had been dreaming, I had no recollection of the content of the dream. This time I woke up from the dream, remembered the dream and it happened to be an Amina dream.

Was it because it was an Amina dream that I was unconsciously particularly inspired to remember it? Meaning nothing else in my subconscious has been worthy of being remembered? And the whole Amina thing – hey, it's old. Or is it?

I was in the foyer area of a mansion, classic European-looking, perhaps Victorian? I'm not sure what that looks like. It was brightly lit by a large chandelier and had high ceilings. I was halfway up a curving staircase facing down towards the foyer area, and Amina was behind me, I couldn't see her, and I was shielding her because she was in some sort of state of undress. And I was being chivalrous.

I don't know who I was shielding her from, because down in the foyer were some completely naked, large and curvy women who were completely casual, didn't even take note of me there, and two of them separately walked by the staircase in all their glory into another unseen room.

My reaction was a bit of astonishment, but mindful of Amina behind me, we started to back our way up the stairs, where I knew on the next landing there was a bathroom that I could easily back her into and she could have her privacy. But when we got to the door, where I expected to stop and she could go in and close the door, we both continued in, and then she closed the door with both of us inside.

Calculating the situation and concluding my being there was consensual, I turned around and saw her for the first time in the dream. She was modestly dressed in a negligee and she was stunningly gorgeous, my reaction not being too far from the first time I saw her. Calculating some more, I concluded it was also consensual for me to approach her and start kissing her and then the camera of my perspective goes askew and I woke up.

So why did I remember this dream of all dreams? Was it because of Amina or because it dealt with romantic issues?

It's not because of Amina. Amina is most certainly now a fiction. So it probably had more to do with what Amina might still represent, which is romance, the human biological imperative, the crude human version of spiritual male/female union that represents a divine unity and oneness. Or not.

In the bright light of day, if I was in that same situation with Amina, I don't think my impulse now would be to kiss her. To love her. I don't think. Love is no longer a part of my equations anymore, I tell myself. Even if I could romantically love another person, which I doubt, my software then runs the program asking what next? What do I want from such a relationship? Do I want a relationship? Well, do I, punk?

But then why the dream? Why it was Amina is clear; it was because she was some sort of pinnacle, the love of my life I called her; but if I had the chance to even meet her again in this lifetime, I would probably decline unless she had some reason that was compelling enough for me to accept. Some love of my life.

I made the mistake when I was in New Jersey to mention to my sister-in-law my last relationship and the year it occurred, and smart cookie as she is being a medical doctor and all, she calculated how long it had been since I'd been in a relationship and made an exclamation to that effect.

Needless to rehash details, I'm clearly so out of practice that I can't be considered being able to give an objective assessment of the situation. It's simply out of my reality for even consideration. From the empirical evidence, I'm not even interesting, much less attractive, much less a pursuit, much less a catch. That's just reality and I have considered it and accepted it. It's even perfect.

I think I'm just going to have to relegate Amina dreams such as these as inconveniences of the human condition. Just because we're human beings, we crave love, attention, and we lust. If we can achieve communion with another human being, great, good for you. It's still an instinct for me, but it's not reality.

WordsCharactersReading time

I've been drifting in a strange place. I actually looked over at my bed yesterday because of a quick wonder if I'd find my body there. That's what it felt like. And through the rest of the day I went about pinpointing incidents that verified I was really here and really alive, and not post-mortem imagining it out of habit.

Still no new laptop, but likely soon. My laptop might cut out at anytime now, and I'm trying to type with the thing balanced and wobbly on top a fan. I wonder if I'd be happy with my last post being my last one ever, and I think I am. Even though I'll likely keep typing as long as I can, I think I've said everything I need to.

I have a plan for my next attempt, and it's not based on 2-month cycles and doesn't involve a bike and is tied to nature, and I'll likely take a pass on the first window of opportunity since it's coming very suddenly. I expect at least 2 or 3 opportunities over the course of the summer. Two or three opportunities to get me to the autumn where I'll likely find myself still alive. :p fucker.

I'm still reading The Lovely Bones, but I'm simultaneously reading Sophie's World, which is just fabulous. Both books centered on 14-year-old girls, although Sophie turns 15 in hers. Both books are establishing my mindset these days.

The gimmick in Lovely Bones is just fascinating me. The girl is dead but she is in a position to reflect on how life continues after her, but she's also telling the story of her whole life and the lives around her and things she wouldn't know if she were alive because now that she's dead, she has more access or insight into other people's lives.

It's a variation of the cliche of seeing one's life flash before one's eyes when they face death. And even though there's a portrayal of "heaven" involved, it's not a hardwired heaven. It's suggested that her heaven is her own creation, and it's there because she herself is wondering about the vacuum created by her absence. It doesn't have to be that way. She chose it.

But it's the stories. What are our lives if not stories? She's telling her story and that's what's so compelling about the book, imagining that she may have been a real person, it could've been a real person. We live our lives and then we die, but what if we haven't left our stories? And in this book are the stories of a fictional life, but it should be all of us, we all should leave our stories, if we want to.

My father doesn't. His story will be forgotten. No one will care. Sad, but it's his choice. I have this blog. No one may care, but I wrote it for anyone who might wonder about the full life of a fictional 14-year-old who was raped and murdered, or a lost and wandering soul-searcher who knew that his life must end in a suicide or it wouldn't have been worth living.

Now I'm reading "The Lovely Bones" at the bookstore. Needless to say, it is very different from the movie, which I now consider utter rot. How could Alice Sebold entrust a director like Peter Jackson with this kind of material. I guess someone who had read the book might read what they know about the book into the movie and find it palatable, but going the other way around, the movie is a total miss.

I'm walking around these days in devout contemplation of the world without me and it's beautiful. Strains of the unbearable flirt at the fringes of my existence again but there's a euphoria about it. I also saw "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" at the bookstore and read the first few pages and made a note to re-read it after I'm done with Lovely Bones.

The Lovely Bones is really good, but a lot of what's good is in the concept; it's kind of a gimmick, it's a cute story of a 14-year-old who is raped and murdered by a serial killer. Reading those first few pages of Unbearable Lightness of Being made me think of the difference between the two works, and that maybe Kundera's writing is what qualifies his book as literature.

But that's uncomfortable territory for me, I'm not the literary type. And why all this judging and judgmentalizing anyway? Where did I get that from? I did see the movie of Unbearable Lightness of Being before I read the book, and I loved the movie and I loved the book and the book didn't detract from the movie when I saw it again.

Which is different from one of my favorite books of all time, Catch-22, where I saw the movie first, loved the movie, read the book, loved the book, watched the movie again and didn't quite like it as much.

My laptop is on its last legs, so I'm not online much these days. It's 6 years old. Right now it's perched precariously on top of a portable fan pointing straight up, and with the battery removed, and I'm seeing how long it will last like this before it fitzes out again, which I'm expecting.

If it doesn't fitz out, I can replace the broken internal cooling fan, but I'm not sure a new battery will fix the (I'm guessing) voltage or electrical circuitry problem, which may have been initially caused by the broken fan and overheating. Anyway, it appears to be a compound problem and I'm thinking I just need to suck it up and buy a new laptop. Even though I can imagine the world without a new laptop and it's beautiful.

Bah, I watched The Lovely Bones on HBO last night. It reminded me why I avoid Hollywood films.

Someone recommended the book to me a long time ago, something in response to my musings on death and dying (I think it was a guest while I was at Deer Park), and as lovely as the book sounded, at least its title, I never got around to it. I'm sure the book is much better than the movie and give the movie a rotten 4 out of 10 tomatoes.

I almost turned it off after a half hour for all the emotional manipulation and sentimentality, but decided to continue enduring it to give it a fair shake. The Hollywood treatment of forcing situations to be all suspenseful and dramatic, even in red herrings and misleads in situations that you know aren't going to pan out, made me think this material would, from a narrative point of view, have been much better handled by an indie filmmaker.

However, I was intrigued by the treatment of the death experience and give the director credit for the portrayals, although I'm not saying an indie filmmaker couldn't figure out a way to make the portrayals even without the big budget special effects. And it wasn't the cheesy effects that impressed me anyway, but the ideas.

In short, it's about a 14-year-old girl who is raped and murdered by a serial killer and finds herself in a between state, not completely unlike one suggested by the Tibetan Book of the Dead, whereby an aspect of her is still connected to the world she left behind. Her family, on the other hand, has to find a way to cope with her disappearance and the inability of the police to find evidence to implicate the murderer.

The murder itself isn't actually shown, and she herself isn't even aware of it at first, and I thought that was intriguing, as I once imagined that was what death might be like in some cases. There's a difference between what we experience and what might be observed, which is curiously similar to a description of falling into a black hole I heard in a documentary last week.

I liked, among other things, the portrayal of the state the main character finds herself in as one that is a product of her own imagination and takes on characteristics of her own mental state, which may be still connected to objects in the physical world. A lot of the symbols that are portrayed are taken from things reflecting her reality and mental state when she was alive. Pretty keen.

I'll say without giving anything away, even though I highly don't recommend anyone going out of their way to see this film, that the ending of the movie is what one might expect from a Hollywood ending (remember 2012? the world is destroyed, billions are killed and they still manage a happy ending!).

A bit of end narration that I think is lifted directly from the book suggests that the story was supposed to be about the relationships of the people who she left behind, and how she felt comfort in people's ability to go on without her and so she could let go, too. And that's the story an indie filmmaker would have likely done.

That's not what the movie is about. The movie doesn't suggest anything as thoughtful as that, and dwells on the tawdry murder mystery Hollywood-style. Except there is no mystery, just how is this going to develop. I was decidedly not impressed how it developed.

The big surprise is how comfortable I was returning to Taiwan. I don't know how long it will last before things get routine and I get itchy again about my next bold move.

The first thing I noticed after lugging my luggage up the last steps and entering my apartment was the smell of mold. Annoying. But not unexpected. Humid and cold Taiwan winters apparently make mold a natural part of winters lingering into early spring. If I'm still around for another winter, I will buy a dehumidifier.

The first thing I noticed that was out of place was a little black piece of something under my bike, but it didn't look like anything major requiring attention. A little while later, my foot found a small piece of broken cylindrical plastic but I had no idea what it was or where it came from and put it aside to figure out later.

Later, upon scrutinizing my bike, I found the front gear shifter not working. It was the same feeling as when I went to New Jersey and found the shifters on my bike there not working. Move the shifter, nothing happens. That's when I looked at the black piece of plastic and the piece under the bike and figured they were related and something had spontaneously broken in my absence.

It was a kind of a feeling that someone was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't figure out what.

After getting my bike in New Jersey fixed, I went out on a single ride and it was out of commission again. Until then, the weather had it so that I was mostly rolling on a trainer in my parents' basement, which isn't much of a workout. So the first time I felt it was good to go to hit the road, I went up 9W, figuring my fitness level could take me comfortably up to Closter Dock Road and back.


View Larger Map
(It's an untechnical but decent downhill)

But while racing obnoxious car traffic down the Closter Dock Road hill, I felt a sharp impact and I felt my rear tire go slack. I thought it was a blowout. I knew my brother was out taking his daughter to a "creative movement" class (she'll start ballet lessons next year or something), so even though I didn't have any money on me, and I didn't have a patch kit with me – both signs of ridiculous unpreparedness – I did have a cell phone on me, which I usually don't, and called him to pick me up.

It turned out that by the time he got me, I was in comfortable territory to have been able to jog all the way back to my parents' house with my bike; about half the distance. It would've taken some time, but I was never in a dire situation wondering what to do.

After I bought a new inner tube, I realized it wasn't just a blowout. The rim was damaged with an eye-widening dent. Upon installing the new tube, that's when I saw that the wheel was completely out of true and that there was also a gash in the tire which may have occurred in the incident.

I basically needed a new wheel built. That stopped riding in New Jersey cold. It wasn't worth having a new wheel built before I left.

That was one ride. The only ride. On a road well-ridden by cyclists and it totally disabled my Peugeot. I think I will take the Korean guy at Bike Masters' advice and get a new bike once I return to the States. I'll probably buy it from Bicycle Workshop, though, for their effort in keeping the Peugeot alive.

The damage to my bike here wasn't as dire. Aside from the mystery of something spontaneously breaking and US$20 and 15 minutes for a new front derailleur, everything's back to normal, heading back to routine.

If I continue riding this year, I am predicting I might have to replace the entire drive train by the end of the summer. At least I need to get an opinion on the chain, which I had replaced some years ago and I don't think the fuckers gave me a performance chain. I need to be more discerning about that.

Or something's telling me to stop riding. Riding is a distraction. It is a false sense of "doing something", when really I'm doing nothing. Either go back to work or stop riding, you idiot. Word.

New Jersey killed my fitness. All eating and no exercise. I've even had to work back up to the easy 20-mile sprints along the bikeways, and I'm not even thinking of hills or extended rides. I gained some 20 pounds while I was there, and I think I've lost most of that, but it sure doesn't feel good.

May 3, 2011; 6:41 A.M. - My room at my parents' suburban house just before I left for the airport, tidied up for my departure – those aren't my beddings and there are no guitars in sight. The thing I found that I miss most is my stereo system (pretty much unseen on the right; Bang & Olufsen turntable covered by a towel) which was put together in the days before digital files became the dominant aural medium. Back then, you picked and chose components to comprise a stereo system. The key components of my system is a kick-ass 100 watt Yamaha amplifier that I inherited from my brother – it's so old that it doesn't even have a remote control – and 20 year old Bose AM-5 speakers, which my cousin told me are still rated better than later versions and other 5.1 Bose systems. Seriously, CD sound quality through an audio system like this will always be better than any kind of digital file media played through a digital player.

May 14, 2011; 2:37 P.M. – My room in Taiwan. The bathroom is on the other side of that opaque glass = this is not a place to entertain guests. No stereo system, but I must say, I'm pretty happy with the Ozaki computer speakers that I found here. If I go back to the States, one of the few things I would want to take with me are those speakers.

I guess the big surprise is how comfortable I was returning to Taiwan. Being in the U.S. started becoming just a haze of unreality and limbo; albeit comfortable like drowning in honey. I didn't want to leave and I didn't want to stay. My departure date came suddenly and too quick and I didn't feel ready to leave.

I didn't feel like I made any connection there nor accomplished anything. I gave up on setting up a blog for my father or any hope of possibly giving his life extended meaning by setting down in words what his life was. I sure don't know anything about his life. I'm not sure who does or whether it will all be forgotten once he's gone. In the end, that just may be his fate. That may just be what he wants.

The last two weeks, I barely had any interaction with my parents. It seemed like it was no matter that the time I was there visiting was limited. It came to seem like we were all waiting for it to come to an end so we could all go back to our regular lives and not have the nagging feeling in the back of our minds that my time visiting was limited.

My relationship with my brothers is just what it is. I guess I can't say expectations weren't met because we have no expectations. Things are fine between us, but. I guess we could've spent more time with each other, time to just mellow just be comfortable.

I'm thinking this is what Thich Nhat Hanh may mean when he relates that the greatest gift you can give is your presence. The best quality time you can have with other people is when it's not rushed, when the time you spent is just time you spend with them.

But the way it was, they were both busy and had other stuff to do, me too I suppose, and the time we did spend together was very conscious of itself and a conversation rarely just got comfortable to the point that we could just shoot the shit and let the conversation evolve and talk about our concerns and say what was really on our minds.

I spent the most time with my sister-in-law, and again I have no complaints about that, although she has 3 small children, and so of course that's where her priorities are, and accommodating that was also my focus. I didn't want to be a burden or draw her away from that, and I did want to be useful whenever possible.

The wild card connection was with my other brother's children in Philadelphia. Even though they call me by the wrong name, which is not cool on the part of my brother, I love those kids. My cousin's daughter Gracie will always hold a special place for me, but she will always be that much farther from me because of my now threadbare relationship with my cousin.

But it was very comfortable returning here. I'm not sure when was the moment when it became comfortable, whether it was immediately after I was dropped off at the airport and got a Jamba Juice as a last taste of the U.S., or whether after I landed in Taipei and found it raining and plotting the best way to get home, or sometime else during the journey.

But I was definitely comfortable by the time I lugged my luggage up the last steps and found myself in the isolation of my room. Isolation is best alone. Isolation is not so satisfying when accompanied by family members, in-laws and family and nephews and nieces.

(This blog used to allow comments. The comment this post ridicules explicates is included in the body of the post. - future ed.) 

Well, as long as I went and published the anonymous comment from the previous post, I should probably address it aside from just laughing at it (and just about every line made me laugh), because there actually are quite a few issues upon which the comment gives me the opportunity to clarify my personal perspective (read: super long post, not unlike my running commentary on the Craig's List suicide note from way back when).

I.
The biggest problem with the comment is this person, who I'll refer to as 'he', goes on and on without any knowledge of his target (me), and as a result he ends up imposing his view without having listened, and therefore what he says has no relevance in this particular forum and is not welcome. It also makes the overall tenor of the comment patronizing and condescending and arguably insulting (whether he was trying to be insulting, the jury (me) is still out).

When I was at Deer Park, I was a long-term guest, so sometimes short-term guests would open up to me because maybe they felt more parity with me as an ordinary Joe, whereas they may have felt more formal with the monks, and the most important thing for me to do was listen and understand their issue, and only respond if I really had something personal to say and an idea where they were coming from.

If there was something in my understanding or experience that I thought might help, I would offer it, but if not, I didn't pretend that I did and spew Buddhist doctrine. I also very, very rarely drew upon Buddhist doctrine in my responses because it was important for me to be personal.

If I went to a monastery and brought up the issues in this blog and got the answer this commenter posted, I would've turned around and walked out. And if someone came to me with an issue and I gave an answer, and that person turned around and walked out, I would have chalked that up as a big fail on my part.

So the first big thing to learn from this person is to listen deeply before offering your opinion. Even if this person's intentions were good, it was counter-productive. He may have been trying to help and offer some insight, but he instead ended up insulting me because he made assumptions and didn't bother finding out to whom he was commenting.

II.
He writes: I really wonder why you take a fatalistic attitude towards life.

I'm not sure from where that assumption of fatalism comes. My best guess is that I used the word "inevitable" in my personal description, and maybe there's logic in that, but by inevitable, I wasn't implying fate or destiny. He didn't know that because he didn't bother finding out. Anyway, if I have a fatalistic attitude towards life, it's because it's my choice.

He writes: If you are really practising Buddhism you would know this is unacceptable and incorrect.

I don't make any distinction between practicing Buddhism and living life. So I don't accept the implication of his "if", nor that there is "really practicing Buddhism" as opposed to "not really practicing Buddhism".

If he believes that I'm not really practicing Buddhism, that's his issue, not mine. It doesn't change my view. I might say that making a statement of what's unacceptable and incorrect is not really practicing Buddhism either, and I don't expect that to change his view either. But once you start drawing these lines, you're basically creating intolerance and painting Buddhism as something dogmatic, rigid and absolute.

I can also just as easily respond, "OK, I'm not". It's not a constant concept in my mind that I'm practicing Buddhism. I have no attachment to a claim that I'm really practicing Buddhism. I don't do anything because Buddhism tells me not to do it against how I go about my life according to my flawed nature.

I don't think Buddhism should define its practitioners, and I try not to let Buddhism define me. I think it's much more fruitful to be open to Buddhism being defined by its practitioners, and I define Buddhism according to what makes sense to me.

So I don't accept his statement on what's unacceptable or incorrect, and from my understanding, I don't think Buddhism has any comment on it either. Second lesson: beware of absolutes. There are none. Or very few.

III.
He writes: All life is sacred and thus you have no right to contemplate doing away with yourself.

The "all life is sacred" mantra of Buddhism is one of the most mindlessly abused by practitioners because it so easily allows people to take the high road, but it can also lead to arrogance and hypocrisy when applied dogmatically.

When you say "all life is sacred", that's all you have to say. That's all you should say unless you want to run into pitfalls like in this person's comment. For him "all life is sacred" = "I have no right to contemplate doing away with myself".

For me "all life is sacred" requires me to contemplate doing away with myself to get to the essence of what is sacred about it. I not only have the right, but it's my responsibility. The sacredness of life includes the dissolution of life. Life is the totality of life, death and, for Buddhists, reincarnation over multiple lifetimes.

I'm not sure I want to get into the conundrum of quality of life vs. metabolic life, either. "All life is sacred" doesn't mean just mindlessly preserving all forms of life, but accepting and respecting death as part of it, however death may come. And it will come.

I note that he stops at my right to contemplate doing away with myself, implying that he doesn't even need to mention that I have no right to actually do away with myself. I note that because I think that any meaning to someone actually committing suicide is just way beyond him. That's fine, many people can't make such a leap, and from what he writes, there's no reason to expect him to.

So yes, all life is sacred, but it certainly does not strip me of any rights to contemplate anything I want.

IV.
He writes: That is definitely not the way of Buddhism.

Again, Buddhism to me is life, it's the journey. There are no absolutes, there is no dogma. There is no "not the way of Buddhism". Buddhism isn't some exclusive doctrine. To me, everything is Buddhism. It's not even a "religion". Christianity is part of Buddhism, Islam is part of Buddhism, terrorism is part of Buddhism, because Buddhism is a contemplation of human life in its totality here on this planet and about the entire universe in its impermanence in general.

He writes: From what I can tell, you are just stirring in your own selfish concerns.

Isn't basically everyone stirring in their own selfish concerns?

Or maybe he's referring to that old tired blame game that people who commit suicide are "selfish". From what I've heard about reactions to suicides, those people are not only just as selfish, but even sadistic in feeling the person who committed suicide should have endured what was obviously unendurable just so that he or she didn't have to experience the pain of someone they knew committing suicide.

He writes: The way out is to rise above the outer surface of things by use of method, wisdom, and compassion.

Not bad, but I would personally modify it to read, "The way is to use method, wisdom, and compassion". There is no purpose for the way, there is just the way. And maybe faith in it.

As for the "way out", I don't subscribe to the idea of a "way out". I'm certainly not looking for a "way out". I'm just trying to understand and learn, and this is where my inquiry has always led. Semantically, I'm not thrilled with rising "above the outer surface of things", "above" perhaps suggesting superiority. "Beyond" is perhaps a better word, and to see beyond the surface of things and into the nature of things is, I think, a legitimate Buddhist pursuit.

V.
He writes: It is a known fact that people are happier when they dedicate themselves to things larger than their personal interest or relationships, towards activities that have an impact on a larger scale.

It's not a "known fact". It's not even a fact. It's easy to imagine a profile of a person who dedicates himself to things larger than his personal interest or relationships towards activities that have an impact on a larger scale and still be miserable.

I'll revert to Buddhist doctrine now to offer that becoming happier in general comes from rooting out the causes of suffering, i.e. attachment and desire, and understanding them.

He writes: That is what Buddhism is about.

Not really. It's a method and practice of engaged Buddhism, but it certainly isn't what Buddhism is about.

He writes: You need to ask yourself why are you not being authentic in your beliefs.

He's right! I do need to ask myself why am I not being authentic in my beliefs. My belief is that I need to commit suicide, that is my path, that is the meaning of my journey. So why am I not committing suicide?!

Unfortunately, I think by "beliefs" he's referring to Buddhist doctrine and dogma.

The attractiveness about Buddhism should be that it deals with real life, real people's lives, not dogma, not doctrine, not what someone else says or dictates. Buddhism gives suggestions towards some truth but requires personal verification. Buddhist doctrine says something, but demands people to find the truth in the doctrine for themselves.

If someone doesn't find it, then Buddhist doctrine is not offended. If someone doesn't find it, then Buddhist doctrine was not for them. Anyone who insists that Buddhist doctrine is some monolithic dogma that anyone can find if they really look at it from some (usually their) perspective is no better than the born-again Christian I met in law school who beseeched me to be more open-minded and see things her way.

VI.
He writes: It is useless to profess a philosophy that is counter to your own behavior and thoughts.

I'm really trying to take his comment seriously, but it is difficult because I can't stop laughing. As the level of his discourse degenerates, I have trouble maintaining mine. But I try.

I'm guessing that the philosophy he refers to is Buddhist dogma and doctrine that is monolithic and separate from the lives it purports to guide. I don't profess such a philosophy. I think it's useless to have a philosophy that is separate from one's own behavior and thoughts. A philosophy is one's own behavior and thoughts. If one's philosophy is counter to one's own behavior and thoughts, you're an idiot. And I am an idiot because I haven't killed myself yet.

He writes: There is nothing to be so despondent about.

I'm not sure where he got that I'm despondent about anything. My only guess is that he hasn't read enough and just assumed it. Ass U Me. D.

Pick yourself up and get over this ego-based negativity.

Ego-based negativity . . . okay, there's something there, but it has nothing to do with what he knows, just what he's assumed. As for picking myself up and getting over it . . . *stifling laughter* Aw shit, I just spit all over my computer screen. Degenerating.

He writes: Think positively in a progressive manner (not that lipservice that many do about being positive).

That's good, absolutely right; not sure he's got it, though.

Take positive action. Use affirmations. Participate in selfless acts for community or strangers.

All good. Good advice. If he really thinks it would change anything in my case, well, that's just ignorant. It ain't cool to be an ignorant Buddhist, yo.

Evolve your philosophy.

OK, no problem, anyone's philosophy should evolve; good generic advice. I'd like to see it on a t-shirt.

Find the heart of compassion that leads to true individuality, that in itself releases you from bondage that pulls you down.

Oh shit, I really can't stop laughing at this one. He speaks of leading to true individuality when all I read from him is mainstream dogma and doctrine, not individuality. Listening to this guy would be the bondage that pulls me down. Mm, bondage...

Have an experience of oneness (through deep meditation, but maybe you might need entheogens like salvia divinorum to kick start it at some level).

Um, OK. I just ordered some salvia divinorum entheogens from Amazon.com. Oneness should be here in a few days. Continuing degeneration.

That oneness is always there. Enlightenment is right here, right now.

Yes, the oneness is always there. Enlightenment is right here, right now. Tell me more, enlightened one.

Alright, that's it, I have to stop. The comment degenerates into preachy drivel that would open the floodgates of snark and sarcasm, and there's nothing to offer in snark and sarcasm. Except maybe entertainment and I'm not trying to entertain.

I guess in conclusion, I'm going to have to go on the offensive.

This person is a poor authority on Buddhism and I feel sorry for anyone he tries to touch with Buddhism and believes what he's saying. He's a hypocrite and would do himself a favor to reflect more deeply on the dogma he's expounding and throw it away. He expounds without offering any real insight. He needs to get to the point where he's suicidal. If he gets to that point and still expounds the same things, people will see his truth and sincerity. All I get is arrogant self-righteousness.

I'm sure he disagrees 100% with me (and my descent into sarcasm) and is likewise horrified and offended by my liberalistic view. And the wonderful thing is that's Buddhism.

Englewood Cliffs, NJ

I've just been confounded as to what to make of this trip to New Jersey. It was completely unplanned and I even had to rush add pages to my passport days before my flight. I don't think it was even two weeks since it was suggested I return for a visit and the actual flight. As such, I didn't put the time I spent here to any good use. I managed the trip to Philly, but I didn't get into New York once, and I never seriously considered going up to Blue Cliff Monastery for a visit. This was more or less an extension of the useless way I've been squandering my time in Taiwan.

And I think I'm going to declare this trip a total wash. It was useless. I was useless. I have no relationship with my parents. There's no connection and it's basically just some twisted form of obligation. In Taiwan, sometimes I visit Kaohsiung and one of my cousins there has little to no contact with his father. He doesn't sit with them for meals, he takes what he wants, doesn't contribute if he doesn't want to, and that's fine because it's family and he's the child.

That's in contrast to my feeling that effort should always be made to have a connection, talk as much as possible, have a real feeling as family. But being with my parents here, I'm feeling I got it wrong, and my cousin got it right. They don't need to feel any connection, they don't need to sit down at meals and chat. They're satisfied just to provide the basics and that's it.

I gave up encouraging my father to write down his life stories, concluding that he probably doesn't have anything worth being remembered. Well, no. The worth he has to contribute is not worth pushing him to act when he doesn't want to and only puts up resistance. And I'll say this as dispassionately as I possibly can: I have no love for them. I despise them. Deep down. It's not even an emotion anymore. It's fact, it's family history. Intellectually I can justify and tolerate them, but it's just responsibility. Behaviorally, for most part we get along just fine.

For their part, I don't think they feel much different. They just don't blog or even think about it. They have their own cultural bias and perspective, and I say this as dispassionately as I can, but their feelings toward me may be some equivalent of despising. Contempt maybe. They don't understand me, they don't respect me. They are confounded at how they perceive me. They are confounded at what a disappointment I am.

As little legacy they will leave and will likely be forgotten in a generation or two, I think if I disappeared or if it came out that I committed suicide, I think they would actively try to erase any physical remnants or memories of my having been here. They'll make sure I don't leave anything for anyone, not because they don't want me to leave anything for anyone, but it's just their mindset to just get rid of all my stuff since it's useless and has no worth to them.

That's what I think. Or maybe that's just the feeling I'm getting out of this visit. I just know I don't feel good about this visit, and it may take me a while to figure out how it fits in with what I'm doing or not doing in Taiwan, and what it means for any future decision. And I am part dreading returning to Taiwan and falling into that same useless, worthless routine that I've been in for the last year plus.