I sometimes pencil in alterations to books I read when I come across something not to my liking. I came across this story in a Buddhist book that I had previously made an alteration to because I didn't like how it ended: 

Saraha was in retreat with his wife, a young woman of awakened insight. At one point, he asked her to make a radish curry. While she was preparing it, he went into an extended samadhi. The radish curry went bad, and his wife threw it out and waited. Saraha remained in samadhi for twelve years. When he finally emerged, he asked his wife, "Where is my radish curry?" She replied, "For twelve years you did not rise from your samadhi. Where did you think it would be? The spring has long since passed, and radishes are no longer in season." 

Saraha retorted, "Fine! Then I will go into the mountains to meditate!" His wife countered, "Mere isolation of the body is not true solitude. Removing oneself from mental concepts and judgments is the highest solitude that one can attain. Although you dwelled in samadhi for twelve years, you have obviously not been able to separate yourself from the mental concept and judgment of 'radish curry.' Since that is the case, what possible benefit could there possibly be in going into the mountains?" 

Upon receiving this instruction from his wife, we are told, Saraha abandoned concepts and judgments and put into practice the primordial nature. In so doing, he attained the supreme siddhi of mahamudra and was able to make himself the most useful to sentient beings delicious radish curry. 

I tell myself these are ancient stories, lore of great value and teaching and I can't just go change them for my own liking. But as humble I try to lower myself, I like my ending better. on multiple levels.

WordsCharactersReading time

WordsCharactersReading time

I found I can "hijack" hot water for a bit from my neighbor. My room shares a wall with my neighbor's bathroom, so I can hear when water is running in his bathroom. By total coincidence, once when I was washing my hands I suddenly was miraculously getting warm and then hot water! My stars, I was shocked! I didn't know what to make of it or what to do, but when I exited my bathroom I could hear my neighbor's shower running through the wall on the opposite side of the room and started putting it together. Several times thereafter if I heard his shower running, I would go check whether I could get hot water and it worked every time. I began formulating what I could do to exploit this situation.

The hot water doesn't last long enough for a full shower and he takes showers several hours earlier than I do, but just touching, feeling, caressing, . . . light petting the hot water was doing wonders for my psyche. I've therefore decided to bifurcate my showers and rearranged my routine so that during the window of time I expect him to be taking showers, I don't have ear buds jammed in my ears and when I hear his shower running, I go and wash my hair and face with glorious hot water! Only my head gets wet and it takes just a few minutes.

Several hours later when I usually take my showers, I finish off the job under cold water which I can do very quickly. I'm probably under cold water for less than 2 or 3 minutes; head stays dry. I still have the "AUUUGGGHHH!!!!" mentality of jumping into a cold river at first, but I've also started working on transforming any negative, virulent energy into something like loving-kindness. It sucks, it's cold, it's miserable, but instead of reacting negatively emotionally I try focusing on a positive attitude. 

At first I tried focusing the energy as loving-kindness to all humanity as teachings encourage, but I'm not the Dalai Lama and have you seen the news lately? Loving-kindness to all humanity in a sincere manner is honestly just not in my capacity of courage. So then I tried something easier like my cousin Audrey who has been all but useless lately and has made it clear we have no relationship . . . yup, aiming it at her still works. And then my mother who occasionally sends photos with my brother's family in mass emails that I never respond to, but despite being the only person making any kind of contact is the last person I want anything to do with . . . yes, she actually qualifies! Sounds like strange psychology going on but I'm not sure this is psychology as much as dharma, or even karma. It occurred to me and it worked/happened without resistance or disgust. Strange things happen when stripped down to desperation or personally challenging extremes.

I don't know how my neighbor is affected nor if he's getting seriously pissed off nightly when his hot water drops off in the shower. I know nothing about plumbing, but from my experience living here two showers competing for hot water at the same time means everyone's quality and expectations are compromised. Yes, I feel like an asshole knowing my actions are possibly causing him anger, but . . . dude, it's hot water. 

What I don't know is how he'll react as this situation continues. I'd be surprised if he just tolerates it – he's paying rent which implicitly includes hot water and if he's losing hot water during showers, that's a problem. I don't know how he'd be able to figure out I'm the culprit. He might complain to the landlord but I don't know how they'd be able to pinpoint me as the source of his problem. Just testing his water without me running mine and there's no problem. But then they might guess that someone else must be running water at the same time every night and end up knocking on my door and directly asking me, which is a horrifying thought. I don't know how that conversation would go unless my neighbor speaks English, although it might be an opportunity for me to tell someone I have no hot water at all. If they fix that, I stop interfering with his showers and he's happy and I go back to taking hot showers after midnight and I'm happy. 

But that's just wishful thinking. I just have a feeling my hot water-siphoning won't be maintained for the rest of winter and he'll do something to stymie it. And I'll still have no hot water. Why do I think that way? Am I being unreasonably negative? Go ask the universe.

A year ago I expected hot water. Last winter I demanded hot water. I can't recall ever living in a place that didn't have hot water. I'm a product of the first world and hot water is a hooman and hoowoman right!

I did start to have troubles with hot water last winter and given the above statement, it was perfectly reasonable to run the tap until I got hot water. I demanded hot water. Until last winter, hot water was completely reliable and I'd get it after running the water for just a bit. 

Last winter, for the first time ever there were more than a handful of instances when hot water wasn't forthcoming. It was a new experience, it was perplexing, and my solution was to run the tap until hot water came through, which it always eventually did. Sometimes it took 10 minutes, sometimes 20, once it took nearly an hour that I was wasting perfectly good fresh water down the drain waiting for hot water to come through! There was frustration and anxiety involved, and since I shower closer to lights out than not, it disrupted when I went to sleep. Even though it happened only a few times, every day there was doubt whether I'd get hot water reliably soon or I'd have to run the water for extended periods while going back to my computer and futz around, checking the water status every 5 or 10 minutes. 

As summer faded this year and temperatures started cooling, I just had a feeling remembering last winter, a premonition perhaps, that there would be no hot water when I asked the tap for it. Maybe not a premonition but just the product of my negative mind and pessimism. Whatever, the fact is that my fears have come to pass and I have no hot water. However, I was able to brace for it and change my attitude and assume and accept that I no longer have hot water. 

Going into winter, cold showers are now the expected norm. Granted, Taipei is subtropical and winters are on par with San Francisco, but even in SF I took hot showers in the winter (and summer). It's not like snow-bearing regions like New Jersey, Ohio, Seoul or Tokyo where I suppose cold showers in the winter would range in the realm of howling holy shit 'unbearable'. 

Currently I think of showers as "jump in the river" experiences. You jump in the river and it's shockingly cold, but then you just have to deal with it and endure it. Every night. Or I can recall and emulate the legendary Japanese swordsman Miyamoto Musashi who supposedly stood under freezing cold waterfalls to steel his discipline. Probably not every night. 

Or I can visualize plunging into cold, ocean surf.

Another way of looking at it is from a mindfulness practice perspective. Living life we habituate ourselves for most part to gravitate towards comfort and avoid unpleasantness as much as we can. Yet according to the Tibetan Book of the Dead that attitude may help keep people in the cycle of death and rebirth. In particular during the second death bardo, the bardo of "reality", it is said we are faced with bright, bedazzling, blinding apparitions of colored lights so intense as to be fairly characterized as terrifying, but if we recognize them as the nature of our own minds, that can lead to enlightenment (whatever that means). However if we fear the lights and flee from them (downwards) towards comforting dull lights, we are running towards another rebirth in this world of suffering where we have to go through birth, disease, old age and death anew. The dull lights represent various levels of lives we can live, according to our karma. Going for the comforting dull lights is the natural, habitual tendency of the vast majority who have not been introduced to or trained in the bardo death practices.

I find that certainly applicable. My entire life now is all about maintaining a dull comfort and an uneasy, ultimately untenable, stability. The day-to-day conveyor belt is about comfort. Staying close to my bathroom because of gastro issues is about comfort. Recovering from whatever minor disruptions to my daily routine is just about comfort. This is all fine as I consider my life already over. There's nothing I need to do in life, nothing I want to do, so this is my personal version of palliative care as I wait to die. 

No hot water and cold water showers is not in my control. Apparently I'm the only one affected as no one else has called the landlord to complain about it. Unless . . . they're all like me? If they're all like me, who am I to complain? But as long as it's not in my control and is not a wrist-slicing disturbance, apply it as practice. Cold water showers is looking at and facing the blinding bright colored lights and not wanting hot water, which is the dull comforting lights leading back to rebirth. 

On the other hand, it might get old real fast as temperatures continue to decline. And I have to be honest with myself, cold water showers in cold weather suck. However I choose to cope with them, they're annoying, frustrating and remind me of the big joke that is my life (Really? The Universe can't send me cancer or liver failure and instead turns off my hot water? The Universe is #worstlandlordever). 

It's still unknown whether this will be a moderate winter or particularly cold; either which is possible. If the unpleasantness ranges into first world unbearableness, I might have to resort to setting up my space heater to point into the bathroom during showers. I don't know if that'll work, but at least the air will be warmed after shivering under the cold water is over.

I was in a grocery store walking down an aisle when I saw a baby shoe on the floor. A parent must have come into the store with an infant child and at some point the baby lost its satin shoe. I didn't know how long the shoe had been there, as far as I knew the parent was long gone. I wasn't about to go out of my way for something that could be nothing. 

But it was a small-medium sized grocery store, not a mega-mart or even a U.S.-size grocery store. I figured it wouldn't be going out of my way to do a scan of the aisles to look for any candidates for babies who may have lost a shoe. I noted what number aisle it was and went to the front of the store where the cashiers were and planned to walk the breadth of the store looking down the aisles to see if there were any parents with a small child.

But just as I got to the front of the store, I spotted a mother with a stroller who had already gone through the cashier and was heading out but was rummaging through the stroller looking for something. A quick glance at the baby's foot confirmed this was the baby with a missing shoe and the mother was looking for it. I got her attention somehow, mind you I was listening to music and was wearing a mask and a baseball cap so I hope I didn't look scary or crazy, and indicated for her to wait and quick-stepped down the aisle where the shoe was, retrieved it and handed it off to her and disappeared back to my browsing as quick as possible. 

I don't doubt for a second she was grateful, but didn't need to feel any personal gratitude from her. I wasn't doing her a favor, I wasn't doing any good deed. The way I saw it was here was this mother with a mystery, an unknown. It could have been my cousin at one point, it could've been my sister-in-law. Where is the shoe? The baby has one shoe, but it had another shoe, where was it? I on another hand knew the answer to the mystery. I knew where the shoe was, I had just seen it. She could backtrack her way through the store and eventually find it if it was important enough or just chalk it up as a loss (from my experience it's important enough), but I knew exactly where it was. All I did was put a mystery together with the solution in the most efficient way possible. I just shared information.

In what for me would be an ideal scenario is that she would've gone home and later that evening told her husband or other family member or friend what a great country we live in. Where people look out for each other and do selfless, considerate things out of nowhere. I don't want to gloss Taiwan over, we have our share of shit-fuck assholes and lord knows I've probably been one or felt like one or perceived as one at times, but I do know what I did wasn't an isolated incident. There is a lot more civic-mindedness than not here, which I feel has been emphasized lately by the successful response to the CCP pandemic.

I had a big scare a few days ago that my laptop was about to die, but it turns out the malfunction was just a Windows 10 update forcing itself upon my laptop without consent. I thought updates were supposed to be benign, that they get remotely downloaded to your computer while it's on and you don't even notice until you shut down and you're informed of the update and it prepares to load it the next time you turn it on. It's not supposed to put your computer into what looks like critical condition with everything slowing down to pretty much non-functionality. I was afraid my laptop was having a stroke. 

At points when functionality seemed better I did shut it down and turned it back on and there was never any indication that it was an update. It was so bad that at one point I started emergency back-up of music folders thinking it was about to die. And then during one shut-down, it froze and I decided to do a hard shut-down, convinced that was it and the screen had flickered its last. 

I contemplated the grand scheme of things. I contemplated whether I'd be getting a new computer that day. Laptop or desktop? This laptop hasn't left my apartment in the three years that I've had it. Are monitors required with the purchase of a desktop? I use my flatscreen TV as my monitor so why would I get a monitor if I don't have to. Nah, this flatscreen is a bit dodgy, definitely get the largest monitor possible. Really? New computer? That's a month of living. I live on a thou a month; a third of that is rent, most of the rest is alcohol and food. If I don't extend my funds in June, then I'd have until September instead of October. So I'd be buying a computer to live to September. But then I'd probably extend my funds just because I bought a computer. This is not any consideration.

What am I thinking about new computer and months of living and extending funds? The computer's dead, let my computer days rest in peace. For me, that's it, I'm done, this is the looming I've been waiting for. Fill out the May bi-monthly gas meter form that has already been posted downstairs, wait till the end of the month and pay June's rent, and finally go with Plan A. But wait, if my computer's dead and I disappear, then I won't even be leaving a computer to be investigated regarding my fate.

It's a total conceit to think anyone would bother, but at least leave the option for that one in a thousand dozen chance that months later someone, probably a cousin, will be looking around my apartment after my disappearance has been established as fact (and mystery) and my belongings need to be disposed of, and a flash question in his mind whether there may be any clue on my computer about what happened. Quite honestly, get on my internet browser and this blog is not hard to find unless you don't know what the Brave browser icon or the Blogger icon is or looks like. Actually, knowing my life, it wouldn't matter whether I left a working computer or not. This is just me over-thinking things.

I pressed the power button one last time without any confidence to see what would happen, and a few minutes later the update screen came on. No, it wasn't a stroke, my laptop wasn't dying or in critical condition. Instead it had been violated. It had been taken over by the Windows 10 update and done doggy-style right in front of me. But now it was being updated. I swear there's a lesson or metaphor here somewhere, and I swear it's probably going over my head. Story of my life.

Why have people been randomly and meaninglessly contacting me lately? It has nothing to do with the CCP virus, I'm sure, and even less about concern, god forbid, since none has been expressed.

The first was my cousin Audrey who, last I heard, was living in Switzerland. I know nothing about what she's doing now and don't even remember the last time we had contact. Our back-and-forth via Facebook Messenger (which is not communication as far as I'm concerned, but just throwaway chat) was: 

I am back to Taiwan now

How was I to reply to that on a throwaway chat forum? "Good for you"? "Good to know"? "So? Why are you telling me?"? Note the absence, what she's not saying. She's not trying to get my interest, she's giving me no real information, she's not asking anything from me, she's not prompting anything, she's just throwing out a raw fact without any indication what she expects in response to that raw fact. If she used proper grammar "back in Taiwan", I could have just assumed she was just visiting, but "back to Taiwan", if that's what she meant, suggests something more permanent. My response couldn't be much more than her message, that would be rude:

Permanently? lol. 14-day quarantine?

Her: 14 days quarantine 

I gave her no more than she gave me, so perhaps it was appropriate for her to throw nothing back at me. At least we had a meeting of the minds. But she didn't even answer my first question. If she's moved back permanently, that's significant to me and I'd inquire further even if getting information from her would be like pulling teeth. If not, messaging me at all was pointless and she just put an exclamation mark on how unimportant we are to each other. It's possible she didn't understand it. Or as evidenced by her response to emails in the past, it's more likely she didn't even read it. Anyway, I decided to give her a little bit more to see if I could prise why she was contacting me:

Well good, most imported cases are coming from Europe, so just do it. If I had a car I'd visit, but no unnecessary travel these days. Epidemics spread when people move. 

Her response finalized this was a meaningless exchange and ended it right there and then:

Yes

Next was an email from a classmate in my first Mandarin class when I came to Taiwan in 2006. We've only had the sparsest of contacts over the years and have no idea about anything about each other. She sent to me and another classmate who still lives in Taipei: How are you both doing? 

What the hell is that? Is that how kids communicate these days? And she's not even a kid, she's a lawyer the last I heard. And what did she expect in response to an email out of nowhere basically saying: 'Tsup, dude?. In polite company, if I'm contacting someone from whom I haven't heard in a long while and wasn't really that close to in the first place (it was a three-month class and she left early to go to law school), you at least include a greeting (Hey guys,) and you ask some directed question to show your interest (how ya'll doin' with the corona virus), and you say something about yourself to give some context and also something to respond to (I just quit my job, I got married, I have cancer, I'm in *city/country*).

An appropriate response to her email I think would've been Could be better or wazzaaaap, like in the old Bud commercials. Actually 'Tsup, dude? would also have worked appropriately as a response. Instead I waited a few days to see if the other person responded and then deleted the email. That was just rude as far as I was concerned. Mind you, the other person on the email, a French guy, I haven't heard from in years, but if it struck my fancy I'd contact him to get a bite to eat, and likewise if he contacted me to meet up I'd respond accordingly. We've had much more substantive contact in the past and nothing has been lost.

The third person contacting me is pretty much as insubstantial but warranted a polite reply. We hung out for just a short time after meeting way back in 2010 before she moved abroad; it was fun, nothing bad happened, we exchanged music collections on hard drive (which I've mentioned has become a bit of a music listening nightmare, but that she even referenced as a prompt for her message, listening to Pearl Jam that I had given her). I never unfriended her on Facebook. We had a short exchange on Messenger but unlike the previous person it was a proper exchange. It was just random and unnecessary. But nice. And keeps her on the radar. I met her through the aforementioned French guy.

Finally, different from the others, my old Mandarin teacher emailed me. We saw each other just about a year ago when my sister-in-law's sister visited Taiwan in that disastrous meet-up. And of course I'll respond favorably to meeting up with her. There's nothing unusual or meaningless about her contacting me. Finally, someone normal. 

Actually in January, I think my old college friend Madoka tried to engage in an email exchange, perhaps trying to revive something of our old connection, but that failed. I tried to respond appropriately to keep it going, but I think there's just something about the way I communicate or what I communicate that kills it for other people. I have no problem taking all the blame for that.

And my sister-in-law sent an email during the Oscars because of the Korean thing (Parasite won best picture) and we shot a few emails back and forth until I think maybe she realized she's only "supposed" to send me two emails per year at six months intervals and me replying around the middle of those six months. That was the pattern I had observed from a few years back. The exchange we were having seemed like what normal email exchanges are like: an email is sent and if it's something interesting you want to respond to, you do. And that keeps going until it plays out. My sense about our exchange was that she realized she maxxed her quota of emailing me and stopped. I didn't think it was done and even started a draft with something that I thought would be interesting to her, but then that was all. I don't expect to hear from her until next year.

Mind you, I'm not complaining at all. I'm just describing my observations. It's sinking in that I'm really not all that likable in any respect, and I'm not trying to be likable or reaching out. My Mandarin teacher even wrote "If you don't mind hanging out with people", indicating that even to her my countenance expresses I don't want to hang out with people. That French guy probably feels the same. I would hang out with them, I just don't communicate that to them, so no fault to them.

WordsCharactersReading time

My water went off yesterday afternoon. Annoying and anxiety-inducing; I don't know when it'll come back on. I don't know if the landlord gave warning and I didn't get it because I don't have a phone. The last time it happened about 5 years ago, he knocked on my door and gave me an estimate for the outage so I was able to fill the bathtub beforehand for my water needs. I don't know if he didn't knock on my door this time because my cousin managed at some point to suggest to him that I "didn't want to be bothered", which is totally untrue and would be rude, and I told her to communicate to him that was not the case, but I don't know if she did that. Lots gets lost in translation in this family – and not just in language. 

And somehow, without going into any TMI detail, my gut knew about it and the accompanying inability to flush the toilet more than once, and the chronic issues with my digestive system over the past few years disappeared for the time being. It's a minor miracle maybe. 

So far, it's fair to consider it a minor disturbance and I tried to maintain my evening routine Saturday, but I did opt to not drink until way late. Maybe I didn't want to be distracted from the distraction of not having running water (and perhaps avoiding the need to pee more often). Not washing hands or brushing teeth are something I just had to endure, but not being able to take a shower triggered the neurotic in me. I won't crawl under the covers to sleep if I haven't showered. It's just not comfortable and I knew I wouldn't be able to fall asleep, so I knew I was going to sleep on top of the covers (which is no big deal since that's how I nap) and in that case why bother changing clothes to sleep? No different from crashing at someone's place when I was younger.

I did have trouble sleeping, which I anticipated and didn't set the timer on my CD player, but did slip into sleep at some point and had a pretty disturbing and harrowing dream. I was kidnapped and stabbed twice in the process. This is likely a reflection of my true anxiety about having no water; uncertainty and a hunkering down mentality. The kidnap situation lasted the whole dream through a variety of sundry scenarios including a blood-sport, fight club-ish free-for-all amongst the kidnappees. I mostly laid low and hoped not to be targeted while not expecting to survive. Towards the end of the dream there was rumor that lawyers were being sent for to deal with the situation and I thought, "Lawyers? What good are lawyers? That's even dangerous". At some point I established we were in Thailand as I (irrationally) wondered why kidnappings always happen in Thailand. But the lawyer arrived from England and came up the stairs asking about the "Yank", as in Yankee, as in me, and he took one look at me and continued to ask for the Yank. As he assumed I wasn't the droid American he was looking for, I waited for a few beats to let him hang in ignorance before I voiced up. 

Twenty five years ago that would've been racist. Nowadays it would be called "racist" but would also be stupid to call racist. I'm not gonna get into it, but from what I've witnessed in the progressive political scene from afar, the political left has really dropped the ball and gotten stupid, overreacting to every little thing and just putting people on the defensive instead of trying to educate and promote sensitivity. My dream British lawyer would've been racist before because it was institutionalized with negative assumptions and real effects. Today, the British lawyer should be recognized as having come from a certain background with his own experience that informs his subjective view of the world, and he may make assumptions and even mistakes, such as "American" equals "white" or Asian-looking equals "not American", but that doesn't necessarily make him racist now. Plurality needs to acknowledge that. Constantly putting people on the defensive for infractions they didn't even know of eventually leads to a backlash and them going on the offensive and that's pretty much where we are now; a cycle of brazen stupidity is complete with the true racists coming out the woodwork and proud of it.

And, yes, the lawyer in the dream was white and male. Would anyone imagine otherwise when I said "British lawyer"? Actually my true dream British lawyer would've been South Asian and female, but that's a different kind of dream (mm, that accent). He also had long hair and a ponytail, kinda like that Virgin Branson guy. This is all immaterial, mind you, I didn't need to bring it up but it was in the dream that he assumed I wasn't American and I noticed it. 

What I'm actually seriously curious or concerned about is why mindfulness practice doesn't come up when I'm dreaming? I noticed that afterwards. Is my practice not deep enough to have reached my subconscious? Are my reactions in dreams a more accurate reflection of the success of my practice? I kinda think so, maybe. In a dream, if I'm reacting to the dream situation like it was real, then that may indicate that in physical life I'm reacting to situations too much like they're real. The actual reaction should be appropriate, but in extreme and harrowing situations, I think a conscious acknowledgement of mindfulness practice should be present maybe. 

Things have been unsettled lately. Hairy, even. All internal, mental space. Externally little has changed, same as it ever was; sometimes the external acts up and is annoying or my body reminds me about aging, other times it's calm and behaves but it's a comfort that I know can only be temporary. It's the uncertainty and anxiety when the feeling arises that something has to happen, something has to change. I don't know if anything's going to change, despite the press that something is looming. The comfortable pattern has been that nothing changes, but the reality I'm well aware of is that's impossible to continue in perpetuity. These disturbances, I should note, are also a part of the repeating pattern, lulling me into thinking things'll be alright. And they will be alright. Until they're not.

The internal space has been characterized by turmoil, dynamic and surreal. I've been trying to deal with it by bringing everything back to practice; mindfulness practice as well as Vajrayana-inspired practices that I've developed from instinct, what resonates and makes sense to me. Part of the turmoil is that in the background is a doubt about it, what if it doesn't describe a reality of life and death? And it doesn't. Or at least that's totally the wrong question or approach. The only certainty is death itself. The only question is my attitude towards it and how I'm existing approaching it whenever and however it comes.

So many practices that without a teacher sanctioning them, I know I may be running risks. Or not. What risks? I imagine they would be risks on such a subtle level (karma or energy) I wouldn't even know about them. On a mundane, this-world level I'm not too concerned about risks. Those would be risks of harming myself or other people or psychological or spiritual damage. I'm not worried about those, the normative narratives that define those concerns just don't apply anymore. Take psychology, if I spoke with a psychiatrist, we wouldn't even be speaking the same language. I mean I'd find an English-speaking one in Taiwan, but the assumptions would all be completely different. I may say I'm suicidal, but there is no concept of harming myself anymore. The psychiatrist would write a prescription for antidepressants (which I've always thought would be convenient to overdose on). Harming other people is necessarily a this-world consideration, but I've done all I can to minimize that. Any harm I cause would be indirect and more about them than me, and I don't know who "them" are anyway. Who am I causing harm? Who's here?

Mandala practice, dakini practice, bardo practice. Practices that are not practices because they are not sanctioned and therefore considered risky. Considered risky by whom? Of course there's only me, but my doubts in calling them risky are also my fail-safe. Can't be arrogant or self-assured about them. Always leave room for just being plain wrong.

Apparently "bardo practice" is a real thing, and what I'm doing is not it, but very strangely when I read about the real thing, it reminded me of a "winter term" project I did way back in college. Despite all the reading I've done about Tibetan Buddhism and the so-called Tibetan Book of the Dead, I only came across a description of a "bardo retreat" in relatively recent years in a book by Reginald Ray called Secret of the Vajra World. It's described as a retreat that was done in confined cells or mountain caves of Tibet and considered very advanced and even "dangerous". It's done in complete darkness and effectively complete solitude over a number of weeks. The retreat is supposed to help get an experience of the after-death bardo states and the instructions received for the retreat is essentially the Tibetan Book of the Dead.

At Oberlin, we had a "winter term" which was the month of January between fall and spring semesters where students could do anything they wanted and get credit for it as long as they framed it in terms of a project and got a faculty member to sign off on it as academically valuable. As one faculty member described it, you could raise a cactus and get credit as long as you designed it as a project.

My idea for my first winter term started with "solitary confinement". Mind you, this is so way back far in my past I have no idea about the motivation behind it nor the psychology that certainly was at play. I'm just describing how I remember it. I lived in a dorm which had a wing of apartments that were intended for guest stays by short-term faculty. I discovered that one was vacant and asked if I could use it for a winter term project. The idea was to hole myself not just in the apartment, but in the bathroom, which had a bathtub, of the apartment for winter term. Ideally complete isolation, no lights, no books, no music, no external distractions. The curtains of the apartment would be drawn so light couldn't seep in. I arranged for a friend to bring me easy-to-prepare light meals three times a day, emphasis on the easy as I didn't want to be a burden, but mind you hermits and retreatants in mountain caves in Tibet often had benefactors or supporters with arrangements for supplies.

How to get a faculty member to sign off on it? Well, I was considering being an East Asian Studies major and had taken classes to that effect, and in one Japanese history class the concept of "wabi/sabi" was introduced. That concept was expounded upon much later in a "King of the Hill" episode, so I'm going to assume everyone knows about it without my explaining it. But I went to that professor, a most illustrious and revered Ronald DiCenzo (RIP), and proposed my winter term project as exploring the wabi/sabi concept as "Beauty in Isolation". He bought it, god bless his heart, and signed off on it. Some lucky cactus got a reprieve from being raised by my lack of green thumb.

Actual extant memories: I forget if the project was three weeks or four weeks, but I made it for most part until the last week. In that time I stayed in the bathroom, mostly lying in the bathtub with the lights off. I only opened the door to take in the plate of prepared vegetables and leave it out. It wasn't complete isolation as I could still tell day from night since it was impossible for the bathroom to be completely light-proof, and I could still feel and hear activity because this was still in a dorm on a college campus. In the last week, I ventured out into the apartment. That's all I remember. I spent time outside the bathroom in the last week. The only actual memory of the weeks inside the bathroom was singing through the entire double album of Genesis' "The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway", just because I could. I knew all the lyrics (but if I forgot any I had all the time in the world to recall them). And it was confirmed later by dorm residents telling me they could hear me warbling through the vents like a ghost (you can only imagine my embarrassment)! Was I going slightly mad in there? It's hard to argue otherwise.

Reading about the actual existence of a "bardo retreat" and relating it to that winter term project made me wonder where the hell did that idea come from? Could it be from past life resonances whereby I had undergone those bardo retreats? Another brick in the wall of evidence that reincarnation is a thing?

Back to present tension, what I'm calling "bardo practice" now has more to do with envisioning present life and reality as a bardo, equivalent in reality as the death bardos. The death bardos are described in the Tibetan Book of the Dead, and practicing living as if in a bardo state is treating it in the same way. In living reality, I'm being buffeted uncontrollably by the winds of reality like a bird in a gale. I seem to feel I'm in control of myself, that I make decisions of what to do at any given moment, but that's just illusion and delusion of being swept through the dire straits of the walk of living bardo. I'm actually in no more control of my fate, direction and destiny as I envision I would be as described in the death bardos.

In ways it's an extension of what I described before as my version of what I call "mandala practice". Both emerging more prominently in times of internal tumult and disturbance, working to melt away the habit of perceiving reality as concrete and actual. Even when we're able to accept and embrace the teachings of impermanence and the constantly changing nature of our lives, I think we still tend to treat that impermanent and constantly changing nature of our lives as reality, as actual. Somewhere along the line I got it in my head from the teachings that it all has to melt away, the experience of enlightenment is an experience of non-duality, no difference between this ego-conceived concept of me who is here and everything else sensed and perceived around me. It can't be striven for so I'm not striving for it, but I hope to work around the edges and challenging my perceived notions and concepts of reality. The easy targets are negativity and dysfunction and the effects of self-imposed isolation.

So yea, I've been slipping my 10+ year-old 8 megapixel (huge when I bought it) Canon point-and-shoot into a backpack pocket and taking pics when fancy strikes. I'm not doing anything by doing it. It might be something like a last hurrah, similar with music and playing bass along with K-pop tunes for ear-training less than 2 hours everyday for the past two years, revisiting it as something I "used to do" while letting go any idea of it as a part of any identity. It's just something familiar and not a function of ego and as soon as it's not fun, I'll stop.

I've also found myself perusing photography books in the libraries and bookstores. Not sure why, perhaps for inspiration for what I'm not doing, but also investigating what it was and why it once was something I did. I discovered several photographers that I'd never heard of, despite them being apparently famous. I'm also fascinated by the text and commentary accompanying these books as they look into the psychology and character traits of the photographers, suggested by their photographs. Stuff that I recognize in myself or not, stuff that I agree with or not, but agreement or not it's all out there and valid or not. Quite frustrating, actually.

I guess the bottom line for me is that it's just personal, like this blog, and not for anyone else. It's just what I'm finding out about myself. 

Ansel Adams writes in his autobiography: Photographers who frequently travel photograph with less than full knowledge of their subjects. I believe one must live in a region for a considerable time and absorb its character and spirit before the work can truly reflect the experience of the place. In my own case, hasty visits have usually resulted in inconsequential images; perhaps an occasional flash of insight, or a remembrance of an earlier place or time helped in visualizing a photograph. 

Me, I've lived in Taiwan for over 13 years and I haven't absorbed the character and spirit of this place. I lived in San Francisco 11 years and didn't absorb the character and spirit of the place. So what is he talking about? That was it for him, that was important to him. Me, not so much. I'm a permanent outsider and I shoot as an outsider, never absorbing the character and spirit of a place. I actually identify more as an exile.

Or not (Josef Koudelka became an exile from his native Czechoslovakia a few years after the Soviet invasion in 1968):

"I didn't want to have what people call a 'home.' I didn't want to have the desire to return somewhere, I needed to know that nothing was waiting for me anywhere, that the place I was supposed to be was where I was at the moment. I once met a great guy, a Yugoslavian gypsy. We became friends. One day he told me, 'Josef, you've traveled for so many years, never stopped; you've seen lots of people and countries, all sorts of places. Tell me which place is the best. Where would you like to stay?' I didn't say anything. Just as I was about to leave, he asked again. I didn't want to answer him, but he kept on insisting. Finally he said, 'You know, I've figured it out! You don't want to answer because you still haven't found the best place. You travel because you're still trying to find it.' 'My friend,' I replied, 'you've got it all wrong. I'm desperately trying not to find that place.'"

If I posit myself as an urban hermit, I pale to his example. I'm stuck in neurotic, useless routines and my "best place" is my apartment where I'm meaninglessly complacently doing nothing for nobody, and which becomes a prison or a deeply egoistic sanctuary. There's no hint that he'd read even a word of Buddhism or Zen or enlightenment, but he was kinda living that path. Of course I don't know what drove him, but for my purposes I wish I could be like that.

Garry Winogrand was similarly an enigma:

. . . preferring to spend another day shooting rather than processing his film or editing his pictures. No prints existed of many of the best photographs he made in his first decades, and he left behind over sixty-five hundred rolls of film from his later years that he had never processed, or that he processed but never proofed, and whose content he had therefore never seen . . . and though his negatives and proof sheets . . . were numbered, there was no indication where one year ended and another began or where in the world Winogrand was when he exposed any given roll of film. 

That leaves me aghast 😱, as I'm the complete opposite with all my proof sheets and files meticulously numbered and dated. Is that a reflection of ego? Was his M.O. a function of non-ego? Not necessarily, probably not, who knows? But he was a photographer who didn't seem particularly interested in the photo. Was it that he was more interested in the process rather than the result? Was it not even that but the energy of being on the city streets and the flow of humanity and snapping photos in some ineffable effort to capture or see things that are otherwise fleeting and unnoticed?

To be sure, I couldn't shoot like he did, getting in close and shooting without permission or respect even. I recently watched a YouTube video of a Hong Kong/Londoner (his accent sounds too British to be Hong Kong British English) named Kai who was shooting like that in Taiwan and it just seemed rude and disrespectful, often confirmed by the videoed subjects' alarmed reactions. I'm not criticizing it, and the photos themselves were quite good. They did what they did to get their shots, I'm just unwilling to go there and would therefore never get those kinds of shots. 

Back to Winogrand, Ansel Adams, an early advocate (and perhaps paragon) of photography as fine art, would never entrust someone else to print his negatives without meticulous instruction on how he wanted it. That's another school of thought, where the artist's vision is emphasized. There's no art in shooting and then leaving printing or editing, which to Adams is interpretation, to someone else. There's also nothing wrong with that, either. Frustrating, see.

I found a Pablo Ortiz Monasterio monograph in the library that I think is a limited edition. It was printed on a specially selected Japanese paper that Ansel Adams would've appreciated. Adams was also concerned about reproductions of his work and that they reflected the quality of his original prints as much as possible.

Needless to say, all of these monographs are incredible and thought-provoking. There is a ridiculously broad range of even just street photography that is legitimate and valid, despite conflicts and contradictions and arguments for or against whatever. Like for me, context is important. Photography involves a mix of abstraction and reality. The image is actually quite abstract, which is why I always flipped black & white images unless there were words prominent that would call attention to that fact. There's the confinement of the frame, there's the loss of the depth dimension, there's the loss of color, and flipping the image was one more degree of abstracting the image; another way of saying what I saw didn't look like this at all. Context emphasizes the reality; this happened at an identifiable location, facing a certain direction with elements that were observable in the real world. Others may hate that and want to just appreciate the image on its own if it's worth it. It's like songwriters who never say what a song is about because once they do, that meaning is frozen and no one else can interpret it and give it meaning for themselves. Fair 'nuff, but out of all the descriptions, analyses and critiques of photos and photography, ain't nothin' gonna stop people shooting the way they do.

I'm under the description of photographers who try to be anonymous and discrete. Composition is important, but sometimes varying degrees of speed and spontaneity are necessary. If people are in the shot, their attention is not drawn to that fact. I'm not aggressive and in-your-face like Winogrand or that Hong Kong Kai guy. No doubt mine is a very common, pedestrian approach.

After all I've boasted and bragged (not really) about never going to the doctor, I'm planning on going this evening. Excruciating abdominal pain didn't do it. The possibility of glaucoma and future blindness didn't do it. A plethora of niggling seemingly-health-related-oddities-that-make-me-wonder-what-the-hell-is-going-on didn't do it. Nevertheless, it should come as no surprise that what's doing it are symptoms suggesting possible "pulsatile tinnitus", according to a cursory DuckDuckGo search (trying to avoid using China-friendly, "evil is swell", internet-monopolistic Google). 

Something's messed up in my right ear and I can hear my pulse, accompanied by tinnitus which I chronically get having supposedly been a rock musician, as well as occasional pain and hearing loss, which I don't chronically get. It was something I expected to go away, but after a few days it persists and although some websites say it should go away in a few weeks, others warn not to ignore it and get a real diagnosis. In this case, I'm gonna err on the side of caution and not wait "a few weeks" for it to sort itself out before getting it checked out.

Deciding to plan to go see a doctor is no minor source of anxiety, mind you; the least of which is just the idea of seeing a doctor. If something seems serious enough to see a doctor, I'm good with that; it's just something I have to do. Anything seemingly less serious, I just wouldn't even go. The anxiety is more about navigating the national health insurance system which I've never done before on my own, and dealing with the language issue in case the office or the doctors themselves don't speak English. Now, most Taiwanese doctors have some facility in English, it's just part of higher education. I think all hospitals in Taipei can accommodate English to some degree.

But I'm not going to a hospital. Much of Taiwan's national health insurance also supports specialized local clinics; step-in places for spot treatment, I think. These clinics can be found on every business street in Taipei, easily spotted by a distinct national health insurance logo, and knowledge of written Chinese will tell what the specialty is. In my case, I can recognize characters for nose-ear-throat (鼻-耳-喉) and I'll go to one of those I've located in my neighborhood which doesn't open until 6:30 p.m. on Sundays. I'm just a little less confident about English-ability in these neighborhood clinics, but I may be able to get by with my cursory Mandarin if no one speaks English *anxiety, anxiety, anxiety*. Also in these situations, there's a distinct possibility there will be an English-speaking good Samaritan who will step in to help translate. That's actually not uncommon in Taiwan; I've observed people will help people in seeming need. 

I'll probably have to fill out forms, so along with my national health card, Taiwan ID and (expired) passport for good measure, I'll also take along my written address if I have to provide that in Chinese *anxiety, anxiety, anxiety*. I've re-memorized my old 2G phone number in case I have to provide a phone number. It doesn't work, but it's easier to give a defunct number than trying to explain that I don't have a phone, which nowadays is akin to having to explain how I'm breathing or that I'm here at all. 

Now, me being me, I have to blow this up to the wider issue of 'what if my hearing is going?'. Is hearing loss an end-game? Indications of oncoming blindness is probably end-game. If I went completely blind, suicide is no longer an option so I would need to do it while I can. Cancer I've already entertained is end-game. Other non-health-related circumstances that would force me into situations that I can't imagine adjusting to (like having to move) might possibly be end-game. 

Hearing loss? All other circumstances that I identify as end-game involve other people and my relationship with the world. Hearing loss is just me and doesn't effect anyone else. But as listening to music is among my last few enjoyments of being alive, hearing loss would reduce quality of living to under, let's say, 10%.

Still, if it doesn't effect anything else but me, it isn't the endgame of an untenable circumstance that I have no control of, but rather becomes part of mindfulness practice of not being attached and letting go. Being able to listen and enjoy music is very important, but that's what makes it an attachment. Being forced to give it up is a mindfulness challenge to that attachment. Mindfulness practice is more important than enjoying music. If the two can co-exist, there's no problem. But if they conflict, mindfulness practice prevails, even if it means a further step towards my ultimate goal of suicide, which is something I both want and am resistant to. 

I've continued to listen to music per habit these past few days. Sometimes the tinnitus is unnoticeable with earbuds and sometimes it's noticeable (can't hear the right channel). I've turned down the volume to prevent further damage and discomfort of high volumes (not that I blast music in earbuds anyway). But if forced to realize that continuing listening to music here on in would mean degraded quality, I think I'd consider it not worth it and giving up that enjoyment and adjusting. It might just be a great relief. If it's in furtherance of a next suicide attempt, then praise the lord it be so. To be clear, it's not an excuse or reason for suicide. It's just removing a lame excuse and strong attachment to keep living.

I did a little thought experiment with that cancer blog I read and went back to the beginning of his experience to see how far I would've made it if I found myself in a parallel situation. I swear I'm not obsessed with his blog or anything, but there is a lot to think about and mull over theoretically about living and dying from what he presents.

He first noticed something wrong with his guts during a road trip in the latter part of May 2014, initially thinking it was a bad omelette while driving out to Chicago. He endured symptoms over the course of the road trip with his brother taking Route 66 (and copious amounts of over-the-counter stomach medicine) from Chicago to Santa Monica, and by the end of May he was back in Seattle. I imagine I would've done exactly the same. If it was physically possible for me to keep pushing on, I think I would have in silent complaint. 

The next milestone was stabbing abdominal pains on June 9 that kept him up all night wondering whether he should go to the ER. By morning he quickly realized going to work was not going to happen and he went to the ER that was three blocks away from his condo in Capitol Hill. He calls it Group Health, but from Google maps (no I'm not obsessing), I think he's referring to the Kaiser Permanente, a west coast health care behemoth with which I'm unfortunately familiar. 

Could I even get to the ER? I was once in a similar situation a bunch of years ago (whoa, dude! That was coincidentally also in September! I didn't look for the post to get the link, but just came across it in the course of things. I call it 911 in that post for familiarity, but here, and most of Asia, it's 119). Five or six hours of excruciating, stabbing abdominal pains that had me laid out gripping my mattress, sweating with the air conditioning on, making frequent trips to the bathroom whenever that seemed to be an option for some relief from the pain. I had my backpack prepared as a go-bag with things I thought I'd need if it got so bad that I felt it was absolutely necessary to make a dash out into the rain and hail a cab for the nearest hospital. But it abated after five or six hours and never came to that. I never told anyone about it, but my best guess is that it was kidney stones which I hear are very painful but no permanent damage after they pass.

I don't know what my breaking point is to go to the ER when enduring that kind of pain, but it's safe to say more than five or six hours. But what if the pain continued and didn't look like it was going to let up? I'm going to assume for this experiment that I make it to the ER, but because I'm me I have to consider the possibility that I wouldn't get to the ER. Faced with needing to do something, no longer being able to endure enduring the pain at home, I might just make my way to the river about a half mile away (possibly less than three Seattle blocks), and I have no idea how that scenario continues. Collapse and die? Collapse and fall into the river and drown? Collapse and someone notices and calls 119? 

But I get to the ER because he did. He had health insurance and I don't, but Taiwan has national health. I don't know how that works nor where I fit into it, but let's say, like him, I don't have to worry about that (my national health card would've been thrown into the go-bag). A CT scan is required. He had a problem lying down for any period of time because of back problems, but I don't. The scan results pointed to needing a colonoscopy and he had to be sent to another hospital for that as an in-patient, but he couldn't just head over there himself. He needed to call someone to go with him. He had to go through his metaphorical rolodex and his younger sister was finally able to accommodate. 

Me?: "Is there anyone you can call?" No. No family? No. Friends? No. No friends? I don't even have a phone. I don't have anyone's phone number, much less anyone with a car. I can't even call my landlord. Imagine if that was where it all ends, lol! But as far as this thought experiment goes, it just may as well be. If in that parallel situation, I suppose they would arrange an ambulance or (more likely) a taxi to transport me (or they might have the facilities to do the colonoscopy), but once the reality of the colonoscopy* became manifest along with the discovery of the mass and the surgery required to cut it out, I would go along only as far they rolled me along that path telling me what needed to happen, and only as long as they actually instigated it. As soon as I could make an escape, out of their sight and their control, it would be endgame for me. If at any point I could say, "I need to go home and think about it" and they let me, that would be it and I'd be gone. If they said, "No, we can't let you go under these conditions", then I'd play along until I could get away. I'm a very patient patient.

* They literally, not metaphorically, shove a camera up your asshole after 24 hours of cleaning out all the shit, literally, with the medical metaphor of Drano and look for anything that doesn't belong there.

Needless to say, there would be no chemo for me. Once a terminal diagnosis is made, I wouldn't do anything to further treatment. I don't know if I would even tell anyone, but stranger things have happened and I just don't know myself well enough to guess what I would do (that's a totally separate (and futile) thought experiment). My hope would be just to have enough time to metaphorically clear my browser history (as well as literally clear my browser history since that seems to be what people do, not sure why), finish up any loose ends and proceed with plan A, involving dying without dignity. 

I've been reading through John's "WTF? I've got cancer?" Blog I found by someone with terminal cancer. *spoiler alert* . . . It doesn't end well. At least that's what I'm assuming considering the title of his final post. I haven't read the later posts so I don't yet know how exactly it all ends, because once I read the premise of the blog and then seeing it was quite finite, I decided to go straight to the beginning and read through it chronologically as it chronicles his discovery of the cancer in spring 2014 and goes until his final post in September 2016. 

The reason for reading the whole thing is to see how this one person experiences death impending. In that regard, I'm just a poseur so this gives me a chance to compare and reflect on whether I'm really on that path and realization. I think it's fair to say I keep death and related concepts (dying, dead, mortality, finality, tie-dyeing, existence) front and center of my being, but I don't know if I've really been tested viscerally. Actually, to think about it, that's among the stupidest things I've ever said about myself, but forcing myself to doubt myself is a way of keeping grounded. I'm decidedly not dying of cancer, nor anything like a train arriving at its terminal.

Reading the blog, I remind myself to have sympathy and not lose sight of what he was dealing with, which is not hard to do. But I also have to make an effort to read it just as it is for what it is, and not treat it as an ordinary piece of writing, i.e., not reading it critically or analytically and what it's not or what I want it to be. There are things I couldn't help. I try to suppress my editor habit triggered by the typos, the travelogue portions leave much to be desired, the handyman mundanities are among the curious things he focuses on while undergoing treatment. Nothing egregious.

But I wonder why I attach to this person's blog. There might be plenty of cancer blogs that are well-written and philosophical and that generate genuine sympathy. This person . . . oh. Is a lot like me? Or from what he writes, I interpret him being a lot like me, even if he wasn't. There are aspects about him that I recognize might be similar to aspects of how I am. How's that? 

At one point he said that no one would describe him as "kind". Who describes themselves like that? In my most self-deprecating moments, I think I would be insulting people in my past if I stated none of them would describe me as kind. But that's how he feels or sees himself. And no one in my present tense could describe me as kind, because there isn't anyone here to describe me. Solitary as I am, I don't feel like a kind or generous person. He describes himself as socially avoidant and a loner. He's a divorcé. He adopts a cat that takes almost 4 months to get used to him (animals and babies don't lie in judging character). I don't know what to make of the paucity of comments (maybe meaningful responses happen directly). There's indication he's probably Republican.

Basically the feeling I'm reading – and may easily be completely wrong – is that he's not the most popular or likable person in his social circles? And looking around me, neither am I, and I'm not even Republican. I'm not judging him, I'm just wondering why his blog, with all the problems I have with it, is the one I find worth reading. Maybe if his blog was life-affirming in the face of impending death and deep and profound and touching and sensitive and had trended and had hundreds of thousands of followers and Oprah's attention and comments sections packed with strangers offering support and advice and services and ice cream, I just wouldn't have been interested. That's just me. I'm reading this person's blog. I think maybe we're similarly porcupine-ish with odd quirks and perspectives that other people don't quite get and would prevent trending or Oprah. How's that? And it's not even whether or not he's likable or popular, since how he is socially may basically be his choice.

I'm still reading through the blog, but I am within his last year. I don't know whether it will get impassioned or dramatic towards the end nor whether there will be insights or breakthroughs or crying. I will say that his writing does improve (as do his travelogues) over the course of the blog from being fairly straight-forward utilitarian to becoming even funny and witty (in a grim, dark, morbid way); perhaps a by-product of recognizing his peeps are reading and don't want to be bored to death (misery doesn't necessarily love company when you're dying of cancer?). 

Actually, my iTunes collection broke the 20,000 files mark recently. Last month let's say. I've mentioned benchmarks I've broken in the past and thought about mentioning 20,000 when it happened, but it's actually a bit of a conundrum I'm a bit conflicted about. Who am I kidding? It's a total mess. 

You can never have too much music, I recently heard someone quip.

I disagree, you can. I do and I can describe what it means to have too much music. It becomes a total mess. It's such a mess I don't think I can describe how it all happened in any sane, rational-sounding way. Basically I'm a serial music chaser and hoarder, and it's pretty much gotten out of hand. The main basic problem is that there is a ton of music in my collection that I deem excellent – music that comes up on shuffle play and I don't have any thought of removing it – but I don't really "know" it.

It partly hearkens back to the regrettable hard-drive dumps circa. 2009-10. I think my brother had given me a 500 GB external hard-drive, and the brilliant but misguided idea dawned on me to hook it up to various music-loving friends' (I had friends?) computers and let them transfer whatever they deemed worthy onto it. I got a lot of music that way, and, mind you, everything got reviewed before I put it in my collection, plenty of what they gave didn't make it. And a considerable amount eventually got taken off despite my initial approval.

And I'm not even going to talk about Limewire* and K-pop, except to say without K-pop, those hard-drive dumps may have been manageable. K-pop probably makes Limewire look like a drop in the lake. Let's just say that since breaking 20,000 files recently, it's already up to 20,117. No more than a handful of files are added every three days in my very geeky system of listening and adding, but it's a constant drip-drip that has been going on for years.

Years of constant process has led to this collection of over 20,000 files, most of which I think deserves to be there, but quite a lot which I don't really "know". I think it's good, I like listening to it, but I don't know a whole lot about them. How many albums does that band have? Name some. Name one. Name some of their songs. Name one! Band members' names? My answers would be woefully deficient. Do I consider myself a fan? Using the criteria of bands I'm very much a fan of, I'd have to say no.

Then what the hell are they doing in my collection? Would I even notice if they were removed? Why don't I get rid of them? It doesn't work that way. Easier said than done. He hit me first. And I am constantly vigilant for files to remove. I have two folders named "Removed from iTunes" and "Removed without prejudice" (I'm a hoarder, I rarely delete files permanently). The "without prejudice" is a borrowed legal expression and that folder is for music I removed for whatever reason I felt at the time, but it wasn't because it's bad (and could theoretically be reinstated because it was removed without prejudice). The criteria for removing files is ever-shifting and is usually done spontaneously.

I think I just hit the geek-overload point in this post which demands that I cease and desist. It's such an over-bloated, neurotic mess that would cover topics such as my hoarding history, my listening habits/procedure, the growth of K-pop over the past 10 years, the "great unlistened wasteland" in my iTunes collection, etc., etc. It isn't pretty.

Needless to say, none of this is any big deal. It really doesn't occupy a whole lot of mental space, and despite trying to come up with strategies and criteria to trim down cull swaths of my collection, it's more of a background mosquito consideration. In the meantime I'm enjoying the listening, I'm hardly suffering. Except in the Buddhist way that I'm still acting out a delusion, which has karmic implications if I'm attached in any way. I don't think I am, or I tell myself I don't think I am. I'm aware this is just games I'm playing with myself and anything can change in a heartbeat and none of it will matter. Even the way I listen to music is heading towards obsoletion. What did I do before iTunes and iPods? What did I do before iPod Shuffle for that matter? What will I do after my iPod Shuffles die? I'll adjust. And breathe a sigh of relief.

* It's just a matter of time when no one will remember Limewire. It was a Napster-like file-sharing service that was widely used for downloading music, but almost immediately forgotten once it got shut down for copyright reasons. No mourning, no despondence. No nostalgia. It was great when it was there, no one cared when it was gone. Like my life, lol!! (I was thinking that had to be a metaphor for something🤣).

It's hardly unexpected when the pitfalls of not having a teacher manifest, and I really don't mind it. It's good having to be careful and not be arrogant about not having a teacher/guru/master. I recognize the disadvantage at which I put myself by not having or looking for one, but I have my reasons that I've mentioned before. I opine there's a karmic basis for my attitude, and I also recognize the advantages of not having a teacher. Such as making mistakes. Lots of mistakes, but learning from them myself. 

For the past year and a half or so, I've been pretending to do "ear training", but for a while I've suspected that it's just been an excuse to listen to more K-pop. Basically I've been playing bass along with K-pop songs learning the root progressions and singing along with the root movements, concentrating on the intervals and trying to internalize and remember how they sound. Although I have noticed some progress, it's the laziest ear training possible.

Playing along with songs is marginally effective, if not useless. Admitting the real goal is to listen to more K-pop, the better way to pretend it's "ear training" is to not play along with a song, but rather listen to the movement and only play a note after hearing it. If you make a mistake guessing the interval, it's obvious and you know it, clap your hands. If you're playing along and make a mistake, you just kind of fudge over it and go on and there's zero mental correction. And playing along with a song, eventually I'll memorize the progression in my hands and my ear does nothing. Focusing on interval-to-interval, I force my ear to work and suddenly I'm making mistakes unless I learn the intervals aurally.

Real ear training would involve a better method that I would've found frustrating and boring (bored = not enough motivation to be a musician; frustration = not enough talent). None of this has any basis in reality, it's all theoretical musing; just an example of how I go about figuring things out for myself. 

I don't know how I feel about this second example since it's about sitting meditation, which I've been doing long enough that I've probably had this realization many times before. And it's the most basic thing, the first thing you learn about sitting. It's about focusing on breathing, and specifically about focusing on the tip of one's nose or the nostrils to concentrate the mind on the breathing in and breathing out.

What feels like a minor revelation recently was that you have to be tenacious about it, not lazy. A typical tendency might be to find it too difficult to continually focus on the breath without the mind wandering. The teaching is once you realize the mind is wandering, just clear out the thoughts and start over concentrating on breathing. Easy. Only to find the mind is wandering again within 20 seconds. It's even easier to eventually decide it's impossible and to just give up and let the mind wander and graze in the pasture.

Being tenacious, I think, is no small part of the method. It may be the only way to get something out of it. For a while, the main focus should be to tenaciously drag (I call it 'tenacious d') the mind back to the nose and the breathing. Forget about the focus on breathing and put that on the back-burner because the mind will start wandering again. Focus just on noticing it and bringing it back whether it's 30 seconds later or halfway through the sitting session. It doesn't matter that your mind has just spent 10 minutes running through an entire discourse about some inane news article you read or something someone said yesterday, just don't get frustrated or discouraged and focus on noticing it and start over. 

Although it's properly taught that nothing should be forced in sitting practice, it should also be emphasized that some sort of mastery of the method is eventually necessary. It may be the case that at some point it's too hard to keep the mind from wandering and it's frustrating to constantly try to rein it in. Then the teachings might say it's OK to let the mind wander, but it's not OK to just accept that permanently. Going back to working on the method is necessary. An example I've used before is that it's like learning how to ride up hills on bike. The first time you try riding up a hill, you're huffing and puffing and it's the hardest thing you've done since breakfast, and you strain and struggle and make it to the top and you're sweating and swear you'll never try that again. If you accept that and never try again, you won't find out that the next time you try it, it'll be easier and you'll be totally surprised how not hard it was to get to the top. 

What's more, tenacity has rewards. You will naturally be progressively successful at bringing the wandering mind back to the breathing, and something happens and it's almost automatic that the mind stabilizes and may start going deeper into states of concentration that might be confused with drowsiness, but might be the discursive mind fading out, or even heightened alertness and awareness, even getting to a near trance state.

I'm coming across this basic realization now, which is a bit woeful considering how long I've been sitting, but it very well may be I've come across this multiple times before. Having a teacher may have helped make it stick. There are the teachings written in books, but a skillful teacher would be able to expound on anything in the books, I've mentioned before. Maybe they don't write about being tenacious because that adds pressure and risks creating a mental goal for sitting where there shouldn't be any. But once practicing what's in the books, a teacher can guide a student to the tenacious-d according to what the student will respond to and without stress or goals.

Taking this concept into my current Vajrayana reading-inspired practice (i.e., not Vajrayana practice), I can have some confidence that I'm not completely going off the rails. Despite admonishments that a guru is necessary, I'm alright with the direction of my current practice, and even if it might take longer to land a particular concept or practice, I have reason to think I'll get it close to right eventually. Maybe I'm making excuses for not pursuing a guru. But maybe I'm right and a guru isn't strictly necessary as long as there's a sincere and dedicated (albeit mine being perhaps somewhat flaky) search and plenty of time to open up instinctively to the teachings and a healthy dose of critical self-doubt. And even inspired by Vajrayana, it's important to keep the core tenets in mind, first expounded in Theravadan Buddhism, which are that nothing whatsoever should be clung to as 'me' or 'mine', and that all practices should be in furtherance of reducing suffering.

Even if I were told by some mystical augur that I'm advanced enough that I would be guaranteed to attain enlightenment in this lifetime if I sought out a guru, I think I wouldn't do it. Because then enlightenment just became a goal to be attained, rather than a path to follow in order to learn and discover enlightenment as a reality. To seek a guru motivated by a guarantee of certain enlightenment would be an immediate failure for me. It's a paradox, a Catch-22, a test even. I'm totally open to the guru requirement, but it's just not for me in this lifetime. If that forecloses enlightenment in this lifetime, so be it. I have no problem with that. 

I've been looking for that passage from one of my Theravadan Buddhist books I mentioned about alcoholism being about chasing a sensation. I found something close*, but it was about addiction and didn't use the word "chase", which was key to me. I'm starting to wonder if that actually might be the passage, and what I found so inspirational was how I formed it for myself in my mind. I'll keep looking, I don't think it was an inspired idea but a direct read.

That "chase" is important as a mental concept because it emphasizes the willful pursuit aspect of alcoholism. I know alcoholism is now considered an insidious and complex illness that requires treatment, but that's not my field and I don't know anything about it. From a mindfulness practice aspect for my purposes, it's filtering all that out and focusing on the chase, the willful pursuit in the moment.

I've been applying mindfulness practice to drinking to locate that sensation, that breaking point where the lure of another shot and another shot becomes irresistible. It isn't there at the first drink. It takes a few drinks for it to appear, and mind you I sip through shots; about four sips a shot. It's been years since I've shot my liquor, well-named I daresay, brutal and violent. Fuh yuh uh quick. Sipping shots is more demure and dâinty. That's me.🌷

That actually does help with the mindfulness because it spreads out or breaks the effect into increments, and the first indication that the chase sensation is kicking in is when the time interval between sips noticeably shortens. Resistance falters and that's when I mark the sensation and I know if I let go and cross the threshold I'll officially be chasing the sensation, sliding down the slippery slope. It manifests in manifold ways that I won't get into, but needless to say involves more alcohol intake/sensation chasing until I either brush my teeth and go to sleep or get out of my apartment for the day, both of which likely involve final "one for the road" drinks to satisfy the sensation, but is usually never a good thing. OR I mark the sensation and mindfully remind myself that to continue leads to "feeling bad", and if I heed that I can then stop. 

I'm also trying to force myself back onto the buying-a-bottle-every-three-days schedule, instead of every other day. I'm not trying to stop, I don't care about that. If I'm drinking enough to be considered alcoholic, yippy-da-doo-day. I'm just trying to manage a schedule to avoid feeling like crap, whatever that means. I know it when I feel it. So I've saved two empty bottles and when I buy a bottle, I dole the fifth into thirds and those are roughly the three days portions. Imagine my horror when I saw how little that is. I felt I could chug that and still see straight. But it's only a guideline serving restraint, a self-warning. Buying a bottle every three days never meant that's all I drank. That's why I have a tiered system of reserve bottles, because I always finished a bottle by or on the third day and dipped into the reserve bottle. It's anal, neurotic alcoholism.

* An addict takes a drug because he wishes to experience the pleasurable sensation that the drug produces in him, even though he knows that by taking the drug he reinforces his addiction. In the same way we are addicted to the condition of craving. As soon as one desire is satisfied, we generate another. The object is secondary; the fact is that we seek to maintain the state of craving continually, because this very craving produces in us a pleasurable sensation that we wish to prolong. Craving becomes a habit that we cannot break, an addiction. And just as an addict gradually develops tolerance towards his chosen drug and requires ever larger doses in order to achieve intoxication, our cravings steadily become stronger the more we seek to fulfill them. In this way we can never come to the end of craving. And so long as we crave, we can never be happy. - The Art of Living: Vipassana Meditation as taught by S.N. Goenka, William Hart, p. 46.

This passage is more about the dharma view of craving as an affliction, which applies just as much to shopping, rather than the affliction of sensations we chase, pleasurable or not, such as alcohol.

Not sure what this post is going to say about me. About how much of an out-of-touch Luddite I am? About how something so petty can change my life (I'm a simple person)?

My "life changing" experience was watching someone's vlog that was sponsored by Samsung Galaxy Buds and subsequently discovering that my laptop is a Bluetooth device. I was just watching the vlog thinking the Galaxy Buds have nothing to do with me since I don't have a "smart" phone, but then there was a portion where she was at a schedule using them without a smartphone in sight, but working on a laptop. The light bulb above my head flickered slightly as it dawned on me that if my laptop has Bluetooth, then wireless ear buds could be really, really useful. 

That set me off searching for what Bluetooth capabilities my laptop has, and the clincher was realizing that I do have a Bluetooth device in my room. Years ago, I bought a Jawbone Mini Jambox speaker which has Bluetooth, but that wasn't what I bought it for so it didn't apply. I've had it on my nightstand for when I was ensconced in insomnia and could listen to CDs with my 90s-era Sony CD Walkman plugged into them via a "cable". But I went through the steps to "pair" the speaker with my computer (working the lingo) and voilà! For me (Luddite) it was like a miracle! Music playing on my laptop over here is coming out of speaker way over there with nothing connecting them! I would've become Christian if Jesus demonstrated it to me. The benefits and applications of Bluetooth earbuds skyrocketed (the flickering light bulb over my head turned into an exclamation mark)! And that, my friends, is how in 2019 I entered the 21st Century. 

Of course, the easiest thing to do would've been to go out and buy a set of Galaxy Buds, but they're expensive, equal to my Sennheiser Momentum earbuds whose cables are veritably melting in Taiwan's heat after a year and a half of extensive daily usage. I shop around, try to do "research" (those are non-sarcastic quotation marks), but find that there are so many Bluetooth earbuds on the market (I had no idea) that I end up confounded. The brands and models in stores in Taiwan don't match brands and models reviewed online, and even though I can go for a cheaper product, I don't want to end up with something that doesn't sound decent (like my purchase of cheaper Audio-Technica earbuds which I found to be sub-par and led me to immediately buy said Sennheisers, budget be damned). The Galaxy Buds' sound quality is touted by reviewers.

Within two days of watching the vlog, I shell out US$150 for the Galaxy Buds and there are pros and cons, but pros are amazing and the cons I just have to adjust to. I don't have to decide when I want to listen to something through speakers and when to tether myself with earbud cables to listen. Now everything I listen to on laptop is untethered and I can get up and go about while listening. Actually it was mostly K-pop music show videos that I listened through earbuds, so since watching was involved I had to stand no more than three or four feet from my TV screen. Now I'm free. The even greater advantage is no sound degradation from the constant fan/air conditioner during hot weather. It's something I just had to deal with before, but when cooler weather arrove and the fan/aircon turned off, it was always dismaying how much sound I was missing in the electronics/wind drone and I had just spent however many months listening like that.

Anyway, now I have to exercise discipline with expenditures. Zero temptation to replace my Sennheisers unless the cords disintegrate and wrapping exposed wire with electrical tape is untenable. Or if they completely fritz out, but fortunately they're still going strong and sound fine, great. The Galaxy Buds are just as good as far as my ears can tell. And good thing I'm done with replacing my wardrobe for most part. I have my old shirts piled up for recycling, and looking at them I can't believe I wore them for so long. Yuck, really. All my new shirts are pretty plain and nondescript, just new. Still mostly light fabric, short sleeve, button-down shirts. Unlike my old shirts, these are mostly darker solid colors, no patterns. Everything I bought, including sleeveless and t-shirts, needed to have a front pocket for my iPod Shuffle.

I think people might like the idea of needing to replace their wardrobe, not just as a matter of vanity. I won't go so far as to say it was a bother, but like I've said, I have no idea about clothes or fashion or what 'looks good', so I won't say it was fun. I'm all about comfort and ease and taking into consideration my primary form of transportation is bike. In summer months, there's nothing comfortable or easy about riding a bike to get around. It's just HOT. Can't care how I look. Fortunately, in Taiwan people might appreciate if you dress well, but otherwise no one cares how you dress.