tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62070372024-03-14T11:49:21.223-07:00Warm Verbal TeaServe yourself up a warm cup of verbal delight, brewed fresh!z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.comBlogger282125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-3909758984443245882024-03-01T10:34:00.001-08:002024-03-01T11:14:47.367-08:00Dream the day beforeSlept the morning before his funeral, which is tomorrow. I had a small dream. I was in a coastal city packing things, helping my family go somewhere. <div><br></div><div>Suddenly, a man in a red shirt and athletic proportions comes into the room. He stands at attention behind me. I turn around to look and am surprised to see my biological father. He looks good, very healthy. His skin is tan, has all his hair, which is cut short. He slaps me in a friendly way on my arm. I am a little startled, but I'm also used to his surprised visits, so it is a composed startle. </div><div><br></div><div>I tell him we were just going to see him. He tells me, "it's my birthday." (His real birthday is in July.) I look at him, and think about how the other side of his family is doing, coping with him being around now.</div><div><br></div><div>And then, I woke up.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-21583052026997039532023-12-29T11:38:00.000-08:002023-12-29T11:39:11.020-08:00Morning Fog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div><br></div><div>Sunday night sunset at the park. Meditating while walking. Then, a coffee break at the downtown coffee shop to sip on an overpriced Mocha, and</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-1216675692043002662023-09-26T21:55:00.000-07:002023-09-26T21:56:16.207-07:00An apartment for evening birds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div><br></div><div>Right in the middle of this photo is a stand of trees, about four or five altogether. The bushes, vines, and various brush created a kind of prairie ship of branches that an entire colony of birds claimed to sing their evening songs. It was quite something to see and hear. The recent rains probably contributed to the loudness of their songs.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-11988261846668977572023-09-24T19:21:00.000-07:002023-09-24T19:23:19.286-07:00Paddle Boat and Sunset<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div><br></div><div>Photography is an art to be sure, but sometimes it's also about being in the right place at the right time.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-82050472206680336112023-09-12T05:10:00.000-07:002023-09-12T05:11:01.859-07:00Assessments of CircumstanceMy walking schedule has eased somewhat. I've been going at least once every three or four days lately, instead of every other day as I have intended. This is likely a result of my not being able to wake up early enough to go in the morning and return early enough for a shower. If it is already 9:00 am when I am awake and ready to leave, then it is already too late. I should be going at 7 am or earlier.<div><br></div><div>I did walk yesterday, and was able to go the entire four miles, but I started at five pm. I find that walking later in the day like that makes it more likely I will wake up in the middle of the night, like 4:30 am, as my body temperature is a little too high for a full night's rest, perhaps a result of swelling and inflammation. In these middle of the night wakefulness periods, I drink a little water, surf the Internet a bit, read scriptures on my phone, and worry intensely about the Future and my personal security.</div><div><br></div><div>This anxiety about financial security, my worries about keeping gainful employment, my fears about having employable skills, my worries about providing for myself (by myself) are a very large feature of my modern life. Denial usually carries me forward. I know I cannot predict the future, but at least I can prepare. I worry I am not prepared enough. When the fear is sharp, I push it out of my mind and try not to think about it.</div><div><br></div><div>I've also been thinking more and more about writing a book. I was fascinated by a recent cartoon I saw this weekend, made in 1988, called Abel's Island, based on a children's book written in 1976 by William Stieg. He's the same author who wrote the original Shrek book, as well as others. (I should do some research about him.) A part of me is very interested in the works of Richard Scary, and similar writers and illustrators for children. I aspire to do something similar, even if I may not have success with it. I confess I have let my drawing habits lapse. It's been a few years since I have devoted regular practice to it.</div><div><br></div><div>Maybe it's old fashioned to say, but the only way I have found to cope with unchangeable circumstances that are unpleasant and which portend misfortune is to pray and take refuge in divine mercy. My deeper fears are that I have much to atone for. Easy to be a materialist in our society, giving no thought to improving ourselves, and being constantly occupied with indulgences and dissipations.</div><div><br></div><div>I fear I have wasted years of life making myself and others unhappy by not being a careful enough steward of my choices. There are many specifics here that I will not mention in a public forum like this. To be brief, I feel I am trying my best now. I know I have a long way to go to acquire the virtues I desire. I will try not to let my frequent and vague fears of failure overtake me as I build a better inner life.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-61237375997755136602023-08-21T04:55:00.002-07:002023-08-21T05:00:42.597-07:00Picking a CornerMore tired than I want to be these days, probably because I have been simultaneously walking several miles every other day, and changing my schedule where I get up earlier and go to bed earlier. My feet both hurt less intensely, but hurt more often. The ankle pain has lessened now that I seemed to have strengthened that particular side, but the soles of my both my feet are frequently sore, sometimes in the morning when I wake up.<div><br></div><div>My schedule change hasn't stabilized yet. It's my goal to be home and in bed by nine pm, but the other day I was out until eleven, and recently my habit of these past few months has been to not to go to sleep before midnight. If I have learned anything in life, perhaps one true thing is that change and effort, especially those that are new, take time. Being patient with myself is a challenge sometimes, especially since everything in the world seems to want to push us towards outrage. </div><div><br></div><div>Still trying to sleep eight hours a night, and trying to cut out on junk meals that are easy to prepare and have no "clean-up."</div><div><br></div><div>Fixing my life is a lot like my project of cleaning up my parent's property. There is a lot of junk that needs cleared out, and the job will take several months. However, if I really want to do it, and make progress, than I just have to pick a corner and get started.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-84769555927589108992023-08-16T22:35:00.001-07:002023-08-16T22:35:40.889-07:00Pumping GasSo, tonight I pumped my own gas. Decades ago, when I was a teenager, I did it a few times as I had lived in another state. Fifteen years or so before tonight, I last did it when visiting Canada on vacation. <div><br></div><div>Two thoughts: first, the digital part of pumping gas is entirely new for me. Thankfully, we don't have video/audio ads at the place I usually get gas at yet, but I am sure it is coming. Second, I hate pumping my own gas. Of course, I am going to do it every time (unless they change the law) because I hate paying more for full service, which is another thing coming I am sure.</div><div><br></div><div>I know the rest of the country is shrugging its shoulders and asking what the big deal is. For me, it is the relentless drive to have customers like myself do the labor for corporations without any consideration or compensation. I am already my own cashier at the grocery store, hand scanning products at ever increasing prices. As I get older, I find I hate the constant barrage of ads, especially those that claim to offer me a benefit, but in reality is just a way for extreme materialism to solely benefit corporations. Self checkouts packed with ads, robotic phone trees that take forever to get through, social media posts that have ads after every second or third post I look at.</div><div><br></div><div>Patience is a virtue I have to work on as we continue to navigate our consumerist futures. Everything is treated like a commodity, including things that aren't, like our imaginations or our dignity.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-49010076288238606412023-08-08T13:12:00.001-07:002023-08-08T13:12:17.722-07:00Heath Habits of Late<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div><br></div><div>I've been walking four miles every other day during the month of August. My feet are stronger, and I am not as out of breath as when I first started. Although, my main goal is to lose weight, it hasn't happened yet. I'm certain that requires a diet change as well. In a sense, I have already begun to change my diet by eating less fried foods and reducing my sugar intake. However, I may be eating too much food overall. I suspect age and chemical effects of long term health conditions are making weight loss more of a challenge than before.</div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes, I try to take a picture while out on my hike. The above picture of the flower is an example of that. I've also noticed 'regulars' on the trail that I take my morning hikes on, healthy people jogging, parents pushing strollers, elderly folks staving off the deleterious advances of age. I must look a little out of place because of my heavy 'street' clothes and my weight. There are occasional walkers who are similarly large, but I haven't yet been hiking long enough to recognize any regulars from among that group. </div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-52090406410103815302023-07-28T05:41:00.000-07:002023-07-28T05:42:03.838-07:00Loud Car at 4 a.m.I live out in the country, and mostly it's quiet here. Unfortunately, the house I live in was built next to the road.<div><br></div><div>At 4:30 something a.m., a very loud car was racing entirely too fast on that road and woke me up. It's hard to fall back asleep, and I was hoping to get enough rest to leave in the morning without being tired.</div><div><br></div><div>Looks like that is not going to happen. I've been awake for over an hour. I worry that if I ever have to live somewhere else (like in a city), I am not going to be able to adapt to the noises.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-63808322911834901732023-07-17T20:27:00.001-07:002023-07-17T20:27:55.310-07:00Sunday Hike on the Hills<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-81317961617817696702023-07-10T01:15:00.004-07:002023-07-10T01:38:37.335-07:00A Day at the Beach <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div><br></div><div>I might have objectively had a terrible day at the beach today. </div><div><br></div><div>Although I only live an hour from the coast, I hardly ever go there. Family considerations, work, and old age lessen my desire to go. Why bother spending over an hour in the car just to spend money by the sea? But maybe, because I haven't been in a long time, the idea seemed more appealing than it was. In my mind, I had figured that I needed to break routines, and remembered that coastal trips were something I enjoyed in my youth. I had forgotten that the enjoyable part was spending time with people who enjoy my company and vice versa. I had had a strange dream the previous night that included me swimming in the ocean. I guess I figured my dream was a sign that I should go.</div><div><br></div><div>On the way down, I was stuck behind twenty mile per hour farm machines on a fifty five mile per hour highway. Cars were backed up. Just as I got past one, there was another a couple of miles beyond the other, with three altogether. Highway traffic on the other side made it difficult to pass.</div><div><br></div><div>Later, after clearing farm country, I had to be careful concerning the other cars. There is always someone who wants to pass even if you're going over the limit, and they ride your bumper.</div><div><br></div><div>At the beach, I parked in a public beach lot and walked around the small downtown area by the beach itself. I inadvertantly may have insulted the sophisticated older lady at the art gallery. I had asked her which art pieces were hers, and then purchased a card from someone else. I asked if she had done the oil paintings, and she had not. She pointed out her bookmarks, but I had only wanted to buy one thing, and it wasn't hers.</div><div><br></div><div>Then, I had an expensive clam chowder at a nice enough cafe, eighteen dollars for something I could have had elsewhere for less. I had not realized that, in our after pandemic era, most shops, cafes, or galleries I like close at two or three on Sunday. My choices were limited. </div><div><br></div><div>When it came time to pay, I was shocked to discover that I had lost my debit card. I guessed that I had left it in the ATM when I deposited my check earlier in the day. I paid for my meal with another card, and then returned to my car. Then, I called the bank's 800 number to cancel it. It won't be replaced until middle of this week.</div><div><br></div><div>Feeling a bit demoralized, I found that an incontinent seagull had befouled my car. The cars on either side of me had been spared. My window was really "hit" hard.</div><div><br></div><div>Becoming increasingly introspective and pensive about my day, I went for a walk on the beach. The sky was mostly gray, the incoming waves muddy and brown with sand, and the beaches littered with kelp tangles and pieces in various stages of decay. I followed a half mile behind an older woman in a brilliant blue blouse, but turned around to go back to the beach side near the shops again. The sands were piling into dunes that made it hard to cross. My feet hurt, and I was being careful not to twist my weak ankle.</div><div><br></div><div>This time, back in town, I purchased an overpriced ice cream that had too many calories. A middle aged father was threatening to take his son's ice cream cone away because the son, hardly four or so, couldn't sit still on a metal bench by the door. I instantly disliked the father, who had probably spent at least sixty dollars on his family's various ice cream treats. Mother, kids, and friends of kids, were largely circled around him.</div><div><br></div><div>Back in my car, I drove north to the other beach town and was increasingly depressed at the crass materialism of these coastal places. Everything for sale: houses, hotels, restaurants, food, fish, books, instruments, guns, cannabis, and gyms. It's like driving through a dirty mall whose glory days are behind it.</div><div><br></div><div>Fifteen miles inland and the sun came back out. On my drive, I thought about why I had wanted to go, or at least how I rationalized it. Was it a mental health day? Really, I figured my true motivation was loneliness and isolation, which wasn't helped by my trip. All of my fond beach memories occurred with my friends twenty or thirty years ago. I have none to share a trip with now, and painful memories of a failed relationship to be reminded of when I am there.</div><div><br></div><div>I did do a lot of reflection there and back though. If I had not gone, I might have wasted the day without even doing that, so maybe it all evens out. Emotionally, I guess I feel okay, but looking at it "on paper," I guess all I really accomplished was a waste of gas and money.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-29461091917900154232023-06-26T23:33:00.000-07:002023-06-26T23:34:22.271-07:00Monday Night Stroll Around 8pm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div>Foot only hurt a little. Had a week off from all exercise previous to this stroll. Workers were in the park taking down empty tents that were up on the weekend for a big event. Managed to walk about two miles. Went to bed early-ish, because I have appointment for tomorrow.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-28760522882712227112023-06-14T20:19:00.001-07:002023-06-14T20:19:39.021-07:00Another uncertain night at the hospitalNothing much to say here. Panic, emotion, and mundane concern for finance. Then, interest in a war movie. Talk about doctors, diets, palliative care. Nurse looked exhausted and frustrated. Plans for another visit tomorrow.<div><br></div><div>My own emotions today are difficult to describe, or even identify. After a stressful morning, I went home and tried to sleep again. Not much success. Hoping for direct inspiration about what to do, say, or help.</div><div><br></div><div>I told Mom that I feel like the "cooler." I am the one who absorbs the free floating vibes and stills them a little. I have nothing to say except, "get better," or "you just need to rest." All cliche, but sincerely expressed. </div><div><br></div><div>Caregiver fatigue and anger are real and hardly talked about in common discourse. Heparin, glucose, and blood pressure screens behind his head. Spaghetti wires tangled on his chest and arms. Tear at his eyes, and he looks sleepy. Can't hear or talk, but they say he's getting better. </div><div><br></div><div>I've already been to there hospital too many times this month.</div><div><br></div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-11540003859762860042023-06-13T21:40:00.000-07:002023-06-13T21:41:10.793-07:00Tuesday Night Stroll<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div><br></div><div>Tried another path tonight, but the duck pond had covered over the paved pathway. </div><div>Just as I came to the water's edge, a skateboarding man came by and was similarly stopped by the water. He considered crossing it, but a single step in the mud changed his mind. Although I dislike talking to strangers, he asked me if I had ever been this way before, and I told him I had not. He wanted to know if there was anything cool on the other side. I didn't know. He left and said "good luck on your adventures." </div><div><br></div><div>Minutes later, after talking an alternate route through the woods. I came across him again. He chose a path along the field, and I chose the opposite direction. This time I asked him if the trail continued forward, and he said it appeared to.</div><div><br></div><div>Indeed, it did. More walking through the trees led me to bigger paths covered in bark dust. The wind was letting up, and the heat was approaching eighty degrees. I found the dog park and the paved path again. </div><div><br></div><div>There I ran into the same stranger for the third time. He was on his phone, but hung up to ask me what I had seen on the opposite path from him. "Anything cool?," he asked. I said no, and told him about the bark dust trails I saw. </div><div><br></div><div>I spent the next forty minutes walking and didn't see him again. All in all, I walked almost three and a half miles in about an hour and twenty minutes.</div><div><br></div><div>Driving home, I bought an ice cream cone from a tourist shop playing John Prine on the radio. After another walk to check out the smaller tourist town, I drove to the roadside diner I was familiar with and bought a hamburger and salad. For fourteen dollars, I could have done better at the fast food place, but this last stop was comfortable. After a quick stop by the grocery store for dish soap for the parents, I was finally home and in bed for the night.</div><div><br></div><div>These walks are something I want to make regular, but my foot usually ends up hurting. My ankle and soles aren't being as cooperative as I want. I worry my age and bad health means the foot pain is permanent. We shall see.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-84028786962797749372023-06-10T23:18:00.000-07:002023-06-10T23:19:45.158-07:00More Walking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div>Pictures are from a four and a half mile hike last Thursday. Bee is snuggled in the the flower in the last picture. </div><div><br></div><div>Like everyone else, I'd like to lose weight, but it's not happening yet. I need to walk more often, eat way less junk, and be more detached from the outcomes of what may or may not happen.</div><div><br></div><div>Frustrating personal experiences today are teaching me the lesson of letting go when it's really difficult to let go. An elderly care-giver whom I read about in an article had the mantra: "I have no expectations. I can get through this," which seems like a healthy attitude to get through bad and unavoidable circumstances. I would transform that mantra into something more religious which might be "trust in God." I might say something like: "I will be detached emotionally from 'this' to experience this in a state of spiritual purity. I chose to trust God."</div><div><br></div><div>I know most people would not say or do this, but I will try to remember this because of how important a lesson it is. Life won't be magically better by this, it can even get worse. However, it can be even much worse than that--a true disaster--if I act angrily or selfishly.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-41710705647757383292023-06-05T06:25:00.000-07:002023-06-05T06:26:25.293-07:00Six Mile Hike<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div><br></div><div>Sunday. Hiked six miles with a banjo and a backpack. Hot and windy. Ankle pain fairly strong around mile four. Got a mild sunburn on my face. If I can do more of these hikes, I will have to come up with a plan for not getting burned. I try to think of these trips as health investments, but I got to remember not to undo the health benefits with injuries.</div><div><br></div><div>Rewarded myself with a Starbucks drink and a chocolate ice cream cone. Next time, will do something more appropriate like an apple.</div><div><br></div><div>Then, did a long grocery store trip, had a dinner of two pizza slices, and made a hospital visit. Hadn't planned on the visit, but turned out to be necessary. </div><div><br></div><div>Made a second grocery shopping trip back in town for lunch items, and dropped off the food at work. </div><div><br></div><div>I will have to remember that hunger will get more intense as I lose weight. Perhaps meditation will help me.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-18081482022319241462023-05-28T22:16:00.000-07:002023-05-28T22:17:35.268-07:00Walking along the River<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj2wqCEGwMvQ_LqFNMVtkwOV9tzk7jjmJxe3NgcKIroJjzGxWUPbOd_1EcDo7pbphwQQtvAUec8X64zgDIkY9wCVRI2wr0gLglKgXeA-K3EuCJXyRqUaEHiJhjl1QbVvHFxN8DgFBvHCO1fqKqX4rn063am2-kYlA-Tax8mYErTx4IvzwrA9g" width="400">
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</div><div><br></div><div>Roses along the river at sunset. Walking for a couple of miles in the park.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-44907858813699429102023-05-25T19:11:00.001-07:002023-05-25T19:11:36.395-07:00Summer May 2023 Update<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9zA2xWKmKXF9NsGiYPx6YddBwCNcVGIuhAGs8aP_o4DQ2hAB4mHgBKIUJIkXuKO-B8CwzhBjD22kc0R0LX7sLen_ebM4wnPQrEDgTu5UkFm6oUXNzAYVj3xTnY4-PjRe6Ki_Oztw7ndu95aSFikXf8MTd-m7h46-bbO5WbQCwZ3GXAK1M_g" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh9zA2xWKmKXF9NsGiYPx6YddBwCNcVGIuhAGs8aP_o4DQ2hAB4mHgBKIUJIkXuKO-B8CwzhBjD22kc0R0LX7sLen_ebM4wnPQrEDgTu5UkFm6oUXNzAYVj3xTnY4-PjRe6Ki_Oztw7ndu95aSFikXf8MTd-m7h46-bbO5WbQCwZ3GXAK1M_g" width="400">
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</div><div><br></div><div>I'm having some weird and awkward feelings these days about life and my place in it; but right here and now, I sort of hate this place.</div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-50807081032876572602023-05-25T09:32:00.001-07:002023-05-25T09:32:47.733-07:00South Landing <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div><br></div><div>Looking from the OHSU medical building in Portland. Summer day overlooking the park. </div>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-26920788344787852872022-04-11T20:01:00.003-07:002022-04-11T20:01:38.823-07:00Cassandra's worries about the future. <p>It's been five years, maybe? Not sure. But, maybe that doesn't matter. What is time when everything is uncertain? It used to be that I had a plan for the future, a design on which skills I could gain, which path I could take, in order to bring myself closer to an ideal circumstance, but the only things that seem certain are difficulty and challenge. I am not looking forward to living life alone on my own terms. Right now, I do not have the financial means to support myself, and it doesn't look like I will for a long time. No retirements for me, no inheritances, no windfalls—just continued poverty as old age creeps around the edges of my life. I worry about homelessness, but I know I also make moral choices to support the people already in my life, and maybe that means they get more money and attention than I do. <br /></p><p>I've been a little charmed (perhaps beguiled is the right word) by the overly sunny video blogs about the vanlifers, the people decades younger than me having grand outdoor adventures in vans that cost as much as a house did when my parents bought one. Like some people who imagine what they would do with lotto winnings, I sometimes imagine what it would be like to live long term in a van. Somehow, that seems more obtainable than owning a home, retiring with a significant savings, and providing a meager support for my family and friends. I have no illusions. I know this is all social media where the ugly parts are hidden, the hidden supports are concealed, and the 'facts' are only true in terms of entertainment. Still, it feels emotionally relaxing to consider this as a possibility, even if I acknowledge that, intellectually, it is a fantasy. </p><p>Note for the net: I am still exercising my esperanto language skills with web apps. Youtube doesn't have as much videos as the used to, which is a shame. I have also started to learn clawhammer banjo. I am getting better with my rhythm hand, but I tend to play the same five or six chords in the same tuning. Should I put more effort into it? I hope I become a superlative banjo playing with the grace of God. With the same fervor, I hope that I can increase in personal virtue, wisdom, and knowledge to accept the unseen challenges of the future with the aplomb and dignity I wish. </p><p>In a strange way, I am thinking a lot about the Harold and Maude movie from the early 70s. In a weird way, maybe I want to be a male maude, a vibrant, almost emotionally exuberant person celebrating every inch of life with the wisdom of a lived experience. I'm not a libertine like her character was, and I will not cause conflict and contention if I can help it, but I am thinking about conscious spirituality in the face of a world intent on descending into horrors and cruelty that people can't envision at the moment. </p><p>How did Cassandra, from ancient Greece, and who was cursed to know the troubles of the future but also not to have anyone believe her or listen to her admonitions, not go insane with worry, frustration, and anger at the willful blindness that absolutely surrounded her. The answer seems to be a radical detachment from the outside world, and a powerful connection to the inside font of spirituality that directs her steps.<br /></p>z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-77053519275618907672018-09-14T20:16:00.001-07:002018-09-14T20:16:30.785-07:00Reaching for Reason and Hope. Most of my posts seem to be me exploring my inner emotional life in one way or another, and that exploration, in some form or another ends up with depression. I wish I could say "most of my posts lately...", but that is not the case. It now seems to be a permanent facet of my adult emotional life. Of course I worry that is had been so long that it is more of a habit than a reality, but I am not sure that is the case.<br />
<br />
I feel anger slipping out every once and again. When I think on something that concerns me, something that seems amiss, I worry it like a stone in my pocket, until I find myself having angry conversations with imaginary people in my head. Not the schizophrenic conversations, as in hearing voices, just the everyday scenarios people play in their heads about what should have been done or said or felt, etc.<br />
<br />
At the root of it now, all of it, all of the depression, worry, anger and whatnot seems to be frustration with the course of my life and my feeling of helplessness over things and upcoming issues that I do not think I will be able to prevent. Imagine a ship's cabin standing on a bridge and seeing an iceberg slowly approaching—one that will definitely sink the ship. It's too late to change course, the engine room isn't responding to directions, you're just drifting to disaster, unable to stop it. That's a pretty good metaphor for much of what I think I am experiencing.<br />
<br />
We live in interesting times where chaos and contention seems to be a rule. Everyone and everything is caught in a whirlpool of anger where they project their fears and concerns into a ball of concentrated hatred. You see it happening all around you. You know it's wrong, but you can't seem to be able to stop it. No one listens to you. They're so wrapped up in their fears that nothing breaks through the cocoon.Sometimes, I am the same way. Except that I refuse to hate anyone else except sometimes myself.<br />
<br />
And that might probably be the root of most of my trouble. Part of my own frustrations, angers, etc. is my belief, as solid as any, that I am not worthy of acceptance or praise. I feel like I have tried my best and lost. I was naive and let opportunities fly by thinking that I had an unending series of chances. Frustrated then, I fought against what I thought were injustices or unfair circumstances, only to make choices that did actual harm instead choosing to let those imaginary harms go.<br />
<br />
The thought I have in my best moments is essentially this: if I nurture positive, humble beliefs about myself, maybe I can forgive my own mistakes, learn to be detached from the imaginary outrages that seem so real, and be the man of virtue I wish to be. Easier said than done, of course. It seems that this is a daily battle. And one thing about my personality that is a long-standing issue is that I easily give up when I perceive I have failed, when all my negative biases about myself are confirmed, and then, feeling like I have slipped back to the beginning, have even less resolve to continue to fight against bad habits, negative thoughts, less motivation to make good choices based on reason and hope, rather than fear and anger. <br />
<br />
z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-24150196693152573572018-09-14T19:58:00.002-07:002018-09-14T19:58:52.919-07:00Fires continue to BurnThe fires in the Northwest continue to burn making most of the valley
smell like a campfire, or the inside of a barbecue pit. The weather
apps on ones pocket phone notifies us of "smoke" as our local weather.
Not "Cloudy." Not "Chance of Rain." Not "Freezing Fog." But, "Smoke."
That's a new one for me.<br />
<br />
It also happens that just as
these fires pour out the ash into the atmosphere, fires that are
hundreds of miles away and largely unseen except for dusty atmosphere
along the horizon, I have been thinking about my own life and how it
feels that something hidden in me is on fire somewhere, pouring out the
haze of smoke into my thinking, clouding the normal hopes with a dusky
uncertainty about whether or not I can overcome the challenges I
perceive.<br />
<br />
Therefore, I have been thinking hard about
the many choices that we make, how despair is the paralysis of the
spirit, and that keeping oneself healthy emotionally and mentally better
equips us to face the difficulties that we encounter each day.<br />
<br />
Another
thought. Today, I was trying to think of a metaphor. For example, a man
may be such an expert at building a house that there is nothing he does
not know about the subject, and there is nothing he is not capable of
doing in regards to houses. He may have all of the money and tools he
needs to accomplish the task. Every material may be laying at his feet.
There is nothing stopping him from building a house. But if he doesn't
want to do it, he doesn't start. Then, imagine him standing there, a
time passes.Then a day, then a week. After a time, guilt and worry about
not doing something he could actually do sets in. The worry and guilt
build, and the task which could have been simple, seems harder than
every. Eventually, the worry and the guilt are replaced by shame as he
tries to hide from himself. The job becomes a reminder of his failure.
Then, that shame and failure becomes despair, and he is spiritually
paralyzed by the whole affair. Maybe even lost.<br />
<br />
Of
course, one who is healthy, and not haunted by those inner weaknesses
wonders why he did not just do it. It was a simple matter in the
beginning after all. But, life presents us with problems and challenges
before we are even clear on what those problems are.z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-71820191580504219862018-08-09T23:27:00.001-07:002018-08-09T23:27:35.744-07:00End of HistoryYesterday, I had the strong feeling like I was living at the end of
history. The red sun because of the haze from the fires in California,
the bizarre news stories and contentiousness on the television, the heat
of the day (hotter than it has been), and all of the artificial ways we
use to mitigate the heat with air conditioners, and avoid the conflicts
on television with denial, gave me this odd feeling. I know every
society on earth has believed themselves to be the pinnacle of history
and development, and for a time, they were. The 1100's, 1762, the middle
1830, 1982 - each were the most advanced for their day, and had
difficulty imagining what was the come.<br />
<br />
And here we
are, living in this science fiction reality, where the earth seems to be
burning up with either fire, heat, or anger.<br />
<br />
My
realization that I cannot prevent any of this societal drifting into
trauma is humbling and sobering. My life of insignificance and wasted
chances make the same thought utterly laughable.<br />
<br />
It
really does feel that we're out to sea, the waves are tossing back and
forth, land is out of sight, and all we can do is keep floating,
sailing, fighting to remain upright as we are tossed back and forth. <br />
<br />
<br />z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207037.post-33815641329034278222018-07-29T20:49:00.002-07:002018-07-29T20:49:44.936-07:00A Meditation on FailureThe past three days has me trying to think deeply, often when I am in
the car, about all of the ways things do not go the way we
intellectually intend them to go. I really chew on some of these
thoughts trying to pin the thought thread down as best I can, but the
markers will only go so far until I have to retrace the thread back,
repeating the thoughts again, trying to push them farther. Writing them
down is better because I can follow the breadcrumbs so to speak. I still
have not trained my mind enough to think solidly alone like I want (or
seem to want to.)<br />
<br />
Right now, today, considering the
past three difficult days, I've been thinking about illness as a
metaphor for some spiritual maladies. I know that, physically, one can
come down with a minor cold or a terminal disease. Everyone, no matter
how long they live, is bound to have at least one illness in their life.
Yet, if they care for their physical condition, they can usually avoid
the most serious illnesses and diseases. However, if a person actively
seeks out unhealthy conditions, lives in mold or is always covered in
dirt, eats the wrong things, and never exerts themselves, they will more
easily ruin their health and maybe end their life.<br />
<br />
It
seems to me that this is a metaphor for our spiritual difficulties.
Everyone, no matter how long we live, will experience a problem or a
moral dilemma in their life at least once. My biggest ones so far came
in my late twenties and all of my thirties. Perhaps, if one is of a mind
to care for themselves spiritually, they might be able to recognize the
spiritual principle at work, or discover the missing virtue and try to
remedy the problem. Maybe the practice of meditation is necessary to
help recognize these problems, or to reinforce the healthier thoughts.
However, it also seems clear that chronic neglect of spiritual health
can lead to more serious trouble, or maybe even spiritual death. How
else could one describe a person who is consumed by selfishness, bad
behavior, and things such as causal lying if not as a person who is
gravely ill spiritually? A chronic lack of compassion or self-awareness
might even lead to a permanent state of spiritual death? Is that how far
this metaphor goes?<br />
<br />
Could someone, gravely ill in this
way, find remedy and recovery? It would seem that if we use life as
model, then the answer could be also yes, but it also suggests the
seriousness and the difficulty. Such remedies often need careful,
regular, and determined treatment. Bones need to be set for casts.
Surgery scheduled to remove a cancerous growth. Sometimes, it also
means a new diet. Sometimes, it means better exercise.<br />
<br />
But
then, sometimes a person afflicted by spiritually illness lacks the
means to heal themselves. An unconscious, physically ill person isn't
really able to eat or swallow a pill by themselves. I suppose this would
mean that, in some cases, it is necessary to reach out to the
spiritually ill and help them find the strength to recover, advise a
course of treatment.<br />
<br />
I often lose hope when I find that
I have not lived up to the standards I have set for myself. Mom has
told me in the past that I am too hard on myself. I cannot believe that.
If anything, I have been lax in some of the things I know I need to do.
Many times, I turn to the family trait of psychological denial. If I
pretend there isn't a problem, maybe it will go away. Also, if I know
that I have failed in some regard, I lose the necessary motivation to
continue forward in my efforts to counter the behavior or impulse, lose
the will to change. Of course, perhaps it is a sort of arrogance to
assume that I can know when all is truly lost when the standards for
judging are not up to me. Although I may know myself best among my
fellow human beings, I am not the Divine Judge. I have to consider that
thought more closely. God knows that we fail. Otherwise, why would their
be a need for prayer, healing, or redemption? Why would we need to be
forgiven? Ideally, we would carefully protect ourselves spiritually by
heeding the Divine counsels and advice and not need to be forgiven. But
then consequences are educational are they not? A loving punishment is a
punishment that is meant to instruct a being on the seriousness of the
error and reinforce the will not to recommit it. A cruel punishment,
which God by definition would not do, would punish only to increase
suffering. <br />
<br />
I have a hard time separating the
suspicion or the feeling of being condemned from knowing that I need to
persevere in my spiritual health efforts. For example, perhaps my
already low-self esteem falsely tells me that there is no hope, then
assuming that I can know for certain there is no hope, I lose motivation
to continue, which reinforces my conviction that all is lost because I
no longer try as hard. Thus, I add the early "<i>feeling</i>"<i> </i>of
failure to the actual reality of failure when I let things go through
lack of effort, when I do not do what I know I should or what is right.
Then, knowing I have actually failed, I add that knowledge to the early
feeling and feel even worse. Which in turn, leads to a sapping of
motivation, which strengthens and amplifies the distress, and weakens
the desire to try. It is a vicious cycle.<br />
<br />
Can I really
know that I would be damned, condemned, or beyond help? Perhaps no.
Based on my reading of spiritual texts, even the most condemned on Earth
still had the opportunity to repent and atone (at least to some degree)
while they lived. Of some, that knowledge of opportunity to atone
accompanied the knowledge that the person in question never would.
However, theoretically, the chance was still there. Therefore, if I want
to transform into a better person, I should not dwell on the past that
cannot be change, but focus on the future for hope of change.<br />
<br />
Other
thoughts along these lines: the reality of having a human body, with
its capacity of being bored, tired, angry, or having any other animal
emotions, complicates the noble desire to be a good person who always
acts correctly or transform into a better person. I usually frame this
problem in terms of will-power. I tell myself that, in occasions where I
am bored, tired, angry, etc, I need to suppress the urge, sometimes
shockingly sudden and unconscious, from doing things like yelling at the
blameless, or taking it out myself or on someone else. But also, even
IF another person yells at me unjustly, I should resist the urge to
respond in a similar unkind or unjust manner. Stopping myself from
responding in equal unkindness is frighteningly difficult.<br />
<br />
Furthermore,
it is always easy to be and do good when we're happy and relatively
content, but it becomes frustrating difficult when we're not.<br />
<br />
I
think that the solution, in light of some of these thoughts, might be
to try to practice the habit of happiness and contentment, even in
difficult circumstances. This provides the natural resiliency of
spiritual health in the face of difficult problems.<br />
<br />
If I
am not entirely wrong, I think I should believe that Happiness and
Contentment should not rely on ones outward circumstances. All of
humanity's best spiritual literature seems to tell us this. Happiness
and Contentment are not merely passive gifts of God (although they are
that). Instead, human persons should consider them as skills to
practice. (If light can be both a particle and a wave, according to
science, then virtues can be both a gift and a skill.) My challenge
then, as a person with a cultural background that tends to see things
materially and not spiritually, is to try and recognize how to practice
Happiness and Contentment. I think Plato touches on a similar thought
about virtue: how some are passive traits, but others are actively
practiced. Justice is not justice until one performs a just act. In my
life, filled as it is—as everyone's is—with an occasional angry person,
minor injustice, unfair circumstance, or outward unhappiness, this
challenge looms large. How, do I inoculate myself against these triggers
no matter how difficult they may seem, how angry another person might
be? (I think of our modern day news reporters who seem to struggle with
maintaining inner composure when they ask a person in authority a
question, and the authority responds with a lie, attack, or similar
unkindness. I want even more than they would "spiritual
unflappability.")<br />
<br />
This is one of the things I have
been thinking on the edge of my life that I suspect I must reinforce:
how most of the change I want, changes based on my reading of spiritual
texts, is often just a change of perspective: a constant, daily
awareness of the real (spiritual) things in life. How do I always
remember to carry Happiness and Contentment with me when faced with
difficult problems, like where do I live in the next ten years, how do I
feed myself, how to I cope with health that is not the best. Yes, there
are also practical steps I need to take, and I should think about
those, implement them as best I can, but above those two things, I need
to have the perspective of happy person working contentedly to becoming a
better person, who perseveres through trouble, no matter how bad it is.
Who is not unsettled by any event, no matter how large the storm on the
horizon, no matter how terrible the lightening bolts are. I know that
grief chills hope and effort, even grief about one's frailties and
weaknesses. But every step forward ultimately brings us closer to what
we want or need. In the world of time, in which our physical lives
ultimately appear so short, taking no step at all is the same as falling
back. z.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03751302687187227053noreply@blogger.com0