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James’ photo of Antarctica makes me think about an audacious project by Kevin Kelly, author of an influencial book called Out of Control (about self-organizing and self-sustaining systems such as ant colonies, the evolution of machines, and the relationships between biological systems and technology systems). The project aims at cataloging each of the 1.8 known living species on Earth and making a Web page for each one of them. As new species are discovered, they will be included. Estimates are that there are probably 100 million additional species living here with us. Many are disappearing faster than we can find them.
The project has been taken on by the MacArthur Foundation, Sloan Foundation, and the Smithsonian Institution. Its Web site is at http://www.eol.org/. It is considered to be a 25 year project, but who knows?
And P.S. - James, thank you for your exquisite expositions on Noah's poetry.
Submitted by Caterina on Fri, 02/08/2008 - 12:53am.
MMmm, I love the blue blue blue and white white.
I find myself drawn to the little brown shape in the water near the shore which looks like a critter, or a log. I like to imagine it's a critter. I'm also drawn to the hole in the ice blockazoid; if I could handle it, I'd swim out to that hole and look through, loving the approach, the anticipation of nearing a special window carved into the ice, the water growing colder and darker as I enter the shadow of the blockazoid. Through the window I see the bright big mountain covered in brilliant sheen and the sky! Quiet! Why does this sky in perfect day seem closer to night?
Through my little window, the light is bright but softly held inside the icy frame; dark enhances light...
It reminds me of something one of our scholars said on this recent trip to Rome, in an interview with her: It's as though the moments of greatest tragedy and hardship bring out what is most dark and most light in people.
This beautiful place stood here still and serene during all the pain, not untouched by it, as we know by her melting.
they told us to bring along a bathing suit and some beat up old tennis shoes-- you know, for the hot springs. hot springs? yeah, well, hot springs in Antarctica. okay, so i brought the shoes and the bathing suit. then after our not-too-rough Drake Passage we were surprised to see, off on the foggy horizon, our first glimpes of icebergs! we had seen albatross during the crossing, and as the petrel grew in numbers, the albatross diminished; now we were even seeing a few rockhopper penguins, or maybe gentoos-- they were far off. and finally the icebergs. oh, how we gasped, and pointed, and smiled-- we grabbed our cameras and took photos of the hardly visible white specks on the cloudy, gray horizon. of course, we knew that in a matter of hours we'd be among the ice giants, but we were giddy. hey-- most of us had never seen any icebergs before.
we thought we were especially lucky because we were arriving to the peninsula a full day earlier than scheduled. well, if the luck had ended there we would have been thrilled; soon enough we were there-- out among icebergs, glaciers, and snow-topped islands. i stepped out onto the deck and sat down, not too many people were out at just this moment. someone mentioned spotting a whale far off. i looked starboard, and suddenly about a hundred meters away a humpback leapt out of the water, and fell back in with a splash. "my welcome," i thought. well, again, if the luck had stopped there...
soon enough the deck was flooded. everyone was excited to look around at our new landscapes... but even better was our unexpected welcoming party: dozens of killer whales. they were on all sides of our ship, some within a few meters, some further off; some alone, others in small groups. a few humpbacks came a bit closer to the ship to join the welcome, too. hell, surely we had used up all our good luck by now!
then the clouds parted, and the sun came out. it hardly went away the entire trip (and i mean it hardly went away-- the further south we went, the longer the days, until eventually we watched what i've dubbed the "sunsit:" it swoops down, hangs out for a bit, and climbs back up.) we arrived at our first landing, on Deception Island. to begin to explain how beautiful the tens and tens of thousands of gentoo penguins were, literally spanning the entire landscape (there was a valley surrounded by high steep hills-- the penguins scale the steep walls despite their short legs, because it results in stronger bred young) ... well, it would be hard to begin that and ever end up telling the story i mean to get to...
so after returning to the ship from our landing on the outside of Deception Island, which is a still active volcano which has filled up with water, we sailed around into the crater of the island itself, where the supposed hot springs of Antarctica are sometimes to be found. it turns out "sometime" is on very, very low tide; and it turns out that very, very low tide hasn't really happened much these last, oh, fifteen years or so. because the volcano is still active, sometimes, when the tide is low, the heat rises in steam, which warms up the water to reasonable dipping temperatures. well-- it turns out it was high tide when we got there, and the water was 29 degrees (salt water freezes at a lower temperature than fresh water.) so they said, "well, if anyone still wants to go in, they can try the polar plunge." so i put on my bathing suit, and then a few layers, and hopped on a zodiac to shore thinking, "shit-- am i gonna?"
when i got to shore the first person was running and splashing into the water-- and then returning to the land to be toweled off by those nearby. then the next went in and came back out, then two more. by this time i had my clothes off and was standing in the brisk but surprisingly comfortable air. i was next in line (there weren't quite a dozen of us), and i decided i'm just going to jump in, and come right back out again. i liked this plan, and stuck to it. i ran with all my might out as far as my quickly frozen feet would take me, and then plunged full body under the water. for just an instant i was submerged, and the only thing i could think was-- "this is so refreshing!" i swear- it felt really terrific. i would have stayed in for a moment, but other than my upper body, there were two drives that brought me back up above the water nearly as quickly as i had gone under: my plan, and my feet. the plan was a good plan, and i'm glad i stuck to it. as for the feet-- well, my body felt cooled and refreshed, but my feet felt numbed and beaten. running back to shore was a chore for the feet, but i did it with a smile on my face (and i've the film to prove it.) and when i was asked how it was i said, "great!"
James when were you in antarctica? I thought you went to Alaska. Anyway astounding photo. It makes me want to brave the 40 below. Getting a picture like that would be worth freezing my fingers off.
I am grateful to my old Lab, Strider. I have been feeling sad. He is getting lame from an old injury, hip problems, and now arthritis. He demands lots of attention (he never knew how to sit quietly and just be a dog (perhaps there’s a contradiction here!) but now his down times are longer and longer. For his entire life he has demanded that everyone in his orbit spend hours and hours throwing tennis balls and sticks down the hill into the woods or down the street at the playground. There were trips to the creek for swimming and lots of mud. We spent so much time just trying to tire him out that it seemed like the seasons changed as we were doing it.
Strider is very neurotic and would be insane without this kind of exercise. (Guess he had some unfinished business with his biological parents). He was one in a litter of twelve and not the pick. His brothers and sisters were shipped all over the world, but at four months, he and one other brother was unspoken for. He was sold to us at “half price,” a real bargain. Nothing wrong with him, I thought. Gorgeous dog, loving, sweet – but ah, too neurotic to be anyone’s hunting dog or helper dog! I grew to understand why. He loved to excess – licked our bed sheets and furniture just to taste the places where we last sat. Strider was too anxious for any kennel ( even the ones with no cages) to keep him for more than a day or two, and even after he had surgery the Vet called to ask that we pick him up early since he was an emotional wreck. Once, he even ran through a glass door because I was on the other side. And yes, there was blood and stitches.
Now there is no throwing or tossing; no chasing. Getting up the front stairs is getting difficult for him. In the last few days we take longer and longer walks since he can not play the games he loves, but needs to keep moving. He carries a stick in his mouth. Today when we were walking instead of feeling sad, I felt joyful. I was thinking how grateful I am to him for needing me to take him on long walks. His tail was in the air and he stopped to smell whatever it is that dogs love to smell. I was looking at everything around me – the red berries on the holly tree, bulbs poking up, and seeing the neighborhood as if I were looking at it for the last time. I know it sounds so simple: but I felt myself in the present – me, my old dog, at a different stage of life. It was beautiful because it just was.
What happens now in my dog’s life is important and will receive my deepest thoughts and attention. I have to educate myself more about dogs and pain, pay attention to his suffering, and decide if and when I need to take action. This issue is not imminent, but I know it is in front of me. I want to do it with a clear head and open heart. It will mean recognizing his suffering and letting him go.
Thanks for letting me share this. It has been on my mind and living in my heart. I want to be able to show my gratitude for his life by how I help it to end.
Emily, thank you for sharing Strider with me. I send you light and prayers for guidance. Your heart is so big and both your compassion and Strider will tell you when it’s time.
There is no question that my caring skills came from my dogs. I’ve had over 20 dogs during my life and I used to be a rescuer (I couldn’t save Iris, by the way, but she was a plant and my mother :) my pets have helped me to love more, care more and develop a deeper understanding of loss. My first dog, Patches, when I was 6 and in first grade, was killed by a motorist because my older brother let her off the leash. I was so crushed I was unable to sing the National Anthem the next day at school. All I could do was cry. But, it wasn’t all loss. One of my other dogs, an older poodle I had rescued when I was a teenager, named Moulin a Parole, walked away with my condom in her mouth the first time I was about to have sex. I imagined she disapproved. Weaser used to come with me everywhere until, one day he jumped through the window of my car and was hit badly by a car. I picked him up, carried him back to the car and found a vet. I had to make at that early time the biggest decision of my life, to euthanize him.
I lived in Queens at the time I had Sammy, the German Shepard I saved from abuse. She was a bit brain-damaged and used to walk into doors. But, I loved her. We would go to Memorial Park every night for a run with at least 25 other dogs. What an amazing sight watching the dogs play. So civilized. And I got pretty lucky too. Women love dogs.
tonight i am struggling. i will post my poem about it at the end of this post-- i haven't written a poem since "into the ether-eva" (at the very end of that post), and i've got two other poems on my mind tonight. one is "new love poem," which is a terribly important space, statement, moment, feeling, expression (etc) for me; and the other is, naturally, "my dog, Baby." this poem, like so many others, gains depth as i grow and struggle. tonight i'm struggling. i think i'm feeling the growing pains of spirit. i remember growing pains when i was younger. "what's wrong?" "oh, my knee is aching." "oh, you're gonna grow. it's growing pains." that's a nice way of thinking about the painful day i'm having. what is most painful is my inability to feel it. i'm hiding again. from my dog, Baby:
where else could i go but into hiding until some later date when i could free myself from the fear of never again sharing the feeling: love
but what i didn't realize was the new fear--
the fear of once again losing the feeling: love
i asked myself (towards Caterina) some time ago: "where is the loss?" that post was titled "the location of love," which i realized thereafter made the question "where is the loss?" a little confusing. especially since i went through a litany of potential "locations" for love... and thus perhaps loss, too. well, what i was asking was something more along the lines of why am i not feeling the loss? i know i am experiencing a loss... but where is it? it's not showing up in my feelings... "i seem to be doing just fine-- not angry, not grieving... no struggle at all! i guess i just figured it all out." :P of course!
as some of you saw, i managed to experience some of the anger... i got some of it out in a post, even. it lightened my load tremendously; i started getting out anger all over the place, and then suddenly i realized that i've been laughing a lot more lately. ah, the beauty of anger! (as it turns out...) but damn, i thought i had gotten a hold of sadness. for so long sadness has been the clearest, most beautiful of feelings for me. and then there's the depressive reactions at times, but they become easier to identify, and:
i am not suffering from pride i am basking in it. because...
fuck...
this is so damn hard and i am resisting and yet... i am countering that resistance.
i am making life hell for these depressive & defensive reactions, for these heretofore unconscious tendencies
i am bringing them to light where they will dissolve.
and, hey, now anger is clearing up a bit, too. everything seemed to be pretty in line. but then i found the loss... i felt it, for just a moment... and i understood why i hadn't been feeling it.
the fear of once again losing the feeling: love
and, after all, "i learned a new way of loving" that day, looking inside each other's looking... and i had been waiting
until some later time when [Baby] could re-emerge through relationship as recognition
but i did not expect to so quickly lose that re-emergeance, nearly as quickly as i found it.
and so-- thank you so very much Emily. your story moves me deeply and i am astounded by your love; i feel embraced by you, even though you were expressing a weight on your shoulders. and Om-- thank you, as well. tonight i am ready to begin to learn what it means to grieve, over some sweet italian sparkling wine...
one sip of prosecco
i recognize the name, but i do not name you— i play it cool, until the sip
it is sweet indulgence fragrance of play liquefied and carbonated
but it’s not the drink i am remembering so much as the poem
“i wrote something.” and i read something; but first—one more sip…
how did you so quickly undo the dance we danced that sweet moment of looking?
how did you manage to run from me? where did you run to, eva?
one sip of prosecco brought down my wall upon me— but mine has been built to come down. what will you do, poet, when even the words no longer reach you as you once felt my love?
hey Ceili, would you offer me another card? last one hit me dead on. it was like a good punch in the gut; all i could muster was a brief "thank you" at the time...
Tonight, sir, we have for you the Two of Earth and the Eight of Water (a very nice vintage)
Two of Earth: Cause and Effect
You are trying to work out the details of your life in order to bring everything into balance; you are in the process of discovering, first-hand, that every action entails a reaction; your life is in a process of continual re-creation based on the information or parameters you allow it to have; a big change is in the offing at this time.
Eight of Water: Still Waters
You are in a state of withdrawal; retreat is necessary and good at this time; through withdrawing, all things shall become clear; you will not lose anything important; take a break and remember, "still waters run deep."
I'm sure if you look these up on the internets they will list the whole interpretation somewhere, which is definitely worth a look. The cards themselves are works of art.
Earth and water! --together they make mud-- time to get down and dirty in your life perhaps? really work with your hands and roll around, reveling in the squishy matter that fills the webs of your fingers and toes.
In the first card's longer exposition it says that this is both an exciting and terrifying time, and you have to figure out how to create the change as well as respond to it.
So have fun!
ps.. one sip of prosecco got me all sparkling inside. especially the last two lines.. can't get them out of my head!
i love letting these wash over me, letting their full meanings rise from my depths to meet with the words, letting it all mix and become. i must admit that i, a little like Narcissus, felt a little mocking contempt for the tarot-- i associated it with my grandmother, which isn't a terribly good association. but i'm feeling a little foolish about that now, because i'm sitting with this beautiful message you've offered me. my gratitude! things are muddy (i actually used that word to describe my experience yesterday), and you are right, i've got to jump in. i'll do my best to!
and also, i'm glad you liked the poem :) you know, one actual sip of prosecco will get you all sparkling inside, too.
"Love drove him to see everything again, to hear all the sounds again, the bells for evening prayer and Sunday mass, the song at the altar, the gushing of the dark...".
James, I could have been looking in a mirror as I was reading your post - your process of feeling, of numbness, the initial worry that the flatline of emotionlessness was back, followed by a kind of impotent anger To feel free connected one day and to have it gone the next is like finding a thief in the apartment of your life. It is an emotional swing that always baffled, angered, or depressed me. I, too fight that feeling, press it down further when I am in it, which is no help, which makes it worst - and then, like you did with your post, force myself to come forward, paint the feelings on a canvas with words, acknowledge, recognize them- open the door to let them in. Once I welcome them and offer them a seat on the couch, they seem in a hurry to leave. I find that step from the numbness or holding the feelings down to making the first scribble on a piece of paper or sharing my words with someone, a heroic act - something they talk about in Shambala Meditation. It is one of the first steps of a warrior: to see and use his bow and arrow ( the arrow of focus and intelligence, with his bow of gentleness) to apply what he knows to what he sees and feels. Having lived so long either holding things down or denying the depth of my feelings, I have come to feel that to push against those barriers is the work of a warrior.
One sip of Prosecco - lovely, yes lovely.
Your post also made me think about your travels. The amazing heightened experience of being in Anartica - the explosion of a different light, the colors, the physical sensations, the brilliance and spirit of the landscape followed by your return where experience all those things is stimulated ( at least for me) in a more internal space, before I can again see and feel the newness of the ordinary.
I was so frightened of my own grief, not only about things already lost, but things that could be lost. I know that I will grieve many more times in life. I fought that knowledge for so long and it caused more pain. What a gift you have to know what you know now. I honestly bow to you and everyone here who is so willing to look and to seek and to create their lives from this seeking. The Warrior's journey is continuous.
Submitted by Dagny T on Sat, 02/09/2008 - 11:06pm.
I have a pug obsession. And it truly is a pug obsession. I have calendars, magnets, cards, my first screen name was Pugsly, and I have 3 pugs. I imagine that one day I will be old and gray and the scared kids down the street will call me the old pug lady. But it will totally be worth it. They make me laugh.
My oldest, Curly, is deaf but still makes me laugh so hard I fear I'll wet myself. The other day I came home and he was sound asleep. I try to pat him so he wakes up slowly and sees me, since he can't hear me come in. His tongue was sticking out about as far as it can, which is about a good half mile. It was all pink and dry, like sandpaper, and instead of patting him I couldn't help but touch it. He slowly began to wake up, but even though I had his tongue inbetween my thumb and forefinger, he let me do it for a few seconds. His head got all bald and his eyes bugged out more than usual, as if he actually liked the attention. Curly, or The Curl as we call him, usually does not allow anyone to invade his personal space. It was so sweet, in a way that only the truly obsessed would appreciate.
I'm young enough that I've never experienced the death of a pet, excpet for my mom's bird, Cappy. So I am terrified of what will happen when The Curl leaves me forever. He's so human to me that the loss will be like losing a brother, since that's how I see him. But I'm preparing myself...My roommate and I have thought about names for pugs, like Captain or Sarge, but I think I'll name my next Oliver. It has a distinguished ring to it, but still cute enough to fit with such a fine creature.
I have a graveyard in the park behind my house of my cats and my front yard has a parrot, lots of guniea pigs, and a fish here or there. The loss of my first parrot was horrible. I didn't realize at the time that non-stick pans were toxic to them. My parrot was on my shoulder in the kitchen when a pot I had on the stove started to burn. Within two minutes my bird was dead.
The loss of a dog is like losing a dear friend. My teacher told me about how he coped with the loss of his most beloved dog. He had him cremated and then took his time over the course of many months, taking the ashes to the various places that he and his dog loved to walk or run. I find that story so comforting that I know, when the time comes, I will do the same.
Gosh, I can't believe I am writing such sad things tonight. I should be kicking up my shoes or just sitting quietly trying to center myself. It's been an off night. But I was glad to see you name - it's been awhile. Plus, you made me remember an old friend who had a pug. I was at her house when there was three week old litter. I remember being amazed by the sound of their breathing.
oh boy. don't get me started on iceland-love. reading those words gave me a thrill just now, Caterina. sykur og kanel. you know, today i started Sanskrit lessons (that isn't a joke-- and neither is Sanskrit! shit!) and i refuse to let the idea of someday learning Icelandic slip from my mind. for now -- since (like French) i don't speak Icelandic, I just prounounce it -- i'll have to be satisfied to sing along with Björk (have i told you how much i adore her?):
Ó pabbi minn - hve undursamleg ást þin var Ó pabbi minn - þú ávalt tókst mitt svar
Aldrei var neinn - svo ástuðlegur eins og þú Ó pabbi minn - þú ætíð skilðir allt
Lidin er tíd - er leíddir þú mig lítið barn Brósandi blítt - þú breyttir sorg í gleði
Ó pabbi minn - ég dáði þína léttu lund Leikandi kátt - þú lékst þér á þinn hátt
Ó pabbi minn - hve undursamleg ást þin var Æskunnar ómar - ylja mér í dag
Lidin er tíd - er leíddir þú mig lítið barn Brósandi blítt - þú breyttir sorg í gledi
Ó pabbi minn - ég dáði þína léttu lund Leikandi kátt - þú lékst þér á þinn hátt
Ó pabbi minn - hve undursamleg ást þin var Æskunnar ómar - ylja mér í dag
Submitted by Caterina on Tue, 02/12/2008 - 12:50am.
I love that you're studying sanskrit, James! I can totally see you loving it.
What an amazing language. So near the mother of our Indoeuropean tongues.
If you're ever interested, they also do free sanskrit up at the Ananda Ashram (about 45 minutes north of th city in Monroe, NY), using mantras and devotional hymns as the base from which to study, which I think is pretty cool because you are learning root sounds and their complex meanings along with their relation to cool vedantic philosophy.
You get "bija" (seed) and "mantra" (man = mind; tra = crossing/bridging)...
yummy...
Do you have a translation for this song you posted in Icelandic?
it's the Icelandic version of "Oh My Pa-Pa," though the lyrics are actually a little bit different. also-- Monroe might be too much of a stretch for me right now. i'm actually learning Sanskrit (currently) from a yogi who studied a lot in India; for now we are just working on the Devanagari script, but we begin and end each session with a chant... we even pronounce mister Effortlessly Trying's first name!
Oh my Papa - how wonderful your love was Oh my Papa - you always took my side
Never was one - as loving as you Oh my Papa - you always knew me well
Time has passed - since you held my child's hand Smiling sweetly - you turned sorrow to joy
Oh my Papa - I loved your joyful spirit With happy ease - you played in your own way
Oh my Papa - how wonderful your love was Childhood memories - warm me today
Time has passed - since you held my child's hand Smiling sweetly - you turned sorrow to joy
Oh my Papa - I loved your joyful spirit With happy ease - you played in your own way
Oh my Papa - how wonderful your love was Childhood memories - warm me today
This picture makes me want to fly to that mountain...stand on top of it...and look around. The view must be beautiful, and very inspiring. I will stand there for a while, breathing the fresh, crisp air.
i had just that experience while sitting on the shore of Jenny Island. we spent the day going to different places in Marguerite Bay, and this lovely view was what we feasted our eyes upon during a stroll on the beach just after breakfast. Jenny Island is a small and seldom visited Island off the coast of the much larger Adelaide Island. While lounging with the lazy moulting elephant seals (a few of which, as you can see in the photo, decided to go for a slow-paced dip) we looked across at the mountains of Adelaide. after nabbing a few photos, i drifted to a quiet spot, stripped off my heavy parka, and soaked up the unlikely sun. one adélie penguin-- seemingly lost!-- navigated carefully through the piles of enormous seals and paused for a moment not too far from me before scurrying off. a baby seal slept soundly in a little bed of rocks; a few adolescents in the shallow water just off-shore play fought, eventually slumping off to relax some more; and another nearby began to shift around. i glanced over and watched this seal shift up to a large, flat rock, using it as a makeshift headrest! there was absolutely no wind. it was very odd and lovely weather we had down there. no worries, there's no 40 below on Jenny Island during the summer, Anya! it's ordinarily a bit more frozen and foggy and windy, though. we lucked out immensely. have i told you all about the late night stroll over the frozen ocean yet?
Just want to say welcome aboard! Im glad you found us; its been very rainy out there today :) Anyway, it is always wonderful to hear a new voice. I think its been said before, but each time it happens I feel like our space just expands. I get a little stuck too sometimes. In fact, sometimes everything seems downright sticky.
So yes, very nice to meet you. I look forward to hearing your voice.
I know i don't. But seriously, every time I sign on you guys are ready to roll. Its almost 4 in the fucking morning. I have to be up in a few hours. So if the rest of the world is up so late, how come you all seem so well rested. Meow.
i was actually awake until six working on my response to the poem of Om's that Caterina re-posted last night. and on that note, i am going back to bed for a while!!!
Submitted by Caterina on Sat, 02/16/2008 - 3:09am.
[Last night, I had the opportunity to read this poem again and wanted to respond. It is perfectly harmonizing with the poem "flowering". Couldn't respond to the poem at its original site because the option was no longer available, so I will repost it here.]
The Last Chants
Say that you lost a son
And you’re in mourning
And a Buddhist friend, as deep
As she is light, finds in her chant
The meaning of your suffering;
And you hear the swallow of her throat
as you, along with her, chant your
om mani padme hum, and the hum
around the tongue of wisdom
turns the padme of perseverance
into wine, as the wistful murmurs
of prayer step slow and almost
unencumbered. There is time
there is time there is time as another
voice enters the mind of a 12 year old
in the dark magic of childhood
sitting in Sunday heat at his father's
funeral in some conjured image of Christ
sweating blood from nails piercing skin
piercing day piercing the aisle's length, as
his father is carried away in a box, where time
worms and hollows out like wind the hole nothing
but air and thirst cry to; and you’re sitting here,
a nail banging away with words, piercing text
on yellowed paper, replaying the voice
of fate, repaying the debt of what
love once offered; and you think you’re
drinking away in endless cups, calling to a father
you will never quench and a son you never got
to hold never got to rock; and you think you never
Submitted by Caterina on Sat, 02/16/2008 - 3:30am.
We enter into the context of loss: "Say you've lost a son" and then reparation through recognition: the chant of a Buddhist friend, as deep as she is light, is recognizing and honoring this loss and though the listener may not understand the prayer's words, it doesn't matter; there's a soothing that is speaking to me that this chant knows the pain,
knows all the pain and all loss, and there's something in this universe, some awareness, that holds it all...
And from this awareness, this soothing and simultaneous holding of my loss,I enter into the meditation, There is time, There is time, there is time, words rhythmically bringing us into the chant itself, and conveying us into a memory:
as another
voice enters
and we're in the mind of the 12 year old boy who just lost his father, who is sitting at his father's funeral (and here the jolting... you can imagine how horrendous and terrible this must be for the child, a nightmare, living through...) and we are situated in the church, in a pew, and there's a distance that is immediately drawn into awareness between the boy and the altar where his father's body is carried past him in a box... bizarre and somehow the farthest from intimate (seemingly) images of the Christ on a cross, bleeding, nails piercing. (And yet this bleeding and nailing enter the poem through the repetition of the word "piercing" later, exposing that the bizarre images did enter into an intimate usage). There's a strangeness of this environment for the boy as he is participating in the goodbye ceremony for his father.
his father is carried away in a box, where time
worms and hollows out like wind the hole nothing
but air and thirst cry to;
The image of the worm eating through the cadaver, the fate of the flesh, is not necessarily one that is brought from the mind of the boy but of the poet, the adult man, remembering... he uses its image as a verb now to describe how time "hollows out" an irretrievable and endless, objectless lack. The loss here doesn't even become a "hole" (which would be a thing) but has no thing to ascribe to it. "Time worms and hollows out". Basta. Pure lack, pure thirst. (Notice that the transition in the sentence from "hollow out like wind the hole nothing but air and thirst to dry to" does not immediately signify the "hole" as something created but as the object of the following verb phrase "air and thirst to cry to"... it's a transition that leaves the "hole" in a dual role of potential object of the first half of the sentence and the longed for object of the second... it's a transition that deprives even the "hole" of a clear role as object of the first half). The sentence itself leaves us in deprivation of a clear object.
The hole that is created is nothing but a crying to air and thirst...
What struck me here was that the "thirst" itself could be the only experience of the loss, the only trail of the father left is his absence: the thirst is cried to, to hold onto the father. So deep is the loss, the way it is described here, that it doesn't even name the form of its succor, its quench. Just "thirst" to cry to.
and you’re sitting here,
(We are in the present of the adult man, now...)
a nail banging away with words, piercing text
on yellowed paper, replaying the voice
of fate, repaying the debt of what
love once offered;
Here's a complicated and interesting image... we get the nail banging away with words, it holds a kind of diligent pursuit to tap into (nail) the feeling of loss, but it is itself the loss and so cannot recognize itself. "Yellowing paper" - how old the trauma, known and sensed as old (I see him perusing old books, as well...) "replaying the voice of fate".. that is, not only replaying the memory of loss but enacting it as the very voice itself. "Repaying the debt of what love once offered." The most complicated image. I think it has to do with the act of holding onto the loss itself, the act of "banging away with words" (this poem), the energy of this is so pure and so present in the poem... in these words, so taut the relationship between the act of writing and the feeling of the loss/anger, so taut you cannot even distinguish between agent and action. (The agent defines himself by the action and in "acting" is affirming his identity: the "agent" is loss in action). Repaying the debt, in this image, is endless, its an endless search to fill in that "hole" that isn't even a "hole"; it's like a black hole. Deprivation again.
"the debt of what love once offered"... Love once offered a father and a son, a relationship. Why is this HIS debt to repay? The depth of the feeling of loss (and it's fusing with the identity of the agent, the poet tapping into the loss) has obscured the greater relationship that holds the father and son in a context that can forgive the son of his debt, and the father of leaving him. That greater context is found, by the way, by the poet, from the beginning of the poem in the chant, and later... as we'll see... in the meaning awakened (and the sound of the sparrow).
...and you think you’re
drinking away in endless cups, calling to a father
you will never quench and a son you never got
to hold never got to rock
Absence is a presence and the presence is "thirst", that cannot be quenched. Time here (there is time, there is time, there is time, we wont forget) proposes that the loss, the feeling of loss, is the infinite feeling, the one, if there is one feeling under all feelings, that will always be presented to the lips of this poet in endless cups. Loss. And it manifests again in the loss of his son.
and you think you never
buried your son, never waved good-bye, and your
arms are dying;
There is no more painful line I have ever read, ever.
"and your arms are dying"
The same lack of closure, inability to say goodbye, to even hold. Can I even approach the longing of these lines? They seem to reach, in endless ache, to an impossibility. We are in the full paradigm, experience, of loss.
but the meaning wakes you, echoes
like the tsee-ler of the sparrow in the swallow
of your throat…there is time there is time
But the MEANING wakes you! Ah. What's this? The meaning... wakes you!
The awareness that time heals all wounds? Not so simple, and yet so simple.
There is a greater holding that recognizes the loss, and in the recognition is the meaning, the meaning is the recognition of the one who FEELS, the feeling of the aching arms that are dying. Recognizing the feeling, there must be one who feels, a return to the one promise that between feeling and feeler there is the relationship, and under this, awareness. Echoing... the story echoes in time, held in a consciousness, like the tsee-ler (the sound the sparrow makes), held in a throat, and we return to the beginning, to the sound of the chant:
the hum
around the tongue of wisdom
turns the padme of perseverance
into wine,
a substance that quenches and relieves. Recognition is this wine, the whole holding, encompassing, being and feeling and loss. "There is time there is time": the final words of the poem bring us back into the meaning that the chant is pouring into this whole journey-poem, into the loss and pain, quenching sorrow in the awareness that even our greatest pain is held and known, holdable knowable, and so has an end in dissolution.
The entire poem is here, in these two lines. There’s that word, “say,” that performs two functions. Upon first encountering the poem it is taken as a command, “Say that you lost a son—imagine it, put yourself in this situation for a moment…” And so I follow along, not taking the command entirely seriously, rather taking it as a kind of entry-point for the storyteller. I use that all the time, when sharing stories, and what it really means is, “Follow along this story with me.” Because I have not lost a son, and I know that you have. “Say that you lost a son / And you’re in mourning.” Okay—I’m with you, tell me how you are feeling in this experience you are sharing. And you do. But then the poem comes to an end and I return to the beginning to read once more, and suddenly I realize that I completely ignored the sincerity of the word “say.” Say that you lost a son—yes, say so. Speak those very words. Sayit that you lost a son, and that you’re in mourning. You can no longer deny it by keeping quiet—you lost a son: say so. All of a sudden the mourning becomes. But already the words are revealing their movement, because you’re in morning, too, or any other time it may be—but you are in time. You know you are in time because you are in mourning, and you are painfully aware of time, though perhaps there may be some beauty in time yet.
Go back, sit with it, experience it again. Do not go gentle into that good night. Read, read along with the budding of the Buddhist light. Say that you lost a son / And you’re in mourning. Do not even stop there—chant it. And let your tears become your prayer beads as you chant your loss. There is time, and some of that time must be spent with these two lines, because they are a poem unto themselves.
And a Buddhist friend… Let us pause here for a moment. Om, we know you are deeply inspired by Buddhist philosophy and practice, so we may pause on this Buddhist friend to acknowledge that this friend is both a human friend, and not a human friend. Because a Buddhist friend as deep as she is light, finding in her chant the meaning of your suffering, is the very chant om mani padme hum; and the very saying the very chanting of it allows for a deep transformation… but it is not so much a transformation, rather it is a recognition of one’s Buddha-nature, it is an attuning to the true nature of things. One thing I love is the way this friendship works. There is no moment that need be declared “sharing.” And a Buddhist friend, as deep / As she is light, finds in her chant / The meaning of your suffering. There is no distance here. You, Om, are there in the very discovery. There is no moment of, “Oh, I have found the meaning of your suffering, would you like to know what it is?” Because this is neither the nature of the meaning of your suffering, nor the nature of the relationship. I will come to the suffering later. As to the relationship: after she finds in her chant the meaning of your suffering, there is a pause, but not a full break… there is a semi-colon;
And you hear the swallow of her throat as you, along with her, chant your om mani padme hum.
This is what makes it so absolutely beautiful that the friend is both a friend and the chant itself. The space of the chant is being shared between the two friends so fully that as she finds the meaning of your suffering, you continue to chant hearing the swallow of her throat—this feels like relating to me: the movements in her throat, you hear not only the sounds being chanted, but the passage from which the sounds are formed and emerge. Back and forth, back and forth, through the syllables being slowly carved into the air. But, boy, you sure pack a lot of punch into each word—and I am skipping/missing so much. You hear the swallow of her throat; already we are anticipating the sparrow; and already we are anticipating the meanings of ‘hole’ (which is another meaning of ‘swallow’), and so much more. You hear the swallow of her throat. It seems to pierce through the sound of the chanting for a moment, in the moment you share her finding. It is almost a signifier, a verbal cue that, yes, she is finding in her chant the meaning of your suffering. And then there is the chant itself: you hear the swallow of [the chant’s] throat as you, along with her, chant your om mani padme hum.
Om, this is so beautiful. You are chanting along with the chant itself, and you can hear in the chant’s very vocality as it finds the meaning of your suffering. This is the most beautiful of prayers, because you are not constructing the prayer, you are joining in with the prayer itself, allowing it to guide you through to a greater recognition of yourself. And the hum / around the tongue… the hum around the tongue of wisdom. Here, too, you are yourself the voice of the chant, your tongue allows for the emerging of the sounds, and yet the wisdom speaks itself, as you allow yourself to become attuned with it, to align yourself with the light and depth of your Buddhist friend.
And the hum / around the tongue of wisdom / turns the padme of perseverance / into wine. See, now this does so much for the meaning and the experience of the chant. There is the repetition of the chant; and then there is the body of the chant: its living contours and textures, its present reverberation, its perpetual resonance within your experience. The hum can turn the padme of perseverance into winebecause the chant will begin back from the beginning, and also because the chant can communicate with itself; and also because the earlier syllables continue to speak through the proceeding syllables; and, finally, because the past can be transformed…
om mani padme hum, and the hum around the tongue of wisdom turns the padme of perseverance into wine, as the wistful murmurs of prayer step slow and almost unencumbered. There is time
Here again we are brought to both the friend and the chant-friend. The wistful murmurs of prayer step slow and almost unencumbered. I can see and hear so many different kinds of steps. The beat of the steps seems to be slowing itself down, yet eagerly anticipating the next beat, the next step. The words… the syllables call for such care and such attention and intent, yet they seem to already be pronouncing the next curve of the tongue, the next swallow of the throat… The healing and heightening wine – just a taste – opens the senses even more fully to the fullness of the chanting. And the wistful murmurs step almost unencumbered. This word is a challenge to me, because I do not want to simplify it, but I do not know how to address it in its full complexity. It is not “almost unburdened,” or anything else, and attention must be paid to this decision. With the word ‘encumbered’ there is a sense of burden, a sense of dead-weight, but there is also a sense of responsibility. There is this freedom to the very sounds of the chant, this flowing quality, this lack of burden—and yet there is also this small sense of duty, of responsibility. The chant is still pressing onwards, and is still somehow situated, present in the very relationship to its speaker. Your Buddhist friend is deep as she is light, and she, too, is almost unencumbered, because she is still not free of the relationship. But this is not a burden, not a dead-weight, because it is within this relationship that the meaning of your suffering is found… there is something missing in a prayer stepping entirely unencumbered; some disconnect. But here we can view the presence and presents of an almost unencumbered chant. Ah, but it is also encumbered by something else looming overhead… it is not all light… there is perhaps a little burden, too, because: There is time
There is time—this means there will be time, this means there is time enough, this means there must be time waited through, this means that time is, and the past is present in the present, along with the future. There is time…
there is time there is time as another voice enters the mind of a 12 year old
But already the past is transformed, because this 12-year-old is in a context, and this 12-year-old’s feelings are present in the experience of the… well, of the “you.” (Why the “you”? Because (say that) you lost a son. And you lost a father—but that was years ago, and actually distinct from the man who has lost a son, though not separate.) And so both “another voice enters the mind of a 12 year old,” and, “another voice enters: the mind of a 12 year old”
in the dark magic of childhood sitting in Sunday heat at his father's funeral in some conjured image of Christ sweating blood from nails piercing skin piercing day piercing the aisle's length
This almost evokes for me Milarepa, another Buddhist friend, who realized enlightenment in one lifetime, but who much earlier was convinced by his mother to use black magic to destroy the cruel and greedy family members who had basically enslaved he and his mother after his father’s death. But, of course, we have moved into the world of Christ’s crucifixion. There is so much trouble, here, in the word ‘conjured.’ There is something so troubling in this image of Christ—perhaps it is the way that suffering became something shared between the human and divine realms; the way that suffering became a way into paradise, as opposed to the barring factor. For the Buddhist friend that there is suffering is a basic truth; but another basic truth is that there is the cessation of suffering. For the follower of Christ, in this 12-year-old’s experience, perhaps there is some sort of grasping at suffering itself, a holding-onto that which makes one analogous to Christ. If this is what this 12-year-old was surrounded by, it is deeply unsatisfying—exactly because the day is so God Damned piercing. The next step has to be taken, because the meaning of his suffering is more than that… As a first step this is perhaps beautiful, but left alone with this conjured image of suffering—God is conjured into the icon, the Church community conspires a take on suffering, the boy is beseeched to admire and follow the example of Christ… the next step has to be taken, piercing the aisle’s length, as
his father is carried away in a box, where time worms and hollows out like wind the hole nothing but air and thirst cry to
This line certainly packs a wallop. His father is carried away in a box. There is such loss in these words, the way they stumble over each other, landing on the dagger, no, the cross of box. And then we are given words that seem to wish to point anywhere but to where they point—which is no one place. Where time worms. Worms in the ground; there is time, there is time worming and hollowing out like wind… the hole… That time is doing the worming and hollowing brings us the hole chewed out by the worms. Ah, but there is time. Time to be spent waiting and watching, time piercing. Time walking much too slowly and, yet, much too quickly to the hole in the ground… Oh, and there is time. Time past in the present. Time worms and hollows out like wind the throat nothing but air and thirst cry to. The once vibrating throat of the father being carried away, and the presently quivering throat of the son watching his father buried; and, oh my, there is time—and the throat nothing but air and thirst cry to, because neither will fill the throat of the son being buried by the now-father.
and you’re sitting here, a nail banging away with words, piercing text on yellowed paper, replaying the voice of fate, repaying the debt of what love once offered
And here, a nail chisels away the words… what numbers appear on the gravestone of a son you never got to hold? What letters? And the nail merges into the pen, piercing text on yellowed paper. I see so much yellowed paper. I see note-pads, I see old books, I see old newspapers. Is the pen piercing text, or is the text itself piercing? An obituary from many years before? A poem, or a letter, being written (or read)? … and the nail, banging away with words, is also the printing needle, and also the echo, the memory of suffering… and you think you’re
drinking away in endless cups, calling to a father you will never quench and a son you never got to hold never got to rock
There is the literal drinking—like that drinking, I know, of the father; and there is the drinking like that drinking in of your Buddhist friend’s presence, only here you are not drinking in, but rather drinking away… “calling to a father you will never quench…” father is both the thirst and the thirsty. Father the human who was buried when his son was 12; father the past; father your new (and lost) state… Calling to a father you will never quench, because there is only the thirst, now. There is such yearning, and so little fulfillment in this drinking away in endless cups. You are drinking away, calling to a son you never got to hold never got to rock; and you think you never
buried your son, never waved good-bye, and your arms are dying; but the meaning wakes you, echoes like the tsee-ler of the sparrow in the swallow of your throat…there is time there is time
Like Caterina I find this to be the most painful of lines: and your arms are dying. I cannot go any further with this line, beyond the way it takes hold of me… I can add no words to these.
Say that you lost a son / And you’re in mourning / And a Buddhist friend, as deep / As she is light, finds in her chant / The meaning of your suffering; / the meaning wakes you, echoes / like the tsee-ler of the sparrow in the swallow / of your throat…there is time there is time
There is time. The ambiguity of the terms has vanished, as all becomes present in you. The murmuring throat of your Buddhist friend, the throats of your father and son, to which air and thirst cry, the narrow aisle, the swallows in your friend’s throat and in the ground, the different meanings of suffering… these all and more become present in you, in the very chanting, as the meaning echoes in the passage of your throat, in the very passage from which the sounds of the chant are formed and emerge. And as your chant has attuned to the sing-song of the sparrow, you say that you lost a son, and you’re in mourning, and in the final chants, the meaning of your suffering is found; there is time there is time…
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I could continue to write this response for days, because like the chant, this poem reverberates onward, and proceeds to the beginning… beginning once more, turned into wine by the previous reading. I could move through the opening of the poem in a more terse style, focusing more on concretizing the words chosen, opening up to more and more reaching description as I make my way to the end (essentially switching up the way I wrote this response); and then I can begin once more, teetering in from the opening and closing into a crescendo of piercing at the heart of the response… I could do this because the poem becomes richer the more time I spend with it; but I love beginning my response with more elaborate expression, gradually sinking into a briefer, perhaps more mysterious account of the poem. It seems to me that which is made conspicuous allows for a deepening of that which remains mysterious, and suddenly the mystery becomes more tangible, and as the poem regains the dominant voice, the mystery becomes somehow more awesome and more familiar at once. I think perhaps the meaning is something like that; I think perhaps the awareness is like that…
Submitted by Caterina on Sat, 02/16/2008 - 5:12pm.
gorgeous symmetry and compliment in your readings. still blown away. thank you both! Thank you for entering so deeply this poem which for me continues to penetrate to the meaning of loss, asking me to find in myself the deepest places that niggle and worm and hollow out, unconsciously driving my hunger and longing for reparation.
To "Say" i've lost a son. We've all lost a son, now, holding Om's chant.
Holding this precious baby who is being born to us through this loving community. I am in the back of the throat (there is a powerful chakra there, the "throat chakra", sometimes called, but there really is something there, that place of articulation between self-integration, voice and heart. it is the key chakra of the rajanakan yogis (tantric, non-dual), the focal point for integrating mind and heart, for articulating desire and swallowing recognition, taking in the response of the universe (each other) and integrating these in continual process, dance, two three...
(I would like to say that I am submitting this before reading anyone else’s thoughts on this poem (part of my process) so I apologize if I am repeating what has already been said.)
This poem is to be spoken. It is a chanted prayer. The awakening here expresses itself in the voice; to me the poem is realized through the penetrative power of the voice to pierce, pierce right into the heart of loss, the heart of suffering, painful as the nails driven into skin, and then purifying. Like the Buddhist chant at its center, it feels almost untranslatable because it is empty; but it can be known and this is why we must speak.
The first word is say (Imagine )that you lost a son. Yes. But say. Say that you lost a son. Speak the loss. You lost a son. I want to live with this line--this first line--not cling to it, but sit with it for a moment:
You lost your son, Om.
Or, as a directive: say that you lost a son--I lost a son. Do you hear this? We must enter into this loss first, before we can go on because this poem is about speaking into the depths of loss; and this is a loss vaster than any that I have ever known, but still I have known loss and I think about loss, and I know that I am a son, that I have a father and so I say that you lost a son. I want to speak your loss.
And you are in mourning
And a buddhist friend as deep /as she is light [gorgeous!]/ finds in her chant / the meaning of your suffering. Listen to where the lines ask you to let your breath fall. For me, the enjambment says deep/light/chant/suffering. We are talking about the meaning found through the chant, the voice. But what does the chant represent? Why are we chanting? We are not trying to be "saved" from this loss. No, this is a seeking of a truth at the essence of ones being and we can learn to speak this meaning because we are its truth. The chant seems to be an expression of this true being and she has found it and speaks. Who is this friend? She is beautiful. In the poem she is your guide, your teacher.
And you hear the swallow of her throat as you, along with her, chant your om mani padme hum, and the hum around the tongue of wisdom turns the padme of perseverance into wine, as the wistful murmurs of prayer step slow and almost unencumbered. There is time
The swallow of her throat. Of course at first I think of the songbird; but also a place in at the back of the throat where we swallow--deep and sacred. But this word, swallow, is so rich with meaning—the bird of beautiful song and good luck; and to take in through the throat, to consume or destroy. It means both to accept unquestioningly “I swallowed the whole story” and also to conceal or hold back “I swallowed my feelings”, to meekly accept something “I swallowed your insult,” and to deplete or to engulf. Finally, I think of the feeling of a deep cry rising up and trying to escape; that full swallowy feeling of grief. How can a loss so great be spoken?
What an interesting choice, so rich with contradiction—the musical call of song, the sacred place of speaking, the withheld, consumed, engulfed and concealed—all pointing me in, back to the ‘meaning’ held inside of voice itself. Yes, these murmurs of prayer are unencumbered almost. This is a poem that speaks its own process.
And the hum: the tongue of wisdom turning the padme of preserverence into wine—loss into awareness, suffering into joy. The music of these lines, the wisdom creating wine of perseverance in prayer, the slow step of hum murmuring: Listen to yourself speak this. It must be spoken because the chant is an act of purification. And so is time itself.
There is time there is time there is time—and now we are 12 years old and our father has died and we are sitting in church and Christ is up there on the wall, nails piercing his skin and what does that mean anyway, this conjured image of the nails piercing his skin—this is the dark magic of childhood and our great belief has suddenly been ruptured by a greater unknowing, ruptured by loss. And there is this image of Christ being pierced. But I am now; I want to pierce that image, to break it open—to wake up from the dream, to purify this past which is rising up in this now, into this loss of a son here, where I am sitting, purifying ignorance and suffering with the chant that is this poem, purifying the past with time, the time that is this now, here, banging away at the past, at the illusion, at the unknowing, at the skin of this loss with the nails that are these words, the nail that is Om’s pen, penetrating the very heart of suffering, banging away at the keys. I love this poem because it truly contains the story of its own process. How is it that this poem is? The poem speaks the question and is its meaning.
And time again, worming and hollowing away the flesh of your father, claiming everything that one could hold, one could drink, one could quench—repaying the debt, trying to fill emptiness beneath this loss .
Calling out in endless cups to a father you will never quench, a son you never got to hold…
and there is only thirst now, only lack, only loss—the loss of this son that you never got to touch, to hold, to kiss: where does this love go, what has this loss swallowed whole [hole]—it is swallowing you in its hole. You are trying to hold this loss, this hole, this emptiness and your arms are dying. They are reaching, grasping, calling to hold your lost son, the love that seems lost, and they cannot hold and they are dying, these arms. But the meaning wakes you in the echo of the tsee-ler—it is now the sparrow calling from inside the swallow of the throat, inside your swallowing, inside the loss and its holding and its hold. It says: there is time there is time and you are here, we are here.
This voice piercing the image of Christ, piercing the loss and suffering itself, waking itself to its own truth: there is time. Here is loss pouring out of you in endless cups of love.
I asked myself, Why is this poem called the Last Chants? It is a chant of becoming. Yes. Om Mani Padme Hum What does it mean to chant? I don't think it can be translated--the chant, this poem, the experience--because it is not in the words themselves but in the act of our speaking. The Being that the words point us toward. Loss speaks. Not to hold, not to swallow, but to speak, to be--what else but love?
Submitted by Caterina on Sat, 02/16/2008 - 5:01pm.
Noah, thank you for this exquisite reading. I am blown away and deeply moved by the way you approach this poem, by your gentleness and willingness to hold the pain of the loss, asking us first to speak the poem out loud, to step into the process that is the poem... the way you articulate that wonderful image of the swallowing, how you get us there at the back of the throat and conjure up all of the associations with swallowing.. this is truly an intimate and full bodied reading! How you cause us to really "swallow" the idea of losing a son. "Om, you lost a son." i could say more about your reading, but I just want to say thank you.
the beginning of terror, that we are still able to bear,
and we revere it so, because it calmly disdains
to destroy us.
Thank you thank you thank you… there is time there is time there is time. My dear Buddhist friend, as light as she is deep, told me a story about her teacher, Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche who, being asked advice, asked my friend’s friend how old he was. The man said, I’m 50. Tulku responded, “You’re wasting time, go meditate.” Is this not the most beautiful and simple transmission of love. It’s that simple, sit! Purify purify purify, there is time there is time there is time. I realized at the very moment my Buddhist friend, who is as deep as she is light, had just gifted to me the greatest gift because she transmitted the most precious teaching: I am that man!!! Om, stop wasting time with this world so that you stop wasting this world.Stop wasting time so that you can give generously to this world. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!!! In this incarnation, that is J There is time there is time there is time and I am so grateful to be alive so that I can cultivate compassion for all beings, without exception. And these, the last chants, are the lasting chants of psychological in the cradle of infinite time, the last giving in to the first beginning over and over again (Finnegans Wake J in the wheel of birth, life and death.
Not coincidentally, on this past Valentine’s Day, my son would have been six years old and it was the third anniversary of my mother, Iris’ death. You remember Iris, she was a plant whose pot, which was broken, I couldn’t fix. But, I am now fixing her as she is fixing me through her beautiful death. She is now light lighting me. Om mani padme hum. What was once the silliest day of the year has now become my favorite. A day of remembering there is time there is time there is time.
Poetry has always been a therapeutic form of healing and recording, a bearing witness to my suffering, but in such a way as to give it “higher” form. To give voice to. Person means voice. Of course. `The Last Chants’ is a personal poem about grief and loss; but, it’s so much more because it’s also 1) a poem, which means it’s given over to an aesthetic recalling and recording and paradoxically removed from the immediacy of the experience; 2) a philosophical reflection; and 3) being shared after the experience, so that the poem and the experiences it conveys are no longer mine alone.
And the way I experience it, in its most distilled form, this poem is about karma. Importantly, it is also about what everyone has said about it, all of it; it’s all true, and the insights and love given to this poem, which is now ours, are astounding, truly radiant. Thank you.
I thought (intuitively at the time, it was not “thought”) it most appropriate to start off the poem with the word “say.” For me, say is the Western utterance emerging from Om (or Aumm), the universal sound and seed syllable of embodiment seeking the divine. In Katha Upanishad, it is said, "The goal, which all Vedas declare, which all austerities aim at, and which humans desire when they live a life of continence, I will tell you briefly it is Aumm.”
`The one is indeed Brahman. This one syllable is the highest. Whosoever knows this one syllable obtains all that he desires.’ And in the Bhagavad Gita (8.13):
“Uttering the monosyllable Aum, the eternal world of Brahman, One who departs leaving the body (at death), he attains the superior goal.”
You can see why I chose as my blog name, Om and not Paul, my actual name. And I try to honor and focus on that sound in every word I choose here (even when I’m raising my fist) so that I might cultivate compassion for all beings, without exception. This, our block, is my practice, too.
And so, the word “say” recalls that in the beginning was the word, and the relation. And relationship is the utterance of one’s deepest needs and desire to love. I have never experienced as this one word, "say," as so brilliant and so completely inclusive. It is a poem itself. And say said and worded and stated and expressed and alleged and reported and maintained and supposed and read and had or contained a certain wording or form; and declared and uttered aloud; and ordered and gave instructions to or directed somebody to do something with authority; and pronounced and spoke, pronounced, or uttered in a certain way; and recited or repeated a fixed text (chanted!!!!!!); and communicated or expressed nonverbally; and chanced to speak; and pointed in its utterance there is time there is time there is time.
I see time itself as karmic debt, that is, it takes away and by taking away it gives so generously and abundantly. As the greatest gift there is perhaps and death is a creative form of time. This is my theory of death: it gives. It is a portal of opportunity. A purification for the living. Love gifted to the living, a teaching for what the living do, love love love. There is time there is time there is time. My fantasy is that our loved ones die to awaken in us the deepest existential opportunity. The intensity of it, the extreme pain completely dismantles our reality, and isn’t that the point. When I lost my son, I was literally crushed, extinguished and beyond consolation. That is, my EGO!!! My attachment to this illusory world of conventional meaning. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time, I couldn’t breathe and was on the floor and punching myself in the head. No more, no more losses! How much loss can a man take in one lifetime?
Yet I had huge responsibilities of others in my care. How was I going to do it, I couldn’t do it. I can’t go on I can’t go on and so I went on, and I went on and on and on there is time there is time there is time… om mani padme hum…. and I am with all of you right now in this moment of here… there is time there is time there is time and I’m more alive than ever because of karma, "repaying the debt of what/love once offered." What love once offered is what it will always and forever offer, more love, despite loss, despite suffering, despite in the inconsolable grief of an illusory mind in an illusory world. This is why I have said that we don’t have to suffer even though we must suffer, it’s the greatest paradox of being human when human is separated from being, or when we mistake being human for human Being. You know what I mean? Being is the pure, unstained state. Human is the suffering state of separation from Being. Never separate the two.
According to Buddhism, karma, on an individual level, determines our personal experiences. Is this not gorgeous? If you take the morality and guilt and shame out of it, it’s pure teaching, pure beauty in its highest aesthetic form. We are completely self-determined, we are completely and totally free. I remember Sartre saying that life begins at the far side of despair and that statement fascinated me, mostly because I lived for so long in complete despair. I said, oh shit, it’s like over the rainbow, but this rainbow was darkness. At the end of despair is joy, pure unadulterated joy. And if we don’t get stuck in magical thinking (the new fad, `The Secret,’ lends itself to that), we begin to realize that karma (Sanskrit, meaning action), is nothing more than “causality of actions.” Our destinies are not determined by gods or God, but by our own actions. Our own previous actions, from one lifetime to the next. And so, my childhood trauma didn’t occur because I was bad and God was punishing me, that’s a perverted moralism fostered by Christian dogma. No, my trauma occurred because of the myriad conditions and causes over the course of infinite lifetimes, both individually and collectively. But, at this very moment, right now, if I were wise and compassionate enough, I could completely and totally remove all of it, my entire past. I could actually change my past!!! and determine my future as a future without suffering!!! Think of it, Goldmund would turn to gold and Narcissus would dissolve into the dissolving of his own looking and his double image would heal in the light of love and only love.
Listen to this, from Mathieu Ricard, in the `Quantum and the Lotus’ (please pick it up, it’s extraordinary and very accessible) highlights and silly brackets mine:
Buddhism finds substantial value in the phenomenon of psychological time. It helps us to overcome the fear of death and encourages diligence in t he work we do to accomplish spiritual change. A practicing Buddhist [ha! Or even if you’re not a Buddhist but still practicing J!!!] will not live in fear of death because, by constantly meditating [!!!] on it, he has prepared himself to accept it with serenity when the moment comes. Gampopa, an eleventh century Tibetan sage, said, “At first you should de driven by fear [easy task L]of birth and death like a stag escaping from a trap. In the middle [of mediation practice], you should have nothing to regret even if you die, like a farmer who has carefully worked his fields [or garden!!!]. in the end, you should feel relieved and happy, like a person who has just completed a formidable task.” A hermit turns over his cup every night in case he doesn’t wake up the next morning. He thinks that each moment brings him closer to death. Every time he breathes out, he feels happy to breathe in once more.” P. 132-133.
I will share more (of course J but for now I need to just sit and take you all in. gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha. There is time there is love there is time….
I have many questions about what you have said here. But, for starters, would you please explain your use of the phrase, "there is time there is time there is time." It feels to me that there is simultaneously no time and infinite time.
because I so deliciously get to present these swallows singing together, specifically about time. Instead of answering you directly, and I promise I will after I can catch my breath again, I would like James, Catherine and Noah to answer your question, in their own words. "It feels to me that there is simultaneously no time and infinite time." This is beautiful, and in between no time and infinite time, is life vibrating. Just feel these following sentences, in time.
James. But already the words are revealing their movement, because you’re in morning, too, or any other time it may be—but you are in time. You know you are in time because you are in mourning, and you are painfully aware of time, though perhaps there may be some beauty in time yet.
so we may pause on this Buddhist friend to acknowledge
Back and forth, back and forth, through the syllables being slowly carved into the air.
The beat of the steps seems to be slowing itself down, yet eagerly anticipating the next beat, the next step. The words… the syllables call for such care and such attention and intent, yet they seem to already be pronouncing the next curve of the tongue, the next swallow of the throat…
The chant is still pressing onwards, and is still somehow situated, present in the very relationship to its speaker.
There is time
There is time—this means there will be time, this means there is time enough, this means there must be time waited through, this means that time is, and the past is present in the present, along with the future. There is time…
But already the past is transformed, because this 12-year-old is in a context, and this 12-year-old’s feelings are present in the experience of the… well, of the “you.”
there is time, there is time worming and hollowing out like wind… the hole… That time is doing the worming and hollowing brings us the hole chewed out by the worms. Ah, but there is time. Time to be spent waiting and watching, time piercing. Time walking much too slowly and, yet, much too quickly to the hole in the ground… Oh, and there is time. Time past in the present.
There is time. The ambiguity of the terms has vanished, as all becomes present in you.
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Caterina. There is time, There is time, there is time, words rhythmically bringing us into the chant itself, and conveying us into a memory:
. Time here (there is time, there is time, there is time, we wont forget) proposes that the loss, the feeling of loss, is the infinite feeling, the one, if there is one feeling under all feelings, that will always be presented to the lips of this poet in endless cups.
They seem to reach, in endless ache, to an impossibility
. Recognizing the feeling, there must be one who feels, a return to the one promise that between feeling and feeler there is the relationship, and under this, awareness.
Echoing... the story echoes in time, held in a consciousness, like the tsee-ler (the sound the sparrow makes), held in a throat, and we return to the beginning, to the sound of the chant:
"There is time there is time": the final words of the poem bring us back into the meaning that the chant is pouring into this whole journey-poem, into the loss and pain, quenching sorrow in the awareness that even our greatest pain is held and known, holdable knowable, and so has an end in dissolution.
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Noah. the musical call of song, the sacred place of speaking, the withheld, consumed, engulfed and concealed—all pointing me in, back to the ‘meaning’ held inside of voice itself.
The music of these lines, the wisdom creating wine of perseverance in prayer, the slow step of hum murmuring: Listen to yourself speak this. It must be spoken because the chant is an act of purification. And so is time itself.
But I am now; I want to pierce that image, to break it open—to wake up from the dream, to purify this past which is rising up in this now, into this loss of a son here, where I am sitting, purifying ignorance and suffering with the chant that is this poem, purifying the past with time, the time that is this now, here, banging away at the past, at the illusion, at the unknowing, at the skin of this loss with the nails that are these words, the nail that is Om’s pen, penetrating the very heart of suffering, banging away at the keys. I love this poem because it truly contains the story of its own process.
And time again, worming and hollowing away the flesh of your father, claiming everything that one could hold, one could drink, one could quench—repaying the debt, trying to fill emptiness beneath this loss .
There is time there is time there is time. I stop and turn around-- like Orpheus, yet with the ironic transforming into authenticity, or my pact with fate resolving into salvific desire--
I would like to explore an aspect of time with my favorite myth, Orpheus: time as the act of turning around. Turning around is both visual and meaningful; its doubleness contains the altering (from future to past) and ceasing of time (a pause between past and future). Why would we “turn around” if our journey is taking us forward to our destination? Perhaps it is an act of navigation-- orientation, or reference. Perhaps we cannot go further ahead without the knowledge that the past provides. The question then becomes one of motivation: What causes this action of “turning around?” Is it fear? Self-doubt? Guilt? Or, merely the need to re-evaluate our present position?
We are then presented with a hyphen, and then “like Orpheus.” Thus, “turning around” textually points to a contextualized history from which meaning and motive will be revealed. And again, a double-coding occurs. The hyphen itself is significant as a strategy of territorializing space, of creating a boundary, and therefore a contact zone for the activity of meaning-making; and it is also utilizing proximity and distance as a comparative critique from which “like” orients meaning. I am “like” Orpheus, but the boundaring of hyphenization at the same time tells us there is only the verisimilitude of likeness. Orpheus perhaps was a former self, a shadow of a present past. Perhaps we share likeness in our romantic ideals, but the romantic ideal of the poetic is no longer, like Orpheus, an indulgence in sustained longing of irreversible time lost.
I stop and turn around-- like Orpheus, yet with the ironic transforming into authenticity, or my pact with fate resolving into its salvific desire--
“Yet” further indicates difference (between the narrator and Orpheus) and the doubleness of “turning around.” We shift from a visual to semantic structure through a comparative critique of Orpheus. I am like Orpheus, but there is a shift “as” what was once concealed in irony is now being revealed in the authenticity of revelation. But, what is this revelation? The myth of Orpheus tells us that
Eurydice was called. She came from among the newly-arrived ghosts, limping with her wounded foot. Orpheus was permitted to take her away with him on one condition-- that he should not turn around to look at her 'til they should have reached the upper air. Under this condition they proceeded on their way, he leading, she following, through passages dark and steep, in total silence, 'til they had nearly reached the outlet into the cheerful upper world, when Orpheus, in a moment of forgetfulness, to assure himself that she was still following, cast a glance behind him, when instantly she was borne away.
Revelation always begins with insight regarding the complex of conflict, a shift in consciousness from unknowing to knowing. This is the human dilemma. Let’s begin with Eurydice, Orpheus’ beloved, the object of love and desire. Eurydice is the pre-biblical Eve who, bitten by the serpent, is destined to the underworld of eternal suffering. Eurydice is also the `Other’ of Orpheus’ gaze, that stage, according to Julia Kristeva, when awareness of the separation between the self and other gives rise to symbolic language—narrative and myth; but which also suppresses (or, more accurately, represses) nondual awareness.
The moment Orpheus turned around Eurydice was “borne away.” She disappeared, as if she were merely a dream; and perhaps she was. The suddenness of her disappearance following a passageway, “dark and steep, in total silence,” strikes me as most significant because of its dreamlike quality. It represents Orpheus’ past, or I should say, Orpheus’ fixation on the past, in a kind of nostalgic longing. And this is the source of Orpheus’ suffering in the form of pathological mourning.
The Orpheus myth recalls nostalgia, the painful longing to return to a past that never was. Nostalgia is from the Greek, nostos, meaning "to return home" and algos, meaning "pain," and suggests a deep longing for an earlier time. But, the time Orpheus desperately longs for is necessarily an imaginary time, not of space (which we can return to), but a wish to override the irreversibility of time. Nostalgia is a reaction to lost time, the inability to return. It is primarily an emotional response to fate, to time’s irrecoverable nature in conscious awareness. It is the very pastness of the past, its inaccessibility that accounts for nostalgia's power. However, this is not the past as actually experienced; it is the past as imagined, as idealized through memory and desire
What Orpheus does not realize is that his fixation on the past is in fact about the present, an inverted history, we might say, of a perceived unattainable ideal life which is projected into the past. Nostalgia is a recollection that is, at the same time, a forgetting (or, dynamically speaking, an ignoring, or dissociation, which reflects the inability to assign emotional significance to a situation) at the service of fantasy’s desire to reconstruct the past.
This taking flight is an exile, a “turning away” from self-awareness and the responsibility of the present—which might very well mean confronting (and therefore, grieving) a past that was complicated, contaminated, difficult, and ugly, or confronting an irretrievable loss that precludes the fulfillment of a future fantasy, that is, of what could have been (how often, for example, I have desired to share at the present moment 15 minutes with my deceased father).
I stop and turn around-- like Orpheus, yet with the ironic transforming into authenticity, or my pact with fate resolving into its salvific desire--
In this one line I invoke Ancient Greek mythology and its out growth, Christianity, in the Apostolic letter: Salvifici Doloris (On the meaning of suffering) of Pope John Paul II. Both texts contain the meaning of the above line, for both approach the existential fact of man: fate and suffering. For Orpheus, it is the fate of death, and for Pope John Paul, it is the inherent suffering of the human condition in the loss of eternal life. For Orpheus there is only death and regret. For John Paul there is salvation through resolution, or conversion.
The Savifici is the most exquisite of John Paul’s writings, and truly worth reading. Ultimatel flawed, in my opinion, but it so exquisitely resonates in its explanation of suffering, evil, and salvation. As John Paul says, “Suffering must serve for conversion, that is, for the rebuilding of goodness in the subject, who can recognize the divine mercy in this call to repentance. The purpose of penance is to overcome evil, which under different forms lies dormant in man. Its purpose is also to strengthen goodness both in man himself and in his relationships with others and especially with God.”
You don’t need to be Christian or even theistic to appreciate this.
("This is an English version of the lovely Luiz Bonfá song from the film Orfeu Negro (Black Orpheus), "Manhã de Carnaval." I'm neither the guitarist nor singer for the job, but I've got to share the beauty of this song's melody and lyrics with you all somehow!")
I also love the story of Orpheus, especially as it is told in the beautiful film Black Orpheus. And I think that I understand the significance and cost to Orpheus of turning back to assure himself that Eurydice is still following. So thanks for stitching all of this together, especially with respect to the question of suffering and redemption.
Although, I still do not understand the idea of living without suffering, It is completely outside of my experience. I guess I am expressing where I am on the spiritual continuum.
But, you know, I have had to spend hours pouring over your text... working to decode it. After this experience many times during the past months, I have decided that it is not that something is wrong with my brain. You write very complex prose. I realize that you are working to share these ideas and I am grateful. But I want you to write more simple sentences. It just cannot be that such complex structures are essential to the explanation of these ideas.
Submitted by Caterina on Mon, 02/18/2008 - 2:13am.
It just cannot be that such complex structures are essential to the explanation of these ideas.
Entire theses can be written on "these ideas". How do we even know what "these ideas" are actual "ideas" without explication? Myths are like gifts or packages that a culture can unpack, unfold, with the tools of their time. if people of the time find them appropriate, and relevant, they will unpack them, but there is no given that any time will find them appropriate. Because not every time or person will understand them or find them relevant. It takes a considerable amount of reflection to "unpack" them, and even then, to relate them to one's life and to contemporary life. And thus, the need for "complex structures": given the layer of self analysis in relevance to myth, and cultural-social analysis in relation to myth, as well as careful reading of myth, it is inherently COMPLEX.
Perhaps you would prefer a more elegant and simple explication, but beware of simple and elegant explications! They might be too simple, (jumping to conclusions that satisfy a simple intellectual aim) and how would you know that they were really thorough or well considered? You would have to take it upon yourself to examine. As we all must do.
And who really does take the time here?
I, for one, haven't the time to examine. I used to when I was in grad school, but I haven't given myself the time to examine a lot of stuff since then, with exception for certain topics I've fallen into in my current work.
Rather than making a claim for why thorough explication is necessary, I should like to ask you why you think it is better that elucidations be simple.
When I go to meditation at the place near my house, everyone gathers in room with sitting pads. When it is time to begin, the person who is acting as time keeper strikes a bell three times. That ringing reverberates through the room... a call to contemplation and to consciousness. It is beautifully simple and quiet.
I realize that that sound is not exactly an explication, but it has the quality that I seek. It works on my body, mind, and spirit all at once. The elucidations that I was complaining about, in my view, are very much in the head. I wish they were more balanced.
Just so you know, there is definitely nothing wrong with your beautiful brain, and I know this because I get to taste your beautiful words. You are not the first to complain about my "complex" prose and I agree, these ideas could be expressed in more simple sentences (Have you ever read Julia Kristeva-- I'm kindergarten next to her. And how about Caterina????? LOL!!!!). Honestly, I just don't think I'm skillful enough to do it in ways that wouldn't compromise my thought process, that is, the meaning I'm trying to convey. Part of the problem is that I have so many fucking ideas in my head and this is how they come out, and they just won't stop for me to go back and "simplify" them. Seriously. By the way, verbally I speak in simple sentences and people at least sometimes understand me. I wasn't kidding about my associational disorder (see end of post).
We all need to change, right? I'm telling everyone to sit, aren't I? I'll tell you what, regarding this post, I will go back over it and see what I can do (I'm feeling resistant, already, Arnold, so that's probably a good thing, your challenge).
In the meantime, gggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!
you're like that character in movies who, every time his/her love interest dismisses him or pushes him away or hits him with a right hook, he smiles and (OH SO ANNOYINGLY) comes back with a smile and a caress and a big fat bright red-lipsticked kiss mmmmmwwwwhhhaaaaaa!. the funny thing about that character is that (in all the worthwhile instances, at least) it's never disingenuous or ironic!! ahh, like Noah says: dissolving... like water the stone. OOPS! i wasn't supposed to say like again...
And I am not trying to create new work for you. Please do not rework what you have already written.
But you are a teacher. And I believe that your ideas, the synthesis of what you have experienced in the crucible of your life and of your received wisdom, can be stated in simple (and elegant) terms.
Now, do not challenge to write deeply. I am not skillful in that way. But you are and/or could be if you choose.
that you consider me a teacher, deeply touched. Teacher is a role I take the most seriously (next to parent). Thank you for your esteem and kindness. I also think you opened up a very beautiful discussion based on caterina's and james' thoughts on this subject. I would love to hear from others, too. Two questions I will address more (God, I've thought about this so much) are: how to stay true to my expositional style and thought process and the complexity engendered in some of these ideas; and how do I meet the needs of the greater number of people in the audience, the dispositions and interests, for example, are wide?
Submitted by Caterina on Tue, 02/19/2008 - 1:12am.
how to stay true to my expositional style and thought process and the complexity engendered in some of these ideas; and how do I meet the needs of the greater number of people in the audience, [where] the dispositions and interests, for example, are wide?
Great questions, Om!!
I think you do a beautiful job here on the blog weaving your own complexity through different styles, some of which read very smoothly, like breath (see The Music of Relationship... which is notable for the way in which you weave together some pretty cool scientific ideas with psychological ones, many of which could be expounded upon and made more complex, but the exposition flows very evenly and smoothly, a non-laborious read).
Others are dense like stars, but spend the time to unpack them and you have light! I think of a line, for instance from the recent Time as myth...: "Turning around is both visual and meaningful; its doubleness contains the altering (from future to past) and ceasing of time (a pause between past and future)."
You HAVE to stop and think about that. Your language here reminds me of John Freccero, the very groovy and divine Dante scholar who had among his intellectual peers not other Dante scholars, but philosophers, hermeneuts and linguists, I'd say, like Paul Ricoeur and Erich Auerbach.... all of whom had this marvelous balance of feminine sensitivity and masculine penetrativeness (makes sense that Om's lines remind me of Freccero, because F's whole treatment of Dante is on the notion of "turning back"... in an Augustinian sense, of turning within, to recognize the personal narrative of one's life and so discover its meaning... but I'm not writing about this)... But you see what happens in language like this! It's packed, each line holds a very precise set of constructs that require you to do some mental gymnastics to get into the proper flexibility and mindset to hold them, and follow the discourse. A little bit of time to understand the first line that makes you pause you will be, in itself, a contemplation that opens the mind and makes it more supple to access the sense of the whole.
Add these styles, the open and non-laborious but complex, to the more laborious and complex vajra ("diamond") kind with the tender tone of the posts on loss, relationship and your personal journey of reparation and, as Arnold says, "the synthesis of what you have experienced in the crucible of your life and of your received wisdom," shines through in this delicious feast of styles. Oh and we wont forget the limricks! (Can't find a proper link... damn, I was on a roll!)
I think that because here, on the "block", you have a multiplicity of readers in your audience, you can experiment and play with a variety of styles, all of which work together and add more dimensions (and attractions) to the various styles you naturally adopt. If you were ever to write a book, as I think you mentioned here once wanting to do, you could also experiment with these different styles, though employing all these various styles may not be what you want to do. But you could.
Maybe you would seek one style that can stay true, as you say, to your "expositional style and thought process and the complexity engendered in some of these ideas"... in which case you may have to limit your idea of your audience to those who would take the time to unpack these ideas with you.
It's worth doing, in any case, sharing, that is, more of your ideas, in whatever manner you are moved to do so.
But, you know, I have had to spend hours pouring over your text... working to decode it.
Arnold, this is pretty impressive stuff. In one of my classes we're working our way through Jean-Paul Sartre's "Being & Nothingness." It's a certain sort of monster, and it is brilliant in a painfully French way. I've only read a little bit of work from some of the brilliant 20th century French thinkers, but I'm beginning to understand what all the fuss is about. Brilliant, but jeez, they sure require a lot of sussing out. Anyway, when the term started I had all the time in the world and I would read each page, paragraph, sentence, as slowly and as many times as necessary to understand it as fully as I was then capable of. Then the term went on and I fell into old habits, and I've since slacked off a bit, though I'm hoping to take full advantage of this long weekend to take responsibility back for the work I am choosing to do.
You know, there are plenty of folks who seem to me to be no smarter than I am, but who understand, for example, Monsieur Sartre much better than I do. I seem to be picking it up bit by bit, but it's so hard! Anyway, the thing that impresses me about Sartre is that he is pretty damn precise. He knows what he is saying, and he knows how to say it... he is not just yammering on and on needlessly. But at times it feels this way. It's only later, as I can place those earlier passages into a broader context, that I recognize how well each phrase has been selected. But anyway, this isn't about existentialism, it's about suffering... oh, wait, I might be leading myself into one of those crises...
Well, I'll just move back to your post!
When you say, then, that "It just cannot be that such complex structures are essential to the explanation of these ideas," I'd like to get a better idea for what you're looking for. It's funny, sometimes I've got ideas that I feel are so very clear to me that sound precisely expressed when leaving my lips, that leave my companion stranded without a clue. And then later on my companion will suggest something to me that I simply can't decipher. I had this idea not too long ago that an idea expressed clearly enough can be understood by anyone, it's just that people don't express themselves clearly enough. This, I've come to discover, is a bit limited. It's one of those oh-so-male kinds of theories; you know, it focuses on universal application instead of personal relationships. Well, I'm a bit more integrated now, so I can find theories that work towards a middle way. What I've begun leaning towards lately is that an idea expressed clearly enough by one person to anothercan be understood by that person. This means that I can express myself perfectly clearly and still be completely misunderstood because I did not express myself perfectly clearly to you. Thus the relationship must be accounted for in the very expression. I must consider you and, even more wonderful, I must recognize you in order to be able to express myself to you as fully as possible. This started sounding very nice to me as it was being formulated in my thoughts... but even this is limited.
For example, I spoke in a post from not too long ago about telling my father I felt I was unrecognized, by both he and my mother, while I was growing up. At the beginning of the conversation I was pretty confident I had a handle on the idea and that as long as I remained present and calm and kept him from feeling unsafe, I'd be able to express it to him. My father is a very intelligent man; his mind is highly impressive. But when I expressed what I thought was a very clear, precise, and concise thought... it just fell to the ground. He looked at me as a man without any firm ground from which to understand what I had said. I realized then and there that, yes, it must be expressed with and for this particular individual if he is to understand what I mean; otherwise it is just me talking to myself-- where's the relationship there? So I tried my best to follow with him and enter into his way of thinking and seeing the world. I believe he and I see the world in radically different ways; Sonia Hoffman (from 'Mindwalk') would maybe call it a conflict of perception! But every time I felt I had finally found my way into HIS language, and HIS perspective... it fell flat again. What's the deal? Finally we managed to get to a place where I was beginning to understand him a bit better, and he was able to finally have a take on what I was saying. He didn't get it well enough to really get a hold on everything that I am expressing in saying "you guys did not recognize me," but our relationship is growing nonetheless.
Imagine yourself at the top of a mountain, the mountain’s peak, the very apex, let’s say the Archimedean point. You see what I just did? I just took a simple image, a metaphoric image, and made it complex by bringing in another metaphor: Archimedean point. Why would I do that?
According to Wikipedia, An Archimedean point is “a hypothetical vantage point from which an observer can objectively perceive the subject of inquiry, with a view of totality. The ideal of "removing oneself" from the object of study so that one can see it in relation to all other things, but remain independent of them, is described by a view from an Archimedean point.”
I’m trying to communicate to you an idea about something which doesn’t really exist, in and of itself, but rather metaphorically points to that in my direct experience which I not only want to share with you, but want you yourself to experience so that we can better know each other, be intimate, if you will. Taking you to a mountain peak, however, is close but not enough. I want you to come with me beyond the peak and so see from the peak everything possible, like an aleph (if you remember from a previous post which explains my theoretical perspective on language and communication). As I said, “In Borges' story, the Aleph is a point in space that contains all other points. Anyone who gazes into it can see everything in the universe from every angle simultaneously, without distortion, overlapping or confusion.” Now this is closer to the peak I want you to imagine with me, though different from an Archimedean point because, unlike the Archimedean point, it is not independent of everything else; in fact, my Archimedean point is empty of independent existence. This is what I think Buddhism means when it talks about omniscience, having a “pure” view of reality.
So, now I ask you to imagine yourself at the top of a mountain where you can see everything below, which of course, isn’t really a below because there’s no above. Now, why did I go and do that? Why did I have to throw paradox in this sentence and make it more complex? You see, my view of this metaphorical peak is that it is outside of space and time, which doesn’t mean that it’s nonexistent, it merely means that it exists both outside and inside conceptual reality. What I am trying to convey is the Buddhist idea of emptiness. According to Matthieu Ricard, “Emptiness refers to the ultimate nature of phenomena, which means that phenomena lack permanent (inherent) and autonomous existence, the things of this world are fleeting, ephemeral. If you can’t speak of real existence, you cannot speak of non-existence either. Because phenomena have no intrinsic reality, they can have infinite manifestations. The wise abide neither in being nor non-being.”
Now, this philosophical perspective is not theory for theory’s sake, it is theory for compassion’s sake. The ultimate understanding of Emptiness is to alleviate suffering. And so, further, regarding my nondual view of our empty mountain peak, the reason it has both neither below nor aboveandbelow and above, “space can't be reduced to one of its parts, or be viewed as independent of its parts. Only direct knowledge that transcends conventional thought can see the world of phenomena in a nondual way. Ricard: “In Buddhism there aren’t bits of matter, but rather “particles of space” that represent (energy) potentials manifesting as light and then elements. The universe is not independent of consciousness and so does not have independent objects.”
Now, I’ve already written five paragraphs and could go on and on but it would be terribly inefficient and timely. Instead of this overwrought task, I prefer to be parsimonious and condense my essays or posts or meanderings to fewer words. But, there is a cost I presume, possibly that of clarity and turning people off because the text is too dense. Like I said, I have lots of ideas I would like to share.
So, once again, I bring back my original solution. If there’s something I’m not making clear, please ask and I’ll do my best to clarify it. And I think this goes for everyone. Sometimes I have to read James and Noah’s poems 10 times before I get a real sense of what the poem is trying to convey (and Caterina, wwwwsshhooo! if you know what I mean). That doesn’t make them bad poems, it makes them complex poems which hold many layers of meaning. That is, it goes deep. That turns many people off. But, for me, it turns me on. It feels like a treasure buried deep below the sea and I’m a diver seeking its contents.
The process you have described here is the work of artists and teachers... to close as much as possible that gap that is inevitable between any two humans. I cannot experience your experience, but you can give your experience a form that helps me to get closer to you.
but what to do when there are divergent opinions about the form itself? What if some say, wow, that's pretty clear to me and others say, you need to make this clearer? What to do?
Now, because we have a relatively small group, I think it's manageable. What would help me is if you are more specific and clearer about what I am not making clear. That would help me in two ways: 1) to make my ideas clearer to you; and 2) make me go deeper into my ideas so as to gain broader perspective.
I came across this paragraph. Tell me what you think of it.
According to ken wilber evolution produces greater complexity of material body and this is correlated with increased subtle energies and consiousness. So increased complexity of the physical form is the vehicle for manifestation of subtle energy and consiousness. He supports the view that subtle cannot be reduced to consiousness but these energies accompany and support the correlative level of consiousness. According to him, with increased complexity of physical forms more subtler energy also evolve. With physical particle gross energy like gravitation etc, with viruses etheric body and with brain stem astral body etc.... According to Wilber each of the seven chakras also contain three type of subtle energies and the corresponding minds(gross,subtle,causual).
When I receive this paragraph and it is dense, my first question is "Why am I going to exert myself over this prose?" I have not read the book from which these ideas come, so its context cannot motivate me. By quoting it, you, who I know as a credible commentator, it gets your importance. And that is motivation.
With all respect, however, where you quote him, "... increased complexity of the physical form is the vehicle for manifestation of subtle energy and consiousness. He supports the view that subtle cannot be reduced to consiousness but these energies accompany and support the correlative level of consciousness." This is where I leave the train. Forgive me for being a snob. I know that Wilber is well regarded, but what is he talking about and how does it matter to me? Perhaps this is not a good example because it is out of context.
What I want to say is that the reader must know why it matters. Intellectual masturbation will not do. Because I have not read Wilber and do not know the context of the idea you are expressing, I am withholding judgement. ut if you tell me why this is important, it will help me.
Wilberrrrrr. One of my babysitters. Seriously. Sadly. Arnold, actually the text itself on Wilber is less relevant than my point about complexity. Complexity is complex and it requires time, effort, and motivation. But, as you correctly say, "What I want to say is that the reader must know why it matters." The reader must know why it matters to her.
I don't know why you refer to yourself as "a snob." Perhaps Wilber's theories are uninteresting or have no immediate relevance to your life and that's okay. The key is motivation: "What I want to say is that the reader must know why it matters." As a sharing community, what we (on the block) say matters because we want to become more intimate with each other and evolve as human beings. At least, that's why I'm here with you.
Intimacy (relationship) and evolution (psychological/spiritual development), irrespective of what I post (or don't), this is always and ultimately my focus. That's why I'm here and here. Nothing else matters.
Submitted by Caterina on Tue, 02/19/2008 - 2:49pm.
Watched Mr. Ed as a kid too, even though it was in black and white (b. 1975...) Also watched Denis the Menace, Father Knows Best (not much of this though), Gilligan's Island...
Submitted by Caterina on Wed, 02/20/2008 - 12:51am.
Wilber's is an evolutionary view which takes into consideration a certain directionality of time. From what I have understood about a Tantric perspective of this, there are five Koshas, or "sheaths", which are co-extant, in that, perhaps in a Nagarjunian way, they are co-arising:
Annamayakosha: food-appearance-body (what is perceived through the senses; the "physical body"; nutrient, etc)
Pranamayakosha: breath/life-force-appearance-body ("energy"; life force; breath)
Manamayakosha: mind-appearance-body (assimilates and coordinates information, where "naming" occurs)
Vijnanamaya kosha: place of discrimination, choice, intuition, feelings, how you use your mind, home of empowerment, where decisions get made, greatest chance of alignment and misalignment, more responsibility)
Anandamayakosha: bliss body (layer that changes the least, where the party is always going on)
Submitted by Caterina on Wed, 02/20/2008 - 1:10am.
"He supports the view that subtle cannot be reduced to consiousness but these energies accompany and support the correlative level of consciousness."
I am intrigued by this notion of "accompanying" and "supporting" what is "correlative". I experience this in how I can start from any "kosha" and treat it with something nice... say, start with the breath and soothe the mind, and the nerves, my energy shifts, (it can become harmonious, it can build up or slow down and soften)... relationships are happening on a neurological and endocrine and respiratory and nutrient level... more oxygen is delivered to the blood... meanwhile, my mind is becoming more clear, emotions arise but i can let them flow more easily, and under this is an intention to listen and to feel, to be... I am brought into a state of awareness of feeling peaceful... where is consciousness in all this? Is it simply in the awareness? Is it all of this?
Sometimes I feel like my "body" and my "consciousness" are one, when I don't feel them as separate, but one, flowing. Whatever arises in mind as thought or identity ("this is my friend," "this my body", etc) is just another aspect of knowledge, naming, ascending and descending, relating to my ideas and associations about these things, relating to a deeper desire and intentionality and imagination or vision which includes desire, but ultimately, all connected, through notions of past, present, future.
In the tantric yoga I practice, we tend to see the body as a "manifestation" of what is "inside", concealing as it reveals. I find a deep secret in wondering if al these forms do not come out of a deeper dream and desire for their being here to communicate our oneness to ourselves, to enjoy the conversation, and yes, to heal (align) where we are broken (misaligned).
For what some may call "grace" another may call "science" or "knowing", and there is always more.
going forward, when something comes up, please be direct and say, Om, what do you mean by this? Or, this sentence, idea, etc. doesn't make sense. Unlike many people, I love a good, stiff, truthful critique. It helps me to improve-- my writing, my communication, my spiritual practice. I'm very flawed, so I'm not afraid to say, I don't know. Never trust a man who says he knows.
"My father is a very intelligent man; his mind is highly impressive. But when I expressed what I thought was a very clear, precise, and concise thought... it just fell to the ground. He looked at me as a man without any firm ground from which to understand what I had said. I realized then and there that, yes, it must be expressed with and for this particular individual if he is to understand what I mean; otherwise it is just me talking to myself-- where's the relationship there? So I tried my best to follow with him and enter into his way of thinking and seeing the world. I believe he and I see the world in radically different ways...".
This made me cry. What beauty in expression and intention; what sadness in not being able to reach. This is very much my story, too. If only I had such clarity at 20!
I also found it touching and optimistic. James identifies that he has work to do,,,, that, as you have said, it is all about relationship. James (and all of us) have responsibility for the other. So true and well stated. Thanks James.
Submitted by Caterina on Wed, 02/20/2008 - 1:26am.
but I've been crying a lot lately...
Sometimes I have felt a resistance when tying to communicate something from my own language-ways... a resistance that is not to the things I am saying, perhaps but in how I am saying them, how I am reaching deep into my own formations to connect to someone though not really connecting, not really knowing what it is that I really want to say to you, and if under this, in me, there is frustration or the habitual fear that you wont understand me, maybe you are picking up on this and sensing my stance of defensiveness in the very moment I think I'm reaching out to you. And perhaps you resist me, and don't listen deeper, because you think I'm judging you (though I'm not) but maybe what you are sensing is that I am judging something (you think it's you, I think it's me). And as I feel your resistance grow, i grow more resistant and frustrated and the feeling of being misunderstood again manifests itself and I'm (we're) repeating the patterns of misunderstanding.
Language can be a barrier. Let it not be! May I not lose you in trying to connect to you. If I am connected to me, I'll do a better job at connecting to you. Sometimes it takes trial and error and error and error and then I'll realize, as James says, "I believe he and I see the world in radically different ways...". And that's ok, because there are other ways that we can care for each other and ourselves.
When I stopped seeking recognition from my parents our conversations got more enlightening, for me. I was able to listen better to them and serve them and the relationship better. I would seek, in a sense, to learn their language and way of seeing, rather than asking them to understand mine.
"The process you have described here is the work of artists and teachers... to close as much as possible that gap that is inevitable between any two humans. I cannot experience your experience, but you can give your experience a form that helps me to get closer to you."
There is possibly nothing more important to me than communication and the intimacy it potentially reaches. On the blog, I do let loose a bit more, like playing guitar riffs, but there's more to it than a kind of masturbatory delight; it allows me to get more expansive, which is where the real insights reveal themselves-- outside the box.
I love your challenge, really, but I think I need you to step up a bit more in your statements. Sometimes I feel you leave me hanging. You tell me the problem but I need you to help me come up with some solutions. This is the real dance, no?
I've been trying to figure out how to insert myself in this conversation without sounding lazy. I have some of the same issues as Arnold at times with being able to connect to some of the more theoretical posts. Sometimes I find myself either drifting away as my eyes scan down to the end or hardening when I read something that makes no sense to me. I think we've already gone through the analysis of this type of reaction in the past (shame, judgement, boredom, etc), so I'm not going to elaborate more. I just want to mention that, for me, it makes it much easier to get things when there are specific examples mixed in with the abtract concepts. It's like when those guru types throw in these really concrete and oversimplified stories about the guy sitting under the tree or whatever. That's just how I learn best. I guess I lack some of the motivation to look up all the words or literary references I don't know and really sit with dense theoretical statements, as much as I would love to be that type of person. I do try though and have learned a great deal from all the dialogue here. Like Caterina, I appreciate Om's diverse writing style, which is what enables me to get inside some of the denser stuff, along with the diversity of voices and perspectives of everyone else (archimedean points or whatever).
there's more I want to say, but I got to go deal with construction budgets (can't get more concrete than that!)
I just want to say something simple….. about complexity and being understood. There are many languages within languages. Academics have a way to speaking, doctors have their medical language, lawyers….. I could go on. When I go to my doctor and he tells me I have a metabolic disease and explains it in the words of his medical world, it makes little sense to me, until he describes it in the most simple of terms – as a teacher explaining something to me for the very first time. Once I understand it in this way, I can explore it more deeply, understand his language, and we can meet on a different level. Maybe it is a different kind of relationship, but I hope that he can break it down for me, help me visual it, so that I can then understand the words he attaches to what he is describing. If someone asks me about Alzheimer Disease, I don’t talk about the plagues and tangles – I talk about it more simply and then move to the more complex. I have to make sure people have the same foundation in which to understand. Because we are so varied in who we are, and how we learn, I can’t assume that what I know so well in my mind and in my bones is the same for anyone else. What I know, about what I know, is so much a part of me, that I can forget that it is not the same for everyone.
I know I am repeating what everyone has already said. But hey, I have been quiet lately and just wiggling my way back in.
"If someone asks me about Alzheimer Disease, I don’t talk about the plaques and tangles"
So, here we go. I would actually rather talk about plaque and tangles. First of all, I love the words. Plaque has a playful clack to it and i want to plosive my consonants through my lips as if our faces are inches apart and spray you with my love. And then I want to Dylan my way along the beach and untie the laces of my shoes while Bobbing up and down singing a poem just for you with one of the greatest songs ever written and knowing that "we always did feel the same,/We just saw it from a different point of view."
And then I think of Iris, remember Iris, my lovely flower with a broken pot and a broken brain because of her amyloid plaques and neurofibrillary tangles. And Iris died tangled up in blue as I died in her Parkinson's Disease and birthed my way back again and again in a greater death and a deeper depth and love and joy knowing that one day my brain will be broken too, but not before I dive into the plumby depths of my complex sentences. I know they're sure to take me somewhere, even if that somewhere is nowhere, especially, and God.
I went on a five mile full moon hike at the National Arboretum this evening.
We came to a Willow Oak in the middle of what used to be farm land. It was between two hundred and two hundred and twenty five years old. There were no other trees planted near it so it could grow out as well as up. It was sixty five feet tall and one hundred to one hundred and twenty feet wide. I had to bow.
There were two metal cables that hung from it so that lightening, which prefers the easiest route, would run down them instead of strike the tree. The tree requires five hundred gallons of water a day!
I wish you all were there so we could have held hands and hugged the tree together.
I love Willow Oaks. When I was a windy boy and a bit studying to be a forest ranger my favorite class was `Woody Plants.' I feel in love with trees and, it was at that moment I became a tree hugger.
I remember when cicadas damaged the oaks in my yard.
Cicada's Song
I have waited seventeen years
burrowed
like roots in the heart of ground
sucking juice
from plants, waiting
waiting for my journey.
I have begotten myself three times
like a seed bursting
out of its mother fruit
growing out of itself
through time's tick
and two more it will be on this path
through this pilgrimage to the barks of God.
There I will play my song for the growing nymphs.
My time is not long here, but I will play my song.
when all your atoms get all streched out by the tidal forces--but then on the other side, there is this new universe thats a little less boxy. I used to be so square, but now I see it as a line. I should go to bed.
When I was very young, an artist -friend of the family- taught me to color outside of the lines. I suppose, Caterina and Noah, you have discovered how to speak outside of the lines. C'est magnifique
"What I've begun leaning towards lately is that an idea expressed clearly enough by one person to anothercan be understood by that person. This means that I can express myself perfectly clearly and still be completely misunderstood because I did not express myself perfectly clearly to you. Thus the relationship must be accounted for in the very expression. I must consider you and, even more wonderful, I must recognize you in order to be able to express myself to you as fully as possible."
Arnold used the word "gap." I like this word, but it's more complex than it seems. Understanding another's meanings is dependent on a number of conditions (factors), for example, intention, cognitive disposition, time, psychological factors, such as, anxiety, anger, shame, etc. My interest is motivation. I tend to put the extra time into understanding the other. Arnold's statement about taking all this time to read my posts touched me in such a deep way (how can I not love this man!). It says, I really want to understand your meanings and know you better. As we're seeing, it will take more from both of us, but, my God, how rare is it that someone takes the time to try to get to know us? I think this (the failure to seek understanding) is such a pervasive issue and the main reason why we tend to isolate. Isolation is a form of giving up.
and it's time for Dr. Wu! But, before I go, i wanted to state it simply: There is time there is time there is time to free ourselves from suffering. It is now and eternally in the stillness and silence.
There is only one voice from within and voice from without-- love.
Originally uploaded by Browserd.Dear Citizens of America,
In view of your failure to elect a competent President and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately.
Her Sovereign Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths and other territories (except Kansas, which she does not fancy), as from Monday next.
Your new prime minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed.
To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:
1. You should look up “revocation” in the Oxford English Dictionary. Then look up “aluminium,” and check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it.
2. The letter ‘U’ will be reinstated in words such as ‘colour’, ‘favour’ and ‘neighbour.’ Likewise, you will learn to spell ‘doughnut’ without skipping half the letters, and the suffix “ize” will be replaced by the suffix “ise.”
3. You will learn that the suffix ‘burgh’ is pronounced ‘burra’; you may elect to spell Pittsburgh as ‘Pittsberg’ if you find you simply can’t cope with correct pronunciation.
4. Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels (look up “vocabulary”). Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as “like” and “you know” is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication.
5. There is no such thing as “US English.” We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter ‘u’ and the elimination of “-ize.”
6. You will relearn your original national anthem, “God Save The Queen”,
but only after fully carrying out Task #1 (see above).
7. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday. November 2nd will
be a new national holiday, but to be celebrated only in England. It will be called “Come-Uppance Day.”
8. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you’re not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you’re not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you’re not grown up enough to handle a gun.
9. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. A permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.
10. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and this is for your own good. When we show you German cars, you will understand what we mean.
11. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric immediately and without the benefit of conversion tables… Both roundabouts and metrification will help you understand the British sense of humour.
12. The Former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling “gasoline”) - roughly $8/US per gallon. Get used to it.
13. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call french fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called “crisps.” Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with malt vinegar.
14. Waiters and waitresses will be trained to be more aggressive with customers.
15. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as “beer,” and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as “Lager.” American brands will be referred to as “Near-Frozen Gnat’s Urine,” so that all can be sold without risk of further confusion.
16. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors as English characters. Watching Andie MacDowell attempt English dialogue in “Four Weddings and a Funeral” was an experience akin to having one’s ear removed with a cheese grater.
17. You will cease playing American “football.” There is only one kind of proper football; you call it “soccer”. Those of you brave enough, in time, will be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American “football”, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like a bunch of Jessies - English slang for “Big Girls Blouse”).
18. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the “World Series” for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.1% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable and forgiven.
19. You must tell us who killed JFK. It’s been driving us mad.
20. An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty’s Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all monies due, backdated to 1776.
Submitted by Nico Lime (not verified) on Tue, 02/19/2008 - 6:08pm.
1) I know Prince Charles is an improvement over George W., but how much? I can only think of nitwit when I think of him. And as they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the royal tree.
2) Also, that dreary weather isn't going to follow us here? is it? but then again, with global warming, anything is possible.
3) Is the Queen ever going to admit to having Diana bumped off because of her partygirl ways? I mean, if we tell you about JFK then you must tell us about Diana.
4) In addition, is there anyway you can take back David Beckham and Posh Spice? They just suck. She can't sing and he can't play soccer anymore.
5) Finally, could it be possible to have you replaced by Helen Mirren? She's much hotter in that motherly kind of way!
Caterina, I love you. all night long i've been thinking about how painfully skinny these posts are getting... and every time there's been a new post there has been a moment when the page loads when i'd pause eagerly thinking, "did this person post an even skinnier one?"
I want to see if I respond to this post will all of my words just be one long vertical string of letters. And then I'll make them into an anagram!
i'm sorry that isn't what happened. but damn, how silly!!! ahh!! you cried reading my post, and i laughed and laughed and laughed reading yours :):):):)
PS!!! I BELIEVE NOAH HAS LOST IT-- AND I LOVE IT!!!!!!!! :D:D:D
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I have two things to say. One about Om and complexity.
And I will complexly describe it in my serendipitous, imprecise, and lacsidaisical (sp?... Precisely!) way.
I sense a necessity that links the constructions and choices for Om. Why, for example, he says that he wants to talk about the plaques and the tangles. There is in what I perceive in his writings and thinking a need to understand the particular in relation to the universal, and it is strenuous and old. "Old" in that the need is old, time-tested; we are witnessing a finely-tuned instrument of thought and idea play that feels to arise spontaneously but is in fact the result of a long walk with ideas and concepts and their meanings and their assessment and truth value, measured against experience, and much experience and introspection and ever-present in the simplicity of touch, which as Noah knows, is never "simple". The necessity speaks to me of integrity and efficiency. No wonder his recent post on Wilber's theory of evolution... (which I want to hear more about).. linking the physical and subtle to a theory of consciousness. Get on that, will you?! Get on that "accompanying and supporting the correlative"
"He supports the view that subtle cannot be reduced to consiousness but these energies accompany and support the correlative level of consciousness."
you reminded me of a song of mine, so i just had to share it... i think i've shared the lyrics here before, but not the music. it's really late, though, so i had to use an electric guitar (which actually sounds pretty nice for this tune, turns out-- i can plug in the electric directly so there's no amplification in the room) and try and keep from singing loudly... but, hey, you get the idea!
giving up control is not so scary, after all
when i'm sleeping i find i can. i have heard the rewards when i'm sleeping...
( on second thought : )
i'll be patient for love i don't think i was taken care of so i'll be patient for love
so far i feel broken feels like giving away my independence so i'll be patient for love
( on second thought : )
giving up control is rather scary, after all don't think i'll try it on my own
Submitted by Caterina on Wed, 02/20/2008 - 12:01pm.
ARE YOU F#$&*NG KIDDING ME?!
Did you just play that piece last night and link it to this post in response to ...? hey I don't know if it was in response to me, but it responded. I'm in tears.
I logged on this morning hoping there would be a response to my post about not giving up... something to encourage me or just find me. Thank you so much James.
There is a tender sort of self-holding that I love about this song. And I resonate with that (need that right now) as well with the realizations through dreaming, and the lines "I don't think I was taken care of, so I'll be patient for love," and "so far I feel broken, feels like giving away my independence."
I have to ask about this line:
do you mean that feeling broken, like you're giving away your independence,
is what you feel when relating ("giving up control"), and that since it is scary
you'd rather do it with someone ("don't think I'll try it on my own")?
It reaches out to friends (or to the vibe of friendship) and to one's support by the closing lines. I love this. These lines seem to say that it is through this type of relationship (healing, supportive, capable of recognizing one another) that one will find the love one seeks.
A romantic relationship has to start from this capacity, this foundation. It takes time to build friendship and trust, to know that it is safe to be "broken" with someone.
I just read this on my 2007 calendar which I am now taking down:
"When our minds are full of compassion, we are never alone; an infinite retinue of celestial beings accompanies us on our journey."
yes, Caterina, i played that and posted the video immediately after reading your post. i feel like you hit the nail on the head, like you're right there inside the song with me. "There is a tender sort of self-holding." in what is still my all-time favorite post of mine (which, like all good posts, doesn't make nearly as much sense without reading all of the posts influencing it, and all of the posts it influended...), i wrote the following:
it's also hard because of the mending that needs to be done. Om speaks of being broken; it is a simple few words to share. in a song i wrote, "so far i feel broken / feels like giving away my independence / so i'll be patient for love." it isn't giving away my independence, after all, but rather giving away my need for independence. "giving up control," i later sing, "is rather scary after all: don't think i'll try this on my own." something there is that keeps bringing me back to relationship, that keeps me engaged... and each spring mending-time i pick up the pieces and mend.
this is all in the context of a conversation that began with Robert Frost's "Mending-Wall." i go on to explore two basic kinds of mending-- mending my wall (the one that keeps you, neighbor, out), and mending my broken-self. i explore the way that when i mend my sort-of defense wall, i am also mending my broken-self, becoming more whole, more confident; the way the one mending depends on the other, because:
how may i be able to share with you? well, if you try to take my wall away from me i will quiver with fear and despise you. you can say to me, "tear down this wall, you fool!" or you can help me mend my wall, and i yours; and perhaps for a while i'll finish carefully balancing each stone and then return to my orchard saying, "good fences make good neighbors," and nothing else. then maybe one of these spring mending-times you'll say to me, "something there is that doesn't love a wall, that wants it down," and, safe enough at last, i will reach out across my wall and take you in my hands.
and so a "tender sort of self-holding" is quite exactly what i am experiencing, singing the song. what you say about my line about being broken is beautiful. i'm telling you-- you're there, you're in the song. it's your song, now. "so far i feel broken." this is also a single line standing in for my entire Fuck-you, I'm planting my feet here! song (which i'll hopefully record sometime, soon, because it's always relevant here!), "Father, Have I Got Your Attention Now?" in the end it's less about my folks than it is about my experience, the struggle to take responsibility. so far i feel broken, because, i can say, "you never, never taught me how to think / you never, never taught me how to feel," and so on. but that isn't the whole story. so far i feel broken, and, exactly as you say, like i am giving away my independence when relating. this is why i bring up my response to "Mending Wall;" this "feels like giving away my independence" is a peculiar kind of defensiveness, it's the fear driving the opening assurance that "giving up control is not so scary after all." by that point in the song i don't even know what 'giving up control' means! it's amazing-- the way you put it shows this somewhat as paradox, which i think makes it ring even truer.
do you mean that feeling broken, like you're giving away your independence, is what you feel when relating ("giving up control"), and that since it is scary you'd rather do it with someone ("don't think I'll try it on my own")?
in other words: Relating is scary, so I can't do it on my own. And further-- I need some tender self-holding so that I can be patient for love; I need some tender self-holding in order to "give up control," and I need to "give up control" (with another) if I am to learn to self-hold. the extremes (isolation / indulgence) are breaking down over the course of the song. isolation is, of course, a familiar one. now, indulgence is sort of a bizarre term for me to use, but i can't think of a better one just now. i'm using it to refer to the notion that if i just enter into the right relationship, it will cure me, so to speak. both are denials of relationship, actually, because when i isolate i am outright denying the possibility of relationship, and when i am "indulging" i am actually refusing to truly relate. i'm removing my own responsibility from the relationship, and imagining that the very fact of the relationship is sufficient. but then there's no relating!
i think one point of the opening lines is pretty much, "Relating is scary, but I can just delve into my dreams, I can just go off on my own (isolate) and get everything done, anyway... because when I (think I) get down and dirty into relationship (indulgence), it just disappoints me and hurts..." and then by the end, as you show so well, there is a new notion of relationship. healing, supportive, capable of recognizing one another. the love one seeks. so on second thought... i'll be patient for love. i think love deserves that much.
i could just keep on writing about the song and your response to it... every time i read back over this post i think of another thing i left out. there's just too much! it's terrific. thank you! i haven't really sunk into this song in a good while. i am very glad the recording came out well enough for you to embrace the song as you have. the line that gets me the most is one that you point out: i don't think i was taken care of / so i'll be patient for love. i wrote this song what feels like so damn long ago that it's already gone beyond me. some songs i take more credit for than others, this one is already out there; and now i feel i've finally given this song, that it is finally mine, because it is no longer mine.
Submitted by Caterina on Wed, 02/20/2008 - 12:06pm.
... and necessity.
What it means to me right now to not give up is to remember:
1) I am creating this
2) this, what I'm feeling and experiencing, though it is painful, is a gift, an opportunity for increased awareness
3) this is all part of my practice
4) no judging, dammit!
5) I refuse to hurt myself anymore, so i will not judge (already said that) and not take this to a place of, for instance, trying to understand how I "fell for this again", fell for this offer of relationship and offer to trust which was probably sincere but untenable, which I knew was untenable, but maybe I didn't know it was untenable and wanted to give it a shot,
5.5) and I'll not take this to the place where I wonder "what did I do to make him go away?" because...
6) I'll not take this personally
7) I'll stay with myself and my needs
8) and I wont go to the place, "I can never have a relationship because no one can sustain my need for consciousness" because I am not wrong to want the things that I need, to ask for them, and besides, my work is to become more conscious, and if it isn't my partner's need/work as well then it isn't serving me at all (or probably him either).
9) So I'll be patient and let this whole thing go back to the no-thing that it is
10) and stay with the breath.
Easier said than done. If I can do one of these things, I'll be in the center of them all and that would be a fine way to untangle myself... untangle and not give up.
:) i am so glad re-reading these two posts of yours on "giving up," after reading your response to my song (and after writing my own response!), because it all feels so much more fully after sharing; the way the song holds its patience even more beautifully now that it is a responding to your own need for patience. and so on, and so on...
Caterina, I think you should copy this list and send it to every girl mag in the country!
or boy mag for that matter... If I only had this list in my pocket so many times in the past! I think it all comes down to compassion, as you know. Compassion for you and for him. And gratitude for 1) having opened to the experience and 2) being in a more self-aware place to be able to do that in a real (not romanticized) way. He clearly didn't have that capacity, or at least not at this time. Each person we encounter in our lives makes his/her mark on us. If we pay attention, we can figure out how.
This fact that you wrote such an amazing list in the midst of this speaks to your awareness. You are already there.
You know, I think you're onto something here. Guys are like elevators, they can only hold 6, none of which includes the other :) It's that feeling thing, I'm telling you.
Wow, Caterina - I am just catching up - been out at sea somewhere in a dense fog - lovely actually, but not good for clear vision. Reading your post gave me a viseral feeling - the memory of shock, of a sinking down, when a relationship ended and not being able to clear the debris to see myself under it all. You, like camila wrote, have such awareness and such a strong sense of self.
Yesterday, I had a woman visit my assisted living home - she helps place people in need. She is a beautiful woman, in her early forties ( a transplanted new york jew who is now exploring meditation and buddhism). Two women, two jewish women can talk for hours and hours, but throw in the exploration of buddhist thought into the mix, and we sat on the couch for nearly three hours and could have gone on if we hadn't forced ourselves to stop. Just recently she met the love of her life. She was talking about how difficult it was to find someone who wanted to take the same kind of journey in life that she was seeking, someone gentle and compassionate.
So you go, girl. You are a light, a seeker, a continously opening flower.
And by the way - I love your new photograph. When I was a child I used to stick cheerio's ( besides fingers) up my nose. One time, I remember sobbing as my sisters held my hands and my mother desperately grabbed her tweezers to try and get it out. What memories you bring to the surface of my awareness.
Submitted by Caterina on Fri, 02/22/2008 - 1:17am.
I am drafting a letter to a man who is seeking a relationship with me.
This is a letter to him but it is really to myself. And of course, I wont send him this letter. It's meant for self-reflection only. And you all are part of that for me. Any comments welcome.
This is what I wrote in my journal:
***
I don't mean to torment you.
I must check the quality of desire - am I fantasizing your desire?
No, I feel it. It feels ... ALL OUTWARD, with a deep INNER SEEKING.
The nature of your desire is inner; it's name would be "Self-knowledge."
You have turned it OUTWARDS towards me, but it is not for me.
I can help you with it, though.
It is ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL.
You don't need to come here (cross the ocean, to me) to develop it or heed it, but you need to respond to it, cultivate it, honor it. (At least, that's what it feels like to me.)
I can help you with this, too.
"What's in it for you?" you ask. Nothing! Which is everything to me. (1)
Don't think I don't also have desires that you can help me with through your own true seeking, through the quality of your intention.
I feel you. I have strong feelings of attraction and repulsion. (2)
I want to help you dive.
There's no more beautiful journey and really no more important one at this moment. It will feel like a continual argument, a struggle, as you come constantly up against the boundary of my otherness.
It will feel like a struggle until you breakthrough and find yourself.
You'll feel that, too.
I will help you find your self, through helping you distinguish between me and you. This is not a selfless act, but my most self-centered.
You'll be giving to me, too. Constantly. If only in my discovering that by being myself I can actually be trusted. (3)
1. What's in it for you?" you ask. Nothing! Which is everything to me.
What is truly in it for me is to see if a person can actually handle my needs, and primary among these (in my relational needs - particularly where intimacy is the direction) is the need for the other to have a self, to recognize himself and to develop a sustained capacity for introspection and relatedness. What's in it for me is the experience of staying true to my own needs, voicing them, and guiding the relationship to learn how to respond to them.
2. I feel you. I have strong feelings of attraction and repulsion.
I am attracted to this man for many reasons, primarily to what I sense is his desire and need for recognition, and to discover his own goodness in himself, and not just in the world and acts of others. I am also attracted to his natural talents, his generosity, and his work. And he has money, which is nice (I feel there's some freedom available to us with this).
The repulsion comes when he doesn't recognize the boundary (and so cannot recognize me). Or when he wants to collapse the boundary (confusing us, fusing us, abandoning the relationship.)
3. You'll be giving to me, too. Constantly. If only in my discovering that by being myself I can actually be trusted.
I don't need to accommodate, anymore. I don't need you to stay or go. If you are present to the relationship, and to your desire, and if you find you can open to me and to yourself, your feelings, thoughts, etc., if you find a way to feel safe to bring them into the relationship, if you feel increasingly safe with me, given also that I am working to help you feel safe while being true to my needs, you will be giving so much to me. Your presence and earnestness are all we need. I may begin to feel more safe... with you, and ultimately with my desire, with me. And so practicing, which is all I'm "doing", I'm practicing trust in myself.
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Submitted by Caterina on Fri, 02/22/2008 - 1:45am.
What I am beginning to be aware of is how these needs I bring to relationship are the very formative elements of my relationships as well they are my own true voice.
They are an aspect of this voice.
I have often had a tendency to be drawn to those who need self-recognition, or who are seeking help creating a container, a self. (Stuff I've worked on and am pretty good at helping others with). I have also been drawn to those who have an inner goodness that they are seeking to recognize. (Something I am still working on in myself and am trying to learn how to trust). I have also been drawn to those who have brought out my power, my voice, my awareness... people with whom I feel there's a space and desire for this power, voice, awareness to be present.
A dear friend often likes to remind me that my true mode, in relationships, is "therapeutic", meaning, I take it, that this is my tendency, as it is my desire, to heal through relationship, seek balance and harmony (recognition, integration, safety, etc).
I have often had to turn back and ask myself if the relationship was really serving my needs if I was actively seeking to educate the other. But I am realizing that this "education" is not a one way street, but a cultivation and affirmation of my own needs through voicing them, and besides... I cannot turn myself off! I cannot turn off who I am, cannot turn off this "mode."
i am feeling more comfortable with it, recognizing it not as a device coming out of my old "accommodating ways" but rather the name of the desire that has always been in me, that urges me to evolve.
While I don't want the conflict and struggle that is engendered in relationship, if we are truly seeking that precious safety and fertile abundance that is intimacy, there will be struggle because there is the coming together of two different people with different histories and languages, metaphors, points of reference. If we begin first with mutual respect, and a basic sense and intuition of each others' goodness, and let's face it, if there is an attraction (which I understand as a desire to understand what this relationship has in store as potential for personal growth), then we can begin to build trust. This is the hardest work and takes the most time. Maybe it's all the work really. After that, we can relax and enjoy the fruits of the long labor as they reveal what our complementarity can offer.
I do not seek mergence. I am no longer romantic. But I listen to and respond to the feeling, "I want to touch you. I want to be touched by you." This is a desire for intimacy.
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Greetings from the Coal Mine
workworkwork. I barely have time to keep up with all the silky threads of you lovely philosophizing spiders.
but this calms me.
James, your keen eye is astounding. And your adventures pique my jealousy. Take me with you on the next one!
Wish I could participate more, but the opera is consuming half of my life and classwork has the rest.
thank you again, James. I needed this today!
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James’ photo of Antarctica makes me think about an audacious project by Kevin Kelly, author of an influencial book called Out of Control (about self-organizing and self-sustaining systems such as ant colonies, the evolution of machines, and the relationships between biological systems and technology systems). The project aims at cataloging each of the 1.8 known living species on Earth and making a Web page for each one of them. As new species are discovered, they will be included. Estimates are that there are probably 100 million additional species living here with us. Many are disappearing faster than we can find them.
The project has been taken on by the MacArthur Foundation, Sloan Foundation, and the Smithsonian Institution. Its Web site is at http://www.eol.org/. It is considered to be a 25 year project, but who knows?
And P.S. - James, thank you for your exquisite expositions on Noah's poetry.
MMmm, I love the blue blue
MMmm, I love the blue blue blue and white white.
I find myself drawn to the little brown shape in the water near the shore which looks like a critter, or a log. I like to imagine it's a critter. I'm also drawn to the hole in the ice blockazoid; if I could handle it, I'd swim out to that hole and look through, loving the approach, the anticipation of nearing a special window carved into the ice, the water growing colder and darker as I enter the shadow of the blockazoid. Through the window I see the bright big mountain covered in brilliant sheen and the sky! Quiet! Why does this sky in perfect day seem closer to night?
Through my little window, the light is bright but softly held inside the icy frame; dark enhances light...
It reminds me of something one of our scholars said on this recent trip to Rome, in an interview with her: It's as though the moments of greatest tragedy and hardship bring out what is most dark and most light in people.
This beautiful place stood here still and serene during all the pain, not untouched by it, as we know by her melting.
a story
they told us to bring along a bathing suit and some beat up old tennis shoes-- you know, for the hot springs. hot springs? yeah, well, hot springs in Antarctica. okay, so i brought the shoes and the bathing suit. then after our not-too-rough Drake Passage we were surprised to see, off on the foggy horizon, our first glimpes of icebergs! we had seen albatross during the crossing, and as the petrel grew in numbers, the albatross diminished; now we were even seeing a few rockhopper penguins, or maybe gentoos-- they were far off. and finally the icebergs. oh, how we gasped, and pointed, and smiled-- we grabbed our cameras and took photos of the hardly visible white specks on the cloudy, gray horizon. of course, we knew that in a matter of hours we'd be among the ice giants, but we were giddy. hey-- most of us had never seen any icebergs before.
we thought we were especially lucky because we were arriving to the peninsula a full day earlier than scheduled. well, if the luck had ended there we would have been thrilled; soon enough we were there-- out among icebergs, glaciers, and snow-topped islands. i stepped out onto the deck and sat down, not too many people were out at just this moment. someone mentioned spotting a whale far off. i looked starboard, and suddenly about a hundred meters away a humpback leapt out of the water, and fell back in with a splash. "my welcome," i thought. well, again, if the luck had stopped there...
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then the clouds parted, and the sun came out. it hardly went away the entire trip (and i mean it hardly went away-- the further south we went, the longer the days, until eventually we watched what i've dubbed the "sunsit:" it swoops down, hangs out for a bit, and climbs back up.) we arrived at our first landing, on Deception Island. to begin to explain how beautiful the tens and tens of thousands of gentoo penguins were, literally spanning the entire landscape (there was a valley surrounded by high steep hills-- the penguins scale the steep walls despite their short legs, because it results in stronger bred young) ... well, it would be hard to begin that and ever end up telling the story i mean to get to...
so after returning to the ship from our landing on the outside of Deception Island, which is a still active volcano which has filled up with water, we sailed around into the crater of the island itself, where the supposed hot springs of Antarctica are sometimes to be found. it turns out "sometime" is on very, very low tide; and it turns out that very, very low tide hasn't really happened much these last, oh, fifteen years or so. because the volcano is still active, sometimes, when the tide is low, the heat rises in steam, which warms up the water to reasonable dipping temperatures. well-- it turns out it was high tide when we got there, and the water was 29 degrees (salt water freezes at a lower temperature than fresh water.) so they said, "well, if anyone still wants to go in, they can try the polar plunge." so i put on my bathing suit, and then a few layers, and hopped on a zodiac to shore thinking, "shit-- am i gonna?"
when i got to shore the first person was running and splashing into the water-- and then returning to the land to be toweled off by those nearby. then the next went in and came back out, then two more. by this time i had my clothes off and was standing in the brisk but surprisingly comfortable air. i was next in line (there weren't quite a dozen of us), and i decided i'm just going to jump in, and come right back out again. i liked this plan, and stuck to it. i ran with all my might out as far as my quickly frozen feet would take me, and then plunged full body under the water. for just an instant i was submerged, and the only thing i could think was-- "this is so refreshing!" i swear- it felt really terrific. i would have stayed in for a moment, but other than my upper body, there were two drives that brought me back up above the water nearly as quickly as i had gone under: my plan, and my feet. the plan was a good plan, and i'm glad i stuck to it. as for the feet-- well, my body felt cooled and refreshed, but my feet felt numbed and beaten. running back to shore was a chore for the feet, but i did it with a smile on my face (and i've the film to prove it.) and when i was asked how it was i said, "great!"
and it was. very cold; and great.
Antarctica?
James when were you in antarctica? I thought you went to Alaska. Anyway astounding photo. It makes me want to brave the 40 below. Getting a picture like that would be worth freezing my fingers off.
My dog
I am grateful to my old Lab, Strider. I have been feeling sad. He is getting lame from an old injury, hip problems, and now arthritis. He demands lots of attention (he never knew how to sit quietly and just be a dog (perhaps there’s a contradiction here!) but now his down times are longer and longer. For his entire life he has demanded that everyone in his orbit spend hours and hours throwing tennis balls and sticks down the hill into the woods or down the street at the playground. There were trips to the creek for swimming and lots of mud. We spent so much time just trying to tire him out that it seemed like the seasons changed as we were doing it.
Strider is very neurotic and would be insane without this kind of exercise. (Guess he had some unfinished business with his biological parents). He was one in a litter of twelve and not the pick. His brothers and sisters were shipped all over the world, but at four months, he and one other brother was unspoken for. He was sold to us at “half price,” a real bargain. Nothing wrong with him, I thought. Gorgeous dog, loving, sweet – but ah, too neurotic to be anyone’s hunting dog or helper dog! I grew to understand why. He loved to excess – licked our bed sheets and furniture just to taste the places where we last sat. Strider was too anxious for any kennel ( even the ones with no cages) to keep him for more than a day or two, and even after he had surgery the Vet called to ask that we pick him up early since he was an emotional wreck. Once, he even ran through a glass door because I was on the other side. And yes, there was blood and stitches.
Now there is no throwing or tossing; no chasing. Getting up the front stairs is getting difficult for him. In the last few days we take longer and longer walks since he can not play the games he loves, but needs to keep moving. He carries a stick in his mouth. Today when we were walking instead of feeling sad, I felt joyful. I was thinking how grateful I am to him for needing me to take him on long walks. His tail was in the air and he stopped to smell whatever it is that dogs love to smell. I was looking at everything around me – the red berries on the holly tree, bulbs poking up, and seeing the neighborhood as if I were looking at it for the last time. I know it sounds so simple: but I felt myself in the present – me, my old dog, at a different stage of life. It was beautiful because it just was.
What happens now in my dog’s life is important and will receive my deepest thoughts and attention. I have to educate myself more about dogs and pain, pay attention to his suffering, and decide if and when I need to take action. This issue is not imminent, but I know it is in front of me. I want to do it with a clear head and open heart. It will mean recognizing his suffering and letting him go.
Thanks for letting me share this. It has been on my mind and living in my heart. I want to be able to show my gratitude for his life by how I help it to end.
.
(WO)MAN’S BEST FRIEND
Emily, thank you for sharing Strider with me. I send you light and prayers for guidance. Your heart is so big and both your compassion and Strider will tell you when it’s time.
There is no question that my caring skills came from my dogs. I’ve had over 20 dogs during my life and I used to be a rescuer (I couldn’t save Iris, by the way, but she was a plant and my mother :) my pets have helped me to love more, care more and develop a deeper understanding of loss. My first dog, Patches, when I was 6 and in first grade, was killed by a motorist because my older brother let her off the leash. I was so crushed I was unable to sing the National Anthem the next day at school. All I could do was cry. But, it wasn’t all loss. One of my other dogs, an older poodle I had rescued when I was a teenager, named Moulin a Parole, walked away with my condom in her mouth the first time I was about to have sex. I imagined she disapproved. Weaser used to come with me everywhere until, one day he jumped through the window of my car and was hit badly by a car. I picked him up, carried him back to the car and found a vet. I had to make at that early time the biggest decision of my life, to euthanize him.
I lived in Queens at the time I had Sammy, the German Shepard I saved from abuse. She was a bit brain-damaged and used to walk into doors. But, I loved her. We would go to Memorial Park every night for a run with at least 25 other dogs. What an amazing sight watching the dogs play. So civilized. And I got pretty lucky too. Women love dogs.
i'm just a mope tonight
tonight i am struggling. i will post my poem about it at the end of this post-- i haven't written a poem since "into the ether-eva" (at the very end of that post), and i've got two other poems on my mind tonight. one is "new love poem," which is a terribly important space, statement, moment, feeling, expression (etc) for me; and the other is, naturally, "my dog, Baby." this poem, like so many others, gains depth as i grow and struggle. tonight i'm struggling. i think i'm feeling the growing pains of spirit. i remember growing pains when i was younger. "what's wrong?" "oh, my knee is aching." "oh, you're gonna grow. it's growing pains." that's a nice way of thinking about the painful day i'm having. what is most painful is my inability to feel it. i'm hiding again. from my dog, Baby:
but what i didn't realize was the new fear--
i asked myself (towards Caterina) some time ago: "where is the loss?" that post was titled "the location of love," which i realized thereafter made the question "where is the loss?" a little confusing. especially since i went through a litany of potential "locations" for love... and thus perhaps loss, too. well, what i was asking was something more along the lines of why am i not feeling the loss? i know i am experiencing a loss... but where is it? it's not showing up in my feelings... "i seem to be doing just fine-- not angry, not grieving... no struggle at all! i guess i just figured it all out." :P of course!
as some of you saw, i managed to experience some of the anger... i got some of it out in a post, even. it lightened my load tremendously; i started getting out anger all over the place, and then suddenly i realized that i've been laughing a lot more lately. ah, the beauty of anger! (as it turns out...) but damn, i thought i had gotten a hold of sadness. for so long sadness has been the clearest, most beautiful of feelings for me. and then there's the depressive reactions at times, but they become easier to identify, and:
i am not suffering from pride
i am basking in it.
because...
fuck...
this is so damn hard
and i am resisting
and yet...
i am countering
that resistance.
i am making life
hell for these
depressive & defensive reactions,
for these heretofore
unconscious tendencies
i am bringing them
to light
where they
will
dissolve.
and, hey, now anger is clearing up a bit, too. everything seemed to be pretty in line. but then i found the loss... i felt it, for just a moment... and i understood why i hadn't been feeling it.
and, after all, "i learned a new way of loving" that day, looking inside each other's looking... and i had been waiting
but i did not expect to so quickly lose that re-emergeance, nearly as quickly as i found it.
and so-- thank you so very much Emily. your story moves me deeply and i am astounded by your love; i feel embraced by you, even though you were expressing a weight on your shoulders. and Om-- thank you, as well. tonight i am ready to begin to learn what it means to grieve, over some sweet italian sparkling wine...
one sip of prosecco
i recognize the name,
but i do not name you—
i play it cool, until the sip
it is sweet indulgence
fragrance of play liquefied
and carbonated
but it’s not the drink
i am remembering
so much as the poem
“i wrote something.”
and i read something;
but first—one more sip…
how did you so quickly
undo the dance we danced
that sweet moment of looking?
how did you manage to run
from me?
where did you run to, eva?
one sip of prosecco brought down my wall upon me—
but mine has been built to come down.
what will you do, poet, when even the words
no longer reach you as you once felt my love?
hey Ceili, would you offer
hey Ceili, would you offer me another card? last one hit me dead on. it was like a good punch in the gut; all i could muster was a brief "thank you" at the time...
A time for change and meditation
'Twould be my pleasure.
Tonight, sir, we have for you the Two of Earth and the Eight of Water (a very nice vintage)
Two of Earth: Cause and Effect
You are trying to work out the details of your life in order to bring everything into balance; you are in the process of discovering, first-hand, that every action entails a reaction; your life is in a process of continual re-creation based on the information or parameters you allow it to have; a big change is in the offing at this time.
Eight of Water: Still Waters
You are in a state of withdrawal; retreat is necessary and good at this time; through withdrawing, all things shall become clear; you will not lose anything important; take a break and remember, "still waters run deep."
I'm sure if you look these up on the internets they will list the whole interpretation somewhere, which is definitely worth a look. The cards themselves are works of art.
Earth and water! --together they make mud-- time to get down and dirty in your life perhaps? really work with your hands and roll around, reveling in the squishy matter that fills the webs of your fingers and toes.
In the first card's longer exposition it says that this is both an exciting and terrifying time, and you have to figure out how to create the change as well as respond to it.
So have fun!
ps.. one sip of prosecco got me all sparkling inside. especially the last two lines.. can't get them out of my head!
i love letting these wash
i love letting these wash over me, letting their full meanings rise from my depths to meet with the words, letting it all mix and become. i must admit that i, a little like Narcissus, felt a little mocking contempt for the tarot-- i associated it with my grandmother, which isn't a terribly good association. but i'm feeling a little foolish about that now, because i'm sitting with this beautiful message you've offered me. my gratitude! things are muddy (i actually used that word to describe my experience yesterday), and you are right, i've got to jump in. i'll do my best to!
and also, i'm glad you liked the poem :) you know, one actual sip of prosecco will get you all sparkling inside, too.
WHERE'S THERE'S MOPE, THERE'S HOPE
"Love drove him to see everything again, to hear all the sounds again, the bells for evening prayer and Sunday mass, the song at the altar, the gushing of the dark...".
Mope, hope, recognition
James, I could have been looking in a mirror as I was reading your post - your process of feeling, of numbness, the initial worry that the flatline of emotionlessness was back, followed by a kind of impotent anger To feel free connected one day and to have it gone the next is like finding a thief in the apartment of your life. It is an emotional swing that always baffled, angered, or depressed me. I, too fight that feeling, press it down further when I am in it, which is no help, which makes it worst - and then, like you did with your post, force myself to come forward, paint the feelings on a canvas with words, acknowledge, recognize them- open the door to let them in. Once I welcome them and offer them a seat on the couch, they seem in a hurry to leave. I find that step from the numbness or holding the feelings down to making the first scribble on a piece of paper or sharing my words with someone, a heroic act - something they talk about in Shambala Meditation. It is one of the first steps of a warrior: to see and use his bow and arrow ( the arrow of focus and intelligence, with his bow of gentleness) to apply what he knows to what he sees and feels. Having lived so long either holding things down or denying the depth of my feelings, I have come to feel that to push against those barriers is the work of a warrior.
One sip of Prosecco - lovely, yes lovely.
Your post also made me think about your travels. The amazing heightened experience of being in Anartica - the explosion of a different light, the colors, the physical sensations, the brilliance and spirit of the landscape followed by your return where experience all those things is stimulated ( at least for me) in a more internal space, before I can again see and feel the newness of the ordinary.
I was so frightened of my own grief, not only about things already lost, but things that could be lost. I know that I will grieve many more times in life. I fought that knowledge for so long and it caused more pain. What a gift you have to know what you know now. I honestly bow to you and everyone here who is so willing to look and to seek and to create their lives from this seeking. The Warrior's journey is continuous.
See my first, and best
See my first, and best dog, Hoke.
Hoke!
Hoke is precious! And I love this photo!!
A perfect portrait.
I heart pugs!
I have a pug obsession. And it truly is a pug obsession. I have calendars, magnets, cards, my first screen name was Pugsly, and I have 3 pugs. I imagine that one day I will be old and gray and the scared kids down the street will call me the old pug lady. But it will totally be worth it. They make me laugh.
My oldest, Curly, is deaf but still makes me laugh so hard I fear I'll wet myself. The other day I came home and he was sound asleep. I try to pat him so he wakes up slowly and sees me, since he can't hear me come in. His tongue was sticking out about as far as it can, which is about a good half mile. It was all pink and dry, like sandpaper, and instead of patting him I couldn't help but touch it. He slowly began to wake up, but even though I had his tongue inbetween my thumb and forefinger, he let me do it for a few seconds. His head got all bald and his eyes bugged out more than usual, as if he actually liked the attention. Curly, or The Curl as we call him, usually does not allow anyone to invade his personal space. It was so sweet, in a way that only the truly obsessed would appreciate.
I'm young enough that I've never experienced the death of a pet, excpet for my mom's bird, Cappy. So I am terrified of what will happen when The Curl leaves me forever. He's so human to me that the loss will be like losing a brother, since that's how I see him. But I'm preparing myself...My roommate and I have thought about names for pugs, like Captain or Sarge, but I think I'll name my next Oliver. It has a distinguished ring to it, but still cute enough to fit with such a fine creature.
Pugs
Dagney T
Thanks so much for your story about Curly.
I have a graveyard in the park behind my house of my cats and my front yard has a parrot, lots of guniea pigs, and a fish here or there. The loss of my first parrot was horrible. I didn't realize at the time that non-stick pans were toxic to them. My parrot was on my shoulder in the kitchen when a pot I had on the stove started to burn. Within two minutes my bird was dead.
The loss of a dog is like losing a dear friend. My teacher told me about how he coped with the loss of his most beloved dog. He had him cremated and then took his time over the course of many months, taking the ashes to the various places that he and his dog loved to walk or run. I find that story so comforting that I know, when the time comes, I will do the same.
Gosh, I can't believe I am writing such sad things tonight. I should be kicking up my shoes or just sitting quietly trying to center myself. It's been an off night. But I was glad to see you name - it's been awhile. Plus, you made me remember an old friend who had a pug. I was at her house when there was three week old litter. I remember being amazed by the sound of their breathing.
sykur og kanel
oh boy. don't get me started on iceland-love. reading those words gave me a thrill just now, Caterina. sykur og kanel. you know, today i started Sanskrit lessons (that isn't a joke-- and neither is Sanskrit! shit!) and i refuse to let the idea of someday learning Icelandic slip from my mind. for now -- since (like French) i don't speak Icelandic, I just prounounce it -- i'll have to be satisfied to sing along with Björk (have i told you how much i adore her?):
Ó pabbi minn - hve undursamleg ást þin var
Ó pabbi minn - þú ávalt tókst mitt svar
Aldrei var neinn - svo ástuðlegur eins og þú
Ó pabbi minn - þú ætíð skilðir allt
Lidin er tíd - er leíddir þú mig lítið barn
Brósandi blítt - þú breyttir sorg í gleði
Ó pabbi minn - ég dáði þína léttu lund
Leikandi kátt - þú lékst þér á þinn hátt
Ó pabbi minn - hve undursamleg ást þin var
Æskunnar ómar - ylja mér í dag
Lidin er tíd - er leíddir þú mig lítið barn
Brósandi blítt - þú breyttir sorg í gledi
Ó pabbi minn - ég dáði þína léttu lund
Leikandi kátt - þú lékst þér á þinn hátt
Ó pabbi minn - hve undursamleg ást þin var
Æskunnar ómar - ylja mér í dag
Ó pabbi minn
Ó pabbi minn
Ó pabbi minn
sanskrit and you
I love that you're studying sanskrit, James! I can totally see you loving it.
What an amazing language. So near the mother of our Indoeuropean tongues.
If you're ever interested, they also do free sanskrit up at the Ananda Ashram (about 45 minutes north of th city in Monroe, NY), using mantras and devotional hymns as the base from which to study, which I think is pretty cool because you are learning root sounds and their complex meanings along with their relation to cool vedantic philosophy.
You get "bija" (seed) and "mantra" (man = mind; tra = crossing/bridging)...
yummy...
Do you have a translation for this song you posted in Icelandic?
of course
it's the Icelandic version of "Oh My Pa-Pa," though the lyrics are actually a little bit different. also-- Monroe might be too much of a stretch for me right now. i'm actually learning Sanskrit (currently) from a yogi who studied a lot in India; for now we are just working on the Devanagari script, but we begin and end each session with a chant... we even pronounce mister Effortlessly Trying's first name!
Oh my Papa - how wonderful your love was
Oh my Papa - you always took my side
Never was one - as loving as you
Oh my Papa - you always knew me well
Time has passed - since you held my child's hand
Smiling sweetly - you turned sorrow to joy
Oh my Papa - I loved your joyful spirit
With happy ease - you played in your own way
Oh my Papa - how wonderful your love was
Childhood memories - warm me today
Time has passed - since you held my child's hand
Smiling sweetly - you turned sorrow to joy
Oh my Papa - I loved your joyful spirit
With happy ease - you played in your own way
Oh my Papa - how wonderful your love was
Childhood memories - warm me today
Oh my Papa
Oh my Papa
Oh my Papa
fly to the mountain
This picture makes me want to fly to that mountain...stand on top of it...and look around. The view must be beautiful, and very inspiring. I will stand there for a while, breathing the fresh, crisp air.
you read my mind, Tanya
i had just that experience while sitting on the shore of Jenny Island. we spent the day going to different places in Marguerite Bay, and this lovely view was what we feasted our eyes upon during a stroll on the beach just after breakfast. Jenny Island is a small and seldom visited Island off the coast of the much larger Adelaide Island. While lounging with the lazy moulting elephant seals (a few of which, as you can see in the photo, decided to go for a slow-paced dip) we looked across at the mountains of Adelaide. after nabbing a few photos, i drifted to a quiet spot, stripped off my heavy parka, and soaked up the unlikely sun. one adélie penguin-- seemingly lost!-- navigated carefully through the piles of enormous seals and paused for a moment not too far from me before scurrying off. a baby seal slept soundly in a little bed of rocks; a few adolescents in the shallow water just off-shore play fought, eventually slumping off to relax some more; and another nearby began to shift around. i glanced over and watched this seal shift up to a large, flat rock, using it as a makeshift headrest! there was absolutely no wind. it was very odd and lovely weather we had down there. no worries, there's no 40 below on Jenny Island during the summer, Anya! it's ordinarily a bit more frozen and foggy and windy, though. we lucked out immensely. have i told you all about the late night stroll over the frozen ocean yet?
Hi Sally!
Just want to say welcome aboard! Im glad you found us; its been very rainy out there today :) Anyway, it is always wonderful to hear a new voice. I think its been said before, but each time it happens I feel like our space just expands. I get a little stuck too sometimes. In fact, sometimes everything seems downright sticky.
So yes, very nice to meet you. I look forward to hearing your voice.
(Re your post: I am totally new to this)
do you people sleep?
I know i don't. But seriously, every time I sign on you guys are ready to roll. Its almost 4 in the fucking morning. I have to be up in a few hours. So if the rest of the world is up so late, how come you all seem so well rested. Meow.
sleep is for the weak.
sleep is for the weak.
sleep IS for the weak
here here! though you should see me when i've just woken up after going to bed at 4... just re-setting the alarm clock is an epic struggle...
and speaking of that-- whoops!-- i've gotta run, don't wanna be late for work!! cheers, gang, see you all here this evening ;););)
late nights... all in a daze work
Not well rested but who cares?
There's an incredible energy on this blog.
Will we come to rest?
I assume so.
Camilla, Om, Noah, Nadine... Ceili, James, Megan Emily.. and Arnold! Piercing!
I am piercing with Oubenning seeing too and piercing.
What is happening here?
You are my place of reflection and community.
Grazie... no matter how late. Last night I was up til 4:30am.
I am going to
begin setting my alarm after I go to sleep so I can get up in the wee hours to hang with you.
What? No early birds on
What? No early birds on this blog? Too much partying in the night, I say.
:P
:P
i was actually awake until six working on my response to the poem of Om's that Caterina re-posted last night. and on that note, i am going back to bed for a while!!!
question, caterina
When did you know that you loved being with people in the late seventies and forward?
What did you feel, or know, or intuit?
Don't know if I will be awake for your answer but I'll set that alarm.
And to all: did any of you find the Lords Prayer as terrifying as I did, which was terrifying?
Emily, to be continued...
I love your question and will try to respond tomorrow!
I too have to sleep. But this is the question I will carry with me to bed.
buona notte xoxo
Om's Last Chants
[Last night, I had the opportunity to read this poem again and wanted to respond. It is perfectly harmonizing with the poem "flowering". Couldn't respond to the poem at its original site because the option was no longer available, so I will repost it here.]
The Last Chants
Say that you lost a son
And you’re in mourning
And a Buddhist friend, as deep
As she is light, finds in her chant
The meaning of your suffering;
And you hear the swallow of her throat
as you, along with her, chant your
om mani padme hum, and the hum
around the tongue of wisdom
turns the padme of perseverance
into wine, as the wistful murmurs
of prayer step slow and almost
unencumbered. There is time
there is time there is time as another
voice enters the mind of a 12 year old
in the dark magic of childhood
sitting in Sunday heat at his father's
funeral in some conjured image of Christ
sweating blood from nails piercing skin
piercing day piercing the aisle's length, as
his father is carried away in a box, where time
worms and hollows out like wind the hole nothing
but air and thirst cry to; and you’re sitting here,
a nail banging away with words, piercing text
on yellowed paper, replaying the voice
of fate, repaying the debt of what
love once offered; and you think you’re
drinking away in endless cups, calling to a father
you will never quench and a son you never got
to hold never got to rock; and you think you never
buried your son, never waved good-bye, and your
arms are dying; but the meaning wakes you, echoes
like the tsee-ler of the sparrow in the swallow
of your throat…there is time there is time
Om's Last Chants, comment
We enter into the context of loss: "Say you've lost a son" and then reparation through recognition: the chant of a Buddhist friend, as deep as she is light, is recognizing and honoring this loss and though the listener may not understand the prayer's words, it doesn't matter; there's a soothing that is speaking to me that this chant knows the pain,
knows all the pain and all loss, and there's something in this universe, some awareness, that holds it all...
And from this awareness, this soothing and simultaneous holding of my loss,I enter into the meditation, There is time, There is time, there is time, words rhythmically bringing us into the chant itself, and conveying us into a memory:
as another
voice enters
and we're in the mind of the 12 year old boy who just lost his father, who is sitting at his father's funeral (and here the jolting... you can imagine how horrendous and terrible this must be for the child, a nightmare, living through...) and we are situated in the church, in a pew, and there's a distance that is immediately drawn into awareness between the boy and the altar where his father's body is carried past him in a box... bizarre and somehow the farthest from intimate (seemingly) images of the Christ on a cross, bleeding, nails piercing. (And yet this bleeding and nailing enter the poem through the repetition of the word "piercing" later, exposing that the bizarre images did enter into an intimate usage). There's a strangeness of this environment for the boy as he is participating in the goodbye ceremony for his father.
his father is carried away in a box, where time
worms and hollows out like wind the hole nothing
but air and thirst cry to;
The image of the worm eating through the cadaver, the fate of the flesh, is not necessarily one that is brought from the mind of the boy but of the poet, the adult man, remembering... he uses its image as a verb now to describe how time "hollows out" an irretrievable and endless, objectless lack. The loss here doesn't even become a "hole" (which would be a thing) but has no thing to ascribe to it. "Time worms and hollows out". Basta. Pure lack, pure thirst. (Notice that the transition in the sentence from "hollow out like wind the hole nothing but air and thirst to dry to" does not immediately signify the "hole" as something created but as the object of the following verb phrase "air and thirst to cry to"... it's a transition that leaves the "hole" in a dual role of potential object of the first half of the sentence and the longed for object of the second... it's a transition that deprives even the "hole" of a clear role as object of the first half). The sentence itself leaves us in deprivation of a clear object.
The hole that is created is nothing but a crying to air and thirst...
What struck me here was that the "thirst" itself could be the only experience of the loss, the only trail of the father left is his absence: the thirst is cried to, to hold onto the father. So deep is the loss, the way it is described here, that it doesn't even name the form of its succor, its quench. Just "thirst" to cry to.
and you’re sitting here,
(We are in the present of the adult man, now...)
a nail banging away with words, piercing text
on yellowed paper, replaying the voice
of fate, repaying the debt of what
love once offered;
Here's a complicated and interesting image... we get the nail banging away with words, it holds a kind of diligent pursuit to tap into (nail) the feeling of loss, but it is itself the loss and so cannot recognize itself. "Yellowing paper" - how old the trauma, known and sensed as old (I see him perusing old books, as well...) "replaying the voice of fate".. that is, not only replaying the memory of loss but enacting it as the very voice itself. "Repaying the debt of what love once offered." The most complicated image. I think it has to do with the act of holding onto the loss itself, the act of "banging away with words" (this poem), the energy of this is so pure and so present in the poem... in these words, so taut the relationship between the act of writing and the feeling of the loss/anger, so taut you cannot even distinguish between agent and action. (The agent defines himself by the action and in "acting" is affirming his identity: the "agent" is loss in action). Repaying the debt, in this image, is endless, its an endless search to fill in that "hole" that isn't even a "hole"; it's like a black hole. Deprivation again.
"the debt of what love once offered"... Love once offered a father and a son, a relationship. Why is this HIS debt to repay? The depth of the feeling of loss (and it's fusing with the identity of the agent, the poet tapping into the loss) has obscured the greater relationship that holds the father and son in a context that can forgive the son of his debt, and the father of leaving him. That greater context is found, by the way, by the poet, from the beginning of the poem in the chant, and later... as we'll see... in the meaning awakened (and the sound of the sparrow).
...and you think you’re
drinking away in endless cups, calling to a father
you will never quench and a son you never got
to hold never got to rock
Absence is a presence and the presence is "thirst", that cannot be quenched. Time here (there is time, there is time, there is time, we wont forget) proposes that the loss, the feeling of loss, is the infinite feeling, the one, if there is one feeling under all feelings, that will always be presented to the lips of this poet in endless cups. Loss. And it manifests again in the loss of his son.
and you think you never
buried your son, never waved good-bye, and your
arms are dying;
There is no more painful line I have ever read, ever.
"and your arms are dying"
The same lack of closure, inability to say goodbye, to even hold. Can I even approach the longing of these lines? They seem to reach, in endless ache, to an impossibility. We are in the full paradigm, experience, of loss.
but the meaning wakes you, echoes
like the tsee-ler of the sparrow in the swallow
of your throat…there is time there is time
But the MEANING wakes you! Ah. What's this? The meaning... wakes you!
The awareness that time heals all wounds? Not so simple, and yet so simple.
There is a greater holding that recognizes the loss, and in the recognition is the meaning, the meaning is the recognition of the one who FEELS, the feeling of the aching arms that are dying. Recognizing the feeling, there must be one who feels, a return to the one promise that between feeling and feeler there is the relationship, and under this, awareness. Echoing... the story echoes in time, held in a consciousness, like the tsee-ler (the sound the sparrow makes), held in a throat, and we return to the beginning, to the sound of the chant:
the hum
around the tongue of wisdom
turns the padme of perseverance
into wine,
a substance that quenches and relieves. Recognition is this wine, the whole holding, encompassing, being and feeling and loss. "There is time there is time": the final words of the poem bring us back into the meaning that the chant is pouring into this whole journey-poem, into the loss and pain, quenching sorrow in the awareness that even our greatest pain is held and known, holdable knowable, and so has an end in dissolution.
SAY THAT YOU LOST: a response to Om's "The Last Chants"
SAY THAT YOU LOST: a response to Om's "The Last Chants"
Say that you lost a son / And you’re in mourning.
The entire poem is here, in these two lines. There’s that word, “say,” that performs two functions. Upon first encountering the poem it is taken as a command, “Say that you lost a son—imagine it, put yourself in this situation for a moment…” And so I follow along, not taking the command entirely seriously, rather taking it as a kind of entry-point for the storyteller. I use that all the time, when sharing stories, and what it really means is, “Follow along this story with me.” Because I have not lost a son, and I know that you have. “Say that you lost a son / And you’re in mourning.” Okay—I’m with you, tell me how you are feeling in this experience you are sharing. And you do. But then the poem comes to an end and I return to the beginning to read once more, and suddenly I realize that I completely ignored the sincerity of the word “say.” Say that you lost a son—yes, say so. Speak those very words. Say it that you lost a son, and that you’re in mourning. You can no longer deny it by keeping quiet—you lost a son: say so. All of a sudden the mourning becomes. But already the words are revealing their movement, because you’re in morning, too, or any other time it may be—but you are in time. You know you are in time because you are in mourning, and you are painfully aware of time, though perhaps there may be some beauty in time yet.
Go back, sit with it, experience it again. Do not go gentle into that good night. Read, read along with the budding of the Buddhist light. Say that you lost a son / And you’re in mourning. Do not even stop there—chant it. And let your tears become your prayer beads as you chant your loss. There is time, and some of that time must be spent with these two lines, because they are a poem unto themselves.
And a Buddhist friend… Let us pause here for a moment. Om, we know you are deeply inspired by Buddhist philosophy and practice, so we may pause on this Buddhist friend to acknowledge that this friend is both a human friend, and not a human friend. Because a Buddhist friend as deep as she is light, finding in her chant the meaning of your suffering, is the very chant om mani padme hum; and the very saying the very chanting of it allows for a deep transformation… but it is not so much a transformation, rather it is a recognition of one’s Buddha-nature, it is an attuning to the true nature of things. One thing I love is the way this friendship works. There is no moment that need be declared “sharing.” And a Buddhist friend, as deep / As she is light, finds in her chant / The meaning of your suffering. There is no distance here. You, Om, are there in the very discovery. There is no moment of, “Oh, I have found the meaning of your suffering, would you like to know what it is?” Because this is neither the nature of the meaning of your suffering, nor the nature of the relationship. I will come to the suffering later. As to the relationship: after she finds in her chant the meaning of your suffering, there is a pause, but not a full break… there is a semi-colon;
And you hear the swallow of her throat
as you, along with her, chant your
om mani padme hum.
This is what makes it so absolutely beautiful that the friend is both a friend and the chant itself. The space of the chant is being shared between the two friends so fully that as she finds the meaning of your suffering, you continue to chant hearing the swallow of her throat—this feels like relating to me: the movements in her throat, you hear not only the sounds being chanted, but the passage from which the sounds are formed and emerge. Back and forth, back and forth, through the syllables being slowly carved into the air. But, boy, you sure pack a lot of punch into each word—and I am skipping/missing so much. You hear the swallow of her throat; already we are anticipating the sparrow; and already we are anticipating the meanings of ‘hole’ (which is another meaning of ‘swallow’), and so much more. You hear the swallow of her throat. It seems to pierce through the sound of the chanting for a moment, in the moment you share her finding. It is almost a signifier, a verbal cue that, yes, she is finding in her chant the meaning of your suffering. And then there is the chant itself: you hear the swallow of [the chant’s] throat as you, along with her, chant your om mani padme hum.
Om, this is so beautiful. You are chanting along with the chant itself, and you can hear in the chant’s very vocality as it finds the meaning of your suffering. This is the most beautiful of prayers, because you are not constructing the prayer, you are joining in with the prayer itself, allowing it to guide you through to a greater recognition of yourself. And the hum / around the tongue… the hum around the tongue of wisdom. Here, too, you are yourself the voice of the chant, your tongue allows for the emerging of the sounds, and yet the wisdom speaks itself, as you allow yourself to become attuned with it, to align yourself with the light and depth of your Buddhist friend.
And the hum / around the tongue of wisdom / turns the padme of perseverance / into wine. See, now this does so much for the meaning and the experience of the chant. There is the repetition of the chant; and then there is the body of the chant: its living contours and textures, its present reverberation, its perpetual resonance within your experience. The hum can turn the padme of perseverance into wine because the chant will begin back from the beginning, and also because the chant can communicate with itself; and also because the earlier syllables continue to speak through the proceeding syllables; and, finally, because the past can be transformed…
om mani padme hum, and the hum
around the tongue of wisdom
turns the padme of perseverance
into wine, as the wistful murmurs
of prayer step slow and almost
unencumbered. There is time
Here again we are brought to both the friend and the chant-friend. The wistful murmurs of prayer step slow and almost unencumbered. I can see and hear so many different kinds of steps. The beat of the steps seems to be slowing itself down, yet eagerly anticipating the next beat, the next step. The words… the syllables call for such care and such attention and intent, yet they seem to already be pronouncing the next curve of the tongue, the next swallow of the throat… The healing and heightening wine – just a taste – opens the senses even more fully to the fullness of the chanting. And the wistful murmurs step almost unencumbered. This word is a challenge to me, because I do not want to simplify it, but I do not know how to address it in its full complexity. It is not “almost unburdened,” or anything else, and attention must be paid to this decision. With the word ‘encumbered’ there is a sense of burden, a sense of dead-weight, but there is also a sense of responsibility. There is this freedom to the very sounds of the chant, this flowing quality, this lack of burden—and yet there is also this small sense of duty, of responsibility. The chant is still pressing onwards, and is still somehow situated, present in the very relationship to its speaker. Your Buddhist friend is deep as she is light, and she, too, is almost unencumbered, because she is still not free of the relationship. But this is not a burden, not a dead-weight, because it is within this relationship that the meaning of your suffering is found… there is something missing in a prayer stepping entirely unencumbered; some disconnect. But here we can view the presence and presents of an almost unencumbered chant. Ah, but it is also encumbered by something else looming overhead… it is not all light… there is perhaps a little burden, too, because: There is time
There is time—this means there will be time, this means there is time enough, this means there must be time waited through, this means that time is, and the past is present in the present, along with the future. There is time…
there is time there is time as another
voice enters the mind of a 12 year old
But already the past is transformed, because this 12-year-old is in a context, and this 12-year-old’s feelings are present in the experience of the… well, of the “you.” (Why the “you”? Because (say that) you lost a son. And you lost a father—but that was years ago, and actually distinct from the man who has lost a son, though not separate.) And so both “another voice enters the mind of a 12 year old,” and, “another voice enters: the mind of a 12 year old”
in the dark magic of childhood
sitting in Sunday heat at his father's
funeral in some conjured image of Christ
sweating blood from nails piercing skin
piercing day piercing the aisle's length
This almost evokes for me Milarepa, another Buddhist friend, who realized enlightenment in one lifetime, but who much earlier was convinced by his mother to use black magic to destroy the cruel and greedy family members who had basically enslaved he and his mother after his father’s death. But, of course, we have moved into the world of Christ’s crucifixion. There is so much trouble, here, in the word ‘conjured.’ There is something so troubling in this image of Christ—perhaps it is the way that suffering became something shared between the human and divine realms; the way that suffering became a way into paradise, as opposed to the barring factor. For the Buddhist friend that there is suffering is a basic truth; but another basic truth is that there is the cessation of suffering. For the follower of Christ, in this 12-year-old’s experience, perhaps there is some sort of grasping at suffering itself, a holding-onto that which makes one analogous to Christ. If this is what this 12-year-old was surrounded by, it is deeply unsatisfying—exactly because the day is so God Damned piercing. The next step has to be taken, because the meaning of his suffering is more than that… As a first step this is perhaps beautiful, but left alone with this conjured image of suffering—God is conjured into the icon, the Church community conspires a take on suffering, the boy is beseeched to admire and follow the example of Christ… the next step has to be taken, piercing the aisle’s length, as
his father is carried away in a box, where time
worms and hollows out like wind the hole nothing
but air and thirst cry to
This line certainly packs a wallop. His father is carried away in a box. There is such loss in these words, the way they stumble over each other, landing on the dagger, no, the cross of box. And then we are given words that seem to wish to point anywhere but to where they point—which is no one place. Where time worms. Worms in the ground; there is time, there is time worming and hollowing out like wind… the hole… That time is doing the worming and hollowing brings us the hole chewed out by the worms. Ah, but there is time. Time to be spent waiting and watching, time piercing. Time walking much too slowly and, yet, much too quickly to the hole in the ground… Oh, and there is time. Time past in the present. Time worms and hollows out like wind the throat nothing but air and thirst cry to. The once vibrating throat of the father being carried away, and the presently quivering throat of the son watching his father buried; and, oh my, there is time—and the throat nothing but air and thirst cry to, because neither will fill the throat of the son being buried by the now-father.
and you’re sitting here,
a nail banging away with words, piercing text
on yellowed paper, replaying the voice
of fate, repaying the debt of what
love once offered
And here, a nail chisels away the words… what numbers appear on the gravestone of a son you never got to hold? What letters? And the nail merges into the pen, piercing text on yellowed paper. I see so much yellowed paper. I see note-pads, I see old books, I see old newspapers. Is the pen piercing text, or is the text itself piercing? An obituary from many years before? A poem, or a letter, being written (or read)? … and the nail, banging away with words, is also the printing needle, and also the echo, the memory of suffering… and you think you’re
drinking away in endless cups, calling to a father
you will never quench and a son you never got
to hold never got to rock
There is the literal drinking—like that drinking, I know, of the father; and there is the drinking like that drinking in of your Buddhist friend’s presence, only here you are not drinking in, but rather drinking away… “calling to a father you will never quench…” father is both the thirst and the thirsty. Father the human who was buried when his son was 12; father the past; father your new (and lost) state… Calling to a father you will never quench, because there is only the thirst, now. There is such yearning, and so little fulfillment in this drinking away in endless cups. You are drinking away, calling to a son you never got to hold never got to rock; and you think you never
buried your son, never waved good-bye, and your
arms are dying; but the meaning wakes you, echoes
like the tsee-ler of the sparrow in the swallow
of your throat…there is time there is time
Like Caterina I find this to be the most painful of lines: and your arms are dying. I cannot go any further with this line, beyond the way it takes hold of me… I can add no words to these.
Say that you lost a son / And you’re in mourning / And a Buddhist friend, as deep / As she is light, finds in her chant / The meaning of your suffering; / the meaning wakes you, echoes / like the tsee-ler of the sparrow in the swallow / of your throat…there is time there is time
There is time. The ambiguity of the terms has vanished, as all becomes present in you. The murmuring throat of your Buddhist friend, the throats of your father and son, to which air and thirst cry, the narrow aisle, the swallows in your friend’s throat and in the ground, the different meanings of suffering… these all and more become present in you, in the very chanting, as the meaning echoes in the passage of your throat, in the very passage from which the sounds of the chant are formed and emerge. And as your chant has attuned to the sing-song of the sparrow, you say that you lost a son, and you’re in mourning, and in the final chants, the meaning of your suffering is found; there is time there is time…
--------------------------------------
I could continue to write this response for days, because like the chant, this poem reverberates onward, and proceeds to the beginning… beginning once more, turned into wine by the previous reading. I could move through the opening of the poem in a more terse style, focusing more on concretizing the words chosen, opening up to more and more reaching description as I make my way to the end (essentially switching up the way I wrote this response); and then I can begin once more, teetering in from the opening and closing into a crescendo of piercing at the heart of the response… I could do this because the poem becomes richer the more time I spend with it; but I love beginning my response with more elaborate expression, gradually sinking into a briefer, perhaps more mysterious account of the poem. It seems to me that which is made conspicuous allows for a deepening of that which remains mysterious, and suddenly the mystery becomes more tangible, and as the poem regains the dominant voice, the mystery becomes somehow more awesome and more familiar at once. I think perhaps the meaning is something like that; I think perhaps the awareness is like that…
james noah
gorgeous symmetry and compliment in your readings. still blown away. thank you both! Thank you for entering so deeply this poem which for me continues to penetrate to the meaning of loss, asking me to find in myself the deepest places that niggle and worm and hollow out, unconsciously driving my hunger and longing for reparation.
To "Say" i've lost a son. We've all lost a son, now, holding Om's chant.
Holding this precious baby who is being born to us through this loving community. I am in the back of the throat (there is a powerful chakra there, the "throat chakra", sometimes called, but there really is something there, that place of articulation between self-integration, voice and heart. it is the key chakra of the rajanakan yogis (tantric, non-dual), the focal point for integrating mind and heart, for articulating desire and swallowing recognition, taking in the response of the universe (each other) and integrating these in continual process, dance, two three...
Speaking Loss--Response To The Last Chants
(I would like to say that I am submitting this before reading anyone else’s thoughts on this poem (part of my process) so I apologize if I am repeating what has already been said.)
This poem is to be spoken. It is a chanted prayer. The awakening here expresses itself in the voice; to me the poem is realized through the penetrative power of the voice to pierce, pierce right into the heart of loss, the heart of suffering, painful as the nails driven into skin, and then purifying. Like the Buddhist chant at its center, it feels almost untranslatable because it is empty; but it can be known and this is why we must speak.
The first word is say (Imagine )that you lost a son. Yes. But say. Say that you lost a son. Speak the loss. You lost a son. I want to live with this line--this first line--not cling to it, but sit with it for a moment:
You lost your son, Om.
Or, as a directive: say that you lost a son--I lost a son. Do you hear this? We must enter into this loss first, before we can go on because this poem is about speaking into the depths of loss; and this is a loss vaster than any that I have ever known, but still I have known loss and I think about loss, and I know that I am a son, that I have a father and so I say that you lost a son. I want to speak your loss.
And you are in mourning
And a buddhist friend as deep /as she is light [gorgeous!]/ finds in her chant / the meaning of your suffering. Listen to where the lines ask you to let your breath fall. For me, the enjambment says deep/light/chant/suffering. We are talking about the meaning found through the chant, the voice. But what does the chant represent? Why are we chanting? We are not trying to be "saved" from this loss. No, this is a seeking of a truth at the essence of ones being and we can learn to speak this meaning because we are its truth. The chant seems to be an expression of this true being and she has found it and speaks. Who is this friend? She is beautiful. In the poem she is your guide, your teacher.
And you hear the swallow of her throat
as you, along with her, chant your
om mani padme hum, and the hum
around the tongue of wisdom
turns the padme of perseverance
into wine, as the wistful murmurs
of prayer step slow and almost
unencumbered. There is time
The swallow of her throat. Of course at first I think of the songbird; but also a place in at the back of the throat where we swallow--deep and sacred. But this word, swallow, is so rich with meaning—the bird of beautiful song and good luck; and to take in through the throat, to consume or destroy. It means both to accept unquestioningly “I swallowed the whole story” and also to conceal or hold back “I swallowed my feelings”, to meekly accept something “I swallowed your insult,” and to deplete or to engulf. Finally, I think of the feeling of a deep cry rising up and trying to escape; that full swallowy feeling of grief. How can a loss so great be spoken?
What an interesting choice, so rich with contradiction—the musical call of song, the sacred place of speaking, the withheld, consumed, engulfed and concealed—all pointing me in, back to the ‘meaning’ held inside of voice itself. Yes, these murmurs of prayer are unencumbered almost. This is a poem that speaks its own process.
And the hum: the tongue of wisdom turning the padme of preserverence into wine—loss into awareness, suffering into joy. The music of these lines, the wisdom creating wine of perseverance in prayer, the slow step of hum murmuring: Listen to yourself speak this. It must be spoken because the chant is an act of purification. And so is time itself.
There is time there is time there is time—and now we are 12 years old and our father has died and we are sitting in church and Christ is up there on the wall, nails piercing his skin and what does that mean anyway, this conjured image of the nails piercing his skin—this is the dark magic of childhood and our great belief has suddenly been ruptured by a greater unknowing, ruptured by loss. And there is this image of Christ being pierced. But I am now; I want to pierce that image, to break it open—to wake up from the dream, to purify this past which is rising up in this now, into this loss of a son here, where I am sitting, purifying ignorance and suffering with the chant that is this poem, purifying the past with time, the time that is this now, here, banging away at the past, at the illusion, at the unknowing, at the skin of this loss with the nails that are these words, the nail that is Om’s pen, penetrating the very heart of suffering, banging away at the keys. I love this poem because it truly contains the story of its own process. How is it that this poem is? The poem speaks the question and is its meaning.
And time again, worming and hollowing away the flesh of your father, claiming everything that one could hold, one could drink, one could quench—repaying the debt, trying to fill emptiness beneath this loss .
Calling out in endless cups to a father you will never quench, a son you never got to hold…
and there is only thirst now, only lack, only loss—the loss of this son that you never got to touch, to hold, to kiss: where does this love go, what has this loss swallowed whole [hole]—it is swallowing you in its hole. You are trying to hold this loss, this hole, this emptiness and your arms are dying. They are reaching, grasping, calling to hold your lost son, the love that seems lost, and they cannot hold and they are dying, these arms. But the meaning wakes you in the echo of the tsee-ler—it is now the sparrow calling from inside the swallow of the throat, inside your swallowing, inside the loss and its holding and its hold. It says: there is time there is time and you are here, we are here.
This voice piercing the image of Christ, piercing the loss and suffering itself, waking itself to its own truth: there is time. Here is loss pouring out of you in endless cups of love.
I asked myself, Why is this poem called the Last Chants? It is a chant of becoming. Yes. Om Mani Padme Hum What does it mean to chant? I don't think it can be translated--the chant, this poem, the experience--because it is not in the words themselves but in the act of our speaking. The Being that the words point us toward. Loss speaks. Not to hold, not to swallow, but to speak, to be--what else but love?
Noah, in deep gratitude for your reading
Noah, thank you for this exquisite reading. I am blown away and deeply moved by the way you approach this poem, by your gentleness and willingness to hold the pain of the loss, asking us first to speak the poem out loud, to step into the process that is the poem... the way you articulate that wonderful image of the swallowing, how you get us there at the back of the throat and conjure up all of the associations with swallowing.. this is truly an intimate and full bodied reading! How you cause us to really "swallow" the idea of losing a son. "Om, you lost a son." i could say more about your reading, but I just want to say thank you.
THERE IS TIME THERE IS LOVE THERE IS TIME: LOOKING INSIDE MY
THERE IS TIME THERE IS LOVE THERE IS TIME: LOOKING INSIDE MY POEMING
Suchness
The Third Noble Truth
of Buddhism
is that there is an end
to suffering. And yet,
suffering has followed
me to the end.
What have I missed
Oh my God, you are all the most precious angels, all of you on this, our block.
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the Angelic
Orders? And even if one were to suddenly
take me to its heart, I would vanish into its
stronger existence. For beauty is nothing but
the beginning of terror, that we are still able to bear,
and we revere it so, because it calmly disdains
to destroy us.
Thank you thank you thank you… there is time there is time there is time. My dear Buddhist friend, as light as she is deep, told me a story about her teacher, Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche who, being asked advice, asked my friend’s friend how old he was. The man said, I’m 50. Tulku responded, “You’re wasting time, go meditate.” Is this not the most beautiful and simple transmission of love. It’s that simple, sit! Purify purify purify, there is time there is time there is time. I realized at the very moment my Buddhist friend, who is as deep as she is light, had just gifted to me the greatest gift because she transmitted the most precious teaching: I am that man!!! Om, stop wasting time with this world so that you stop wasting this world. Stop wasting time so that you can give generously to this world. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!!! In this incarnation, that is J There is time there is time there is time and I am so grateful to be alive so that I can cultivate compassion for all beings, without exception. And these, the last chants, are the lasting chants of psychological in the cradle of infinite time, the last giving in to the first beginning over and over again (Finnegans Wake J in the wheel of birth, life and death.
Not coincidentally, on this past Valentine’s Day, my son would have been six years old and it was the third anniversary of my mother, Iris’ death. You remember Iris, she was a plant whose pot, which was broken, I couldn’t fix. But, I am now fixing her as she is fixing me through her beautiful death. She is now light lighting me. Om mani padme hum. What was once the silliest day of the year has now become my favorite. A day of remembering there is time there is time there is time.
Poetry has always been a therapeutic form of healing and recording, a bearing witness to my suffering, but in such a way as to give it “higher” form. To give voice to. Person means voice. Of course. `The Last Chants’ is a personal poem about grief and loss; but, it’s so much more because it’s also 1) a poem, which means it’s given over to an aesthetic recalling and recording and paradoxically removed from the immediacy of the experience; 2) a philosophical reflection; and 3) being shared after the experience, so that the poem and the experiences it conveys are no longer mine alone.
And the way I experience it, in its most distilled form, this poem is about karma. Importantly, it is also about what everyone has said about it, all of it; it’s all true, and the insights and love given to this poem, which is now ours, are astounding, truly radiant. Thank you.
I thought (intuitively at the time, it was not “thought”) it most appropriate to start off the poem with the word “say.” For me, say is the Western utterance emerging from Om (or Aumm), the universal sound and seed syllable of embodiment seeking the divine. In Katha Upanishad, it is said, "The goal, which all Vedas declare, which all austerities aim at, and which humans desire when they live a life of continence, I will tell you briefly it is Aumm.”
`The one is indeed Brahman. This one syllable is the highest. Whosoever knows this one syllable obtains all that he desires.’ And in the Bhagavad Gita (8.13):
“Uttering the monosyllable Aum, the eternal world of Brahman, One who departs leaving the body (at death), he attains the superior goal.”
You can see why I chose as my blog name, Om and not Paul, my actual name. And I try to honor and focus on that sound in every word I choose here (even when I’m raising my fist) so that I might cultivate compassion for all beings, without exception. This, our block, is my practice, too.
And so, the word “say” recalls that in the beginning was the word, and the relation. And relationship is the utterance of one’s deepest needs and desire to love. I have never experienced as this one word, "say," as so brilliant and so completely inclusive. It is a poem itself. And say said and worded and stated and expressed and alleged and reported and maintained and supposed and read and had or contained a certain wording or form; and declared and uttered aloud; and ordered and gave instructions to or directed somebody to do something with authority; and pronounced and spoke, pronounced, or uttered in a certain way; and recited or repeated a fixed text (chanted!!!!!!); and communicated or expressed nonverbally; and chanced to speak; and pointed in its utterance there is time there is time there is time.
I see time itself as karmic debt, that is, it takes away and by taking away it gives so generously and abundantly. As the greatest gift there is perhaps and death is a creative form of time. This is my theory of death: it gives. It is a portal of opportunity. A purification for the living. Love gifted to the living, a teaching for what the living do, love love love. There is time there is time there is time. My fantasy is that our loved ones die to awaken in us the deepest existential opportunity. The intensity of it, the extreme pain completely dismantles our reality, and isn’t that the point. When I lost my son, I was literally crushed, extinguished and beyond consolation. That is, my EGO!!! My attachment to this illusory world of conventional meaning. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time, I couldn’t breathe and was on the floor and punching myself in the head. No more, no more losses! How much loss can a man take in one lifetime?
Yet I had huge responsibilities of others in my care. How was I going to do it, I couldn’t do it. I can’t go on I can’t go on and so I went on, and I went on and on and on there is time there is time there is time… om mani padme hum…. and I am with all of you right now in this moment of here… there is time there is time there is time and I’m more alive than ever because of karma, "repaying the debt of what/love once offered." What love once offered is what it will always and forever offer, more love, despite loss, despite suffering, despite in the inconsolable grief of an illusory mind in an illusory world. This is why I have said that we don’t have to suffer even though we must suffer, it’s the greatest paradox of being human when human is separated from being, or when we mistake being human for human Being. You know what I mean? Being is the pure, unstained state. Human is the suffering state of separation from Being. Never separate the two.
According to Buddhism, karma, on an individual level, determines our personal experiences. Is this not gorgeous? If you take the morality and guilt and shame out of it, it’s pure teaching, pure beauty in its highest aesthetic form. We are completely self-determined, we are completely and totally free. I remember Sartre saying that life begins at the far side of despair and that statement fascinated me, mostly because I lived for so long in complete despair. I said, oh shit, it’s like over the rainbow, but this rainbow was darkness. At the end of despair is joy, pure unadulterated joy. And if we don’t get stuck in magical thinking (the new fad, `The Secret,’ lends itself to that), we begin to realize that karma (Sanskrit, meaning action), is nothing more than “causality of actions.” Our destinies are not determined by gods or God, but by our own actions. Our own previous actions, from one lifetime to the next. And so, my childhood trauma didn’t occur because I was bad and God was punishing me, that’s a perverted moralism fostered by Christian dogma. No, my trauma occurred because of the myriad conditions and causes over the course of infinite lifetimes, both individually and collectively. But, at this very moment, right now, if I were wise and compassionate enough, I could completely and totally remove all of it, my entire past. I could actually change my past!!! and determine my future as a future without suffering!!! Think of it, Goldmund would turn to gold and Narcissus would dissolve into the dissolving of his own looking and his double image would heal in the light of love and only love.
Listen to this, from Mathieu Ricard, in the `Quantum and the Lotus’ (please pick it up, it’s extraordinary and very accessible) highlights and silly brackets mine:
Buddhism finds substantial value in the phenomenon of psychological time. It helps us to overcome the fear of death and encourages diligence in t he work we do to accomplish spiritual change. A practicing Buddhist [ha! Or even if you’re not a Buddhist but still practicing J!!!] will not live in fear of death because, by constantly meditating [!!!] on it, he has prepared himself to accept it with serenity when the moment comes. Gampopa, an eleventh century Tibetan sage, said, “At first you should de driven by fear [easy task L]of birth and death like a stag escaping from a trap. In the middle [of mediation practice], you should have nothing to regret even if you die, like a farmer who has carefully worked his fields [or garden!!!]. in the end, you should feel relieved and happy, like a person who has just completed a formidable task.” A hermit turns over his cup every night in case he doesn’t wake up the next morning. He thinks that each moment brings him closer to death. Every time he breathes out, he feels happy to breathe in once more.” P. 132-133.
I will share more (of course J but for now I need to just sit and take you all in. gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha. There is time there is love there is time….
Om
I am simply speechless by your poem, and everyone's reading.
I feel as if I am cradling your son in my hands. He is, like you, everywhere.
THANK YOU, EMILY
You are a cradle.
question with thanks
I have many questions about what you have said here. But, for starters, would you please explain your use of the phrase, "there is time there is time there is time." It feels to me that there is simultaneously no time and infinite time.
ARNOLD, I LOVE YOUR QUESTION
because I so deliciously get to present these swallows singing together, specifically about time. Instead of answering you directly, and I promise I will after I can catch my breath again, I would like James, Catherine and Noah to answer your question, in their own words. "It feels to me that there is simultaneously no time and infinite time." This is beautiful, and in between no time and infinite time, is life vibrating. Just feel these following sentences, in time.
James. But already the words are revealing their movement, because you’re in morning, too, or any other time it may be—but you are in time. You know you are in time because you are in mourning, and you are painfully aware of time, though perhaps there may be some beauty in time yet.
so we may pause on this Buddhist friend to acknowledge
Back and forth, back and forth, through the syllables being slowly carved into the air.
The beat of the steps seems to be slowing itself down, yet eagerly anticipating the next beat, the next step. The words… the syllables call for such care and such attention and intent, yet they seem to already be pronouncing the next curve of the tongue, the next swallow of the throat…
The chant is still pressing onwards, and is still somehow situated, present in the very relationship to its speaker.
There is time
There is time—this means there will be time, this means there is time enough, this means there must be time waited through, this means that time is, and the past is present in the present, along with the future. There is time…
But already the past is transformed, because this 12-year-old is in a context, and this 12-year-old’s feelings are present in the experience of the… well, of the “you.”
there is time, there is time worming and hollowing out like wind… the hole… That time is doing the worming and hollowing brings us the hole chewed out by the worms. Ah, but there is time. Time to be spent waiting and watching, time piercing. Time walking much too slowly and, yet, much too quickly to the hole in the ground… Oh, and there is time. Time past in the present.
There is time. The ambiguity of the terms has vanished, as all becomes present in you.
----------------------
Caterina. There is time, There is time, there is time, words rhythmically bringing us into the chant itself, and conveying us into a memory:
. Time here (there is time, there is time, there is time, we wont forget) proposes that the loss, the feeling of loss, is the infinite feeling, the one, if there is one feeling under all feelings, that will always be presented to the lips of this poet in endless cups.
They seem to reach, in endless ache, to an impossibility
. Recognizing the feeling, there must be one who feels, a return to the one promise that between feeling and feeler there is the relationship, and under this, awareness.
Echoing... the story echoes in time, held in a consciousness, like the tsee-ler (the sound the sparrow makes), held in a throat, and we return to the beginning, to the sound of the chant:
"There is time there is time": the final words of the poem bring us back into the meaning that the chant is pouring into this whole journey-poem, into the loss and pain, quenching sorrow in the awareness that even our greatest pain is held and known, holdable knowable, and so has an end in dissolution.
------------------
Noah. the musical call of song, the sacred place of speaking, the withheld, consumed, engulfed and concealed—all pointing me in, back to the ‘meaning’ held inside of voice itself.
The music of these lines, the wisdom creating wine of perseverance in prayer, the slow step of hum murmuring: Listen to yourself speak this. It must be spoken because the chant is an act of purification. And so is time itself.
But I am now; I want to pierce that image, to break it open—to wake up from the dream, to purify this past which is rising up in this now, into this loss of a son here, where I am sitting, purifying ignorance and suffering with the chant that is this poem, purifying the past with time, the time that is this now, here, banging away at the past, at the illusion, at the unknowing, at the skin of this loss with the nails that are these words, the nail that is Om’s pen, penetrating the very heart of suffering, banging away at the keys. I love this poem because it truly contains the story of its own process.
And time again, worming and hollowing away the flesh of your father, claiming everything that one could hold, one could drink, one could quench—repaying the debt, trying to fill emptiness beneath this loss .
TIME AS MYTH: SOME SERIOUS PLAY IN EXPLORING TIME
There is time there is time there is time. I stop and turn around-- like Orpheus, yet with the ironic transforming into authenticity, or my pact with fate resolving into salvific desire--
I would like to explore an aspect of time with my favorite myth, Orpheus: time as the act of turning around. Turning around is both visual and meaningful; its doubleness contains the altering (from future to past) and ceasing of time (a pause between past and future). Why would we “turn around” if our journey is taking us forward to our destination? Perhaps it is an act of navigation-- orientation, or reference. Perhaps we cannot go further ahead without the knowledge that the past provides. The question then becomes one of motivation: What causes this action of “turning around?” Is it fear? Self-doubt? Guilt? Or, merely the need to re-evaluate our present position?
We are then presented with a hyphen, and then “like Orpheus.” Thus, “turning around” textually points to a contextualized history from which meaning and motive will be revealed. And again, a double-coding occurs. The hyphen itself is significant as a strategy of territorializing space, of creating a boundary, and therefore a contact zone for the activity of meaning-making; and it is also utilizing proximity and distance as a comparative critique from which “like” orients meaning. I am “like” Orpheus, but the boundaring of hyphenization at the same time tells us there is only the verisimilitude of likeness. Orpheus perhaps was a former self, a shadow of a present past. Perhaps we share likeness in our romantic ideals, but the romantic ideal of the poetic is no longer, like Orpheus, an indulgence in sustained longing of irreversible time lost.
I stop and turn around-- like Orpheus, yet with the ironic transforming into authenticity, or my pact with fate resolving into its salvific desire--
“Yet” further indicates difference (between the narrator and Orpheus) and the doubleness of “turning around.” We shift from a visual to semantic structure through a comparative critique of Orpheus. I am like Orpheus, but there is a shift “as” what was once concealed in irony is now being revealed in the authenticity of revelation. But, what is this revelation? The myth of Orpheus tells us that
Eurydice was called. She came from among the newly-arrived ghosts, limping with her wounded foot. Orpheus was permitted to take her away with him on one condition-- that he should not turn around to look at her 'til they should have reached the upper air. Under this condition they proceeded on their way, he leading, she following, through passages dark and steep, in total silence, 'til they had nearly reached the outlet into the cheerful upper world, when Orpheus, in a moment of forgetfulness, to assure himself that she was still following, cast a glance behind him, when instantly she was borne away.
Revelation always begins with insight regarding the complex of conflict, a shift in consciousness from unknowing to knowing. This is the human dilemma. Let’s begin with Eurydice, Orpheus’ beloved, the object of love and desire. Eurydice is the pre-biblical Eve who, bitten by the serpent, is destined to the underworld of eternal suffering. Eurydice is also the `Other’ of Orpheus’ gaze, that stage, according to Julia Kristeva, when awareness of the separation between the self and other gives rise to symbolic language—narrative and myth; but which also suppresses (or, more accurately, represses) nondual awareness.
The moment Orpheus turned around Eurydice was “borne away.” She disappeared, as if she were merely a dream; and perhaps she was. The suddenness of her disappearance following a passageway, “dark and steep, in total silence,” strikes me as most significant because of its dreamlike quality. It represents Orpheus’ past, or I should say, Orpheus’ fixation on the past, in a kind of nostalgic longing. And this is the source of Orpheus’ suffering in the form of pathological mourning.
The Orpheus myth recalls nostalgia, the painful longing to return to a past that never was. Nostalgia is from the Greek, nostos, meaning "to return home" and algos, meaning "pain," and suggests a deep longing for an earlier time. But, the time Orpheus desperately longs for is necessarily an imaginary time, not of space (which we can return to), but a wish to override the irreversibility of time. Nostalgia is a reaction to lost time, the inability to return. It is primarily an emotional response to fate, to time’s irrecoverable nature in conscious awareness. It is the very pastness of the past, its inaccessibility that accounts for nostalgia's power. However, this is not the past as actually experienced; it is the past as imagined, as idealized through memory and desire
What Orpheus does not realize is that his fixation on the past is in fact about the present, an inverted history, we might say, of a perceived unattainable ideal life which is projected into the past. Nostalgia is a recollection that is, at the same time, a forgetting (or, dynamically speaking, an ignoring, or dissociation, which reflects the inability to assign emotional significance to a situation) at the service of fantasy’s desire to reconstruct the past.
This taking flight is an exile, a “turning away” from self-awareness and the responsibility of the present—which might very well mean confronting (and therefore, grieving) a past that was complicated, contaminated, difficult, and ugly, or confronting an irretrievable loss that precludes the fulfillment of a future fantasy, that is, of what could have been (how often, for example, I have desired to share at the present moment 15 minutes with my deceased father).
I stop and turn around-- like Orpheus, yet with the ironic transforming into authenticity, or my pact with fate resolving into its salvific desire--
In this one line I invoke Ancient Greek mythology and its out growth, Christianity, in the Apostolic letter: Salvifici Doloris (On the meaning of suffering) of Pope John Paul II. Both texts contain the meaning of the above line, for both approach the existential fact of man: fate and suffering. For Orpheus, it is the fate of death, and for Pope John Paul, it is the inherent suffering of the human condition in the loss of eternal life. For Orpheus there is only death and regret. For John Paul there is salvation through resolution, or conversion.
The Savifici is the most exquisite of John Paul’s writings, and truly worth reading. Ultimatel flawed, in my opinion, but it so exquisitely resonates in its explanation of suffering, evil, and salvation. As John Paul says, “Suffering must serve for conversion, that is, for the rebuilding of goodness in the subject, who can recognize the divine mercy in this call to repentance. The purpose of penance is to overcome evil, which under different forms lies dormant in man. Its purpose is also to strengthen goodness both in man himself and in his relationships with others and especially with God.”
You don’t need to be Christian or even theistic to appreciate this.
sometimes i can't help turning with Orfeu
nor singing with him!
("This is an English version of the lovely Luiz Bonfá song from the film Orfeu Negro (Black Orpheus), "Manhã de Carnaval." I'm neither the guitarist nor singer for the job, but I've got to share the beauty of this song's melody and lyrics with you all somehow!")
my fists are up, Om
I also love the story of Orpheus, especially as it is told in the beautiful film Black Orpheus. And I think that I understand the significance and cost to Orpheus of turning back to assure himself that Eurydice is still following. So thanks for stitching all of this together, especially with respect to the question of suffering and redemption.
Although, I still do not understand the idea of living without suffering, It is completely outside of my experience. I guess I am expressing where I am on the spiritual continuum.
But, you know, I have had to spend hours pouring over your text... working to decode it. After this experience many times during the past months, I have decided that it is not that something is wrong with my brain. You write very complex prose. I realize that you are working to share these ideas and I am grateful. But I want you to write more simple sentences. It just cannot be that such complex structures are essential to the explanation of these ideas.
complex is..
It just cannot be that such complex structures are essential to the explanation of these ideas.
Entire theses can be written on "these ideas". How do we even know what "these ideas" are actual "ideas" without explication? Myths are like gifts or packages that a culture can unpack, unfold, with the tools of their time. if people of the time find them appropriate, and relevant, they will unpack them, but there is no given that any time will find them appropriate. Because not every time or person will understand them or find them relevant. It takes a considerable amount of reflection to "unpack" them, and even then, to relate them to one's life and to contemporary life. And thus, the need for "complex structures": given the layer of self analysis in relevance to myth, and cultural-social analysis in relation to myth, as well as careful reading of myth, it is inherently COMPLEX.
Perhaps you would prefer a more elegant and simple explication, but beware of simple and elegant explications! They might be too simple, (jumping to conclusions that satisfy a simple intellectual aim) and how would you know that they were really thorough or well considered? You would have to take it upon yourself to examine. As we all must do.
And who really does take the time here?
I, for one, haven't the time to examine. I used to when I was in grad school, but I haven't given myself the time to examine a lot of stuff since then, with exception for certain topics I've fallen into in my current work.
Rather than making a claim for why thorough explication is necessary, I should like to ask you why you think it is better that elucidations be simple.
How would you profit?
Why would you desire them?
explications
When I go to meditation at the place near my house, everyone gathers in room with sitting pads. When it is time to begin, the person who is acting as time keeper strikes a bell three times. That ringing reverberates through the room... a call to contemplation and to consciousness. It is beautifully simple and quiet.
I realize that that sound is not exactly an explication, but it has the quality that I seek. It works on my body, mind, and spirit all at once. The elucidations that I was complaining about, in my view, are very much in the head. I wish they were more balanced.
LOL!!! ARNOLD, I'M LOVING YOU MORE EVERY DAY
Just so you know, there is definitely nothing wrong with your beautiful brain, and I know this because I get to taste your beautiful words. You are not the first to complain about my "complex" prose and I agree, these ideas could be expressed in more simple sentences (Have you ever read Julia Kristeva-- I'm kindergarten next to her. And how about Caterina????? LOL!!!!). Honestly, I just don't think I'm skillful enough to do it in ways that wouldn't compromise my thought process, that is, the meaning I'm trying to convey. Part of the problem is that I have so many fucking ideas in my head and this is how they come out, and they just won't stop for me to go back and "simplify" them. Seriously. By the way, verbally I speak in simple sentences and people at least sometimes understand me. I wasn't kidding about my associational disorder (see end of post).
We all need to change, right? I'm telling everyone to sit, aren't I? I'll tell you what, regarding this post, I will go back over it and see what I can do (I'm feeling resistant, already, Arnold, so that's probably a good thing, your challenge).
In the meantime, gggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!
If I can't do it, will you still dance with me?
Om Le Peu
you're like that character in movies who, every time his/her love interest dismisses him or pushes him away or hits him with a right hook, he smiles and (OH SO ANNOYINGLY) comes back with a smile and a caress and a big fat bright red-lipsticked kiss mmmmmwwwwhhhaaaaaa!. the funny thing about that character is that (in all the worthwhile instances, at least) it's never disingenuous or ironic!! ahh, like Noah says: dissolving... like water the stone. OOPS! i wasn't supposed to say like again...
I will still dance
And I am not trying to create new work for you. Please do not rework what you have already written.
But you are a teacher. And I believe that your ideas, the synthesis of what you have experienced in the crucible of your life and of your received wisdom, can be stated in simple (and elegant) terms.
Now, do not challenge to write deeply. I am not skillful in that way. But you are and/or could be if you choose.
response to: LOL!!! ARNOLD, I'M LOVING YOU MORE EVERY DAY
ARNOLD, I AM DEEPLY TOUCHED
that you consider me a teacher, deeply touched. Teacher is a role I take the most seriously (next to parent). Thank you for your esteem and kindness. I also think you opened up a very beautiful discussion based on caterina's and james' thoughts on this subject. I would love to hear from others, too. Two questions I will address more (God, I've thought about this so much) are: how to stay true to my expositional style and thought process and the complexity engendered in some of these ideas; and how do I meet the needs of the greater number of people in the audience, the dispositions and interests, for example, are wide?
OM questions on style, complexity and connecting with audience
how to stay true to my expositional style and thought process and the complexity engendered in some of these ideas; and how do I meet the needs of the greater number of people in the audience, [where] the dispositions and interests, for example, are wide?
Great questions, Om!!
I think you do a beautiful job here on the blog weaving your own complexity through different styles, some of which read very smoothly, like breath (see The Music of Relationship... which is notable for the way in which you weave together some pretty cool scientific ideas with psychological ones, many of which could be expounded upon and made more complex, but the exposition flows very evenly and smoothly, a non-laborious read).
Others are dense like stars, but spend the time to unpack them and you have light! I think of a line, for instance from the recent Time as myth...: "Turning around is both visual and meaningful; its doubleness contains the altering (from future to past) and ceasing of time (a pause between past and future)."
You HAVE to stop and think about that. Your language here reminds me of John Freccero, the very groovy and divine Dante scholar who had among his intellectual peers not other Dante scholars, but philosophers, hermeneuts and linguists, I'd say, like Paul Ricoeur and Erich Auerbach.... all of whom had this marvelous balance of feminine sensitivity and masculine penetrativeness (makes sense that Om's lines remind me of Freccero, because F's whole treatment of Dante is on the notion of "turning back"... in an Augustinian sense, of turning within, to recognize the personal narrative of one's life and so discover its meaning... but I'm not writing about this)... But you see what happens in language like this! It's packed, each line holds a very precise set of constructs that require you to do some mental gymnastics to get into the proper flexibility and mindset to hold them, and follow the discourse. A little bit of time to understand the first line that makes you pause you will be, in itself, a contemplation that opens the mind and makes it more supple to access the sense of the whole.
Add these styles, the open and non-laborious but complex, to the more laborious and complex vajra ("diamond") kind with the tender tone of the posts on loss, relationship and your personal journey of reparation and, as Arnold says, "the synthesis of what you have experienced in the crucible of your life and of your received wisdom," shines through in this delicious feast of styles. Oh and we wont forget the limricks! (Can't find a proper link... damn, I was on a roll!)
I think that because here, on the "block", you have a multiplicity of readers in your audience, you can experiment and play with a variety of styles, all of which work together and add more dimensions (and attractions) to the various styles you naturally adopt. If you were ever to write a book, as I think you mentioned here once wanting to do, you could also experiment with these different styles, though employing all these various styles may not be what you want to do. But you could.
Maybe you would seek one style that can stay true, as you say, to your "expositional style and thought process and the complexity engendered in some of these ideas"... in which case you may have to limit your idea of your audience to those who would take the time to unpack these ideas with you.
It's worth doing, in any case, sharing, that is, more of your ideas, in whatever manner you are moved to do so.
Arnold-- I wrote this yesterday but forgot to post it!
(in response to my fists are up, Om)
Arnold, this is pretty impressive stuff. In one of my classes we're working our way through Jean-Paul Sartre's "Being & Nothingness." It's a certain sort of monster, and it is brilliant in a painfully French way. I've only read a little bit of work from some of the brilliant 20th century French thinkers, but I'm beginning to understand what all the fuss is about. Brilliant, but jeez, they sure require a lot of sussing out. Anyway, when the term started I had all the time in the world and I would read each page, paragraph, sentence, as slowly and as many times as necessary to understand it as fully as I was then capable of. Then the term went on and I fell into old habits, and I've since slacked off a bit, though I'm hoping to take full advantage of this long weekend to take responsibility back for the work I am choosing to do.
You know, there are plenty of folks who seem to me to be no smarter than I am, but who understand, for example, Monsieur Sartre much better than I do. I seem to be picking it up bit by bit, but it's so hard! Anyway, the thing that impresses me about Sartre is that he is pretty damn precise. He knows what he is saying, and he knows how to say it... he is not just yammering on and on needlessly. But at times it feels this way. It's only later, as I can place those earlier passages into a broader context, that I recognize how well each phrase has been selected. But anyway, this isn't about existentialism, it's about suffering... oh, wait, I might be leading myself into one of those crises...
Well, I'll just move back to your post!
When you say, then, that "It just cannot be that such complex structures are essential to the explanation of these ideas," I'd like to get a better idea for what you're looking for. It's funny, sometimes I've got ideas that I feel are so very clear to me that sound precisely expressed when leaving my lips, that leave my companion stranded without a clue. And then later on my companion will suggest something to me that I simply can't decipher. I had this idea not too long ago that an idea expressed clearly enough can be understood by anyone, it's just that people don't express themselves clearly enough. This, I've come to discover, is a bit limited. It's one of those oh-so-male kinds of theories; you know, it focuses on universal application instead of personal relationships. Well, I'm a bit more integrated now, so I can find theories that work towards a middle way. What I've begun leaning towards lately is that an idea expressed clearly enough by one person to another can be understood by that person. This means that I can express myself perfectly clearly and still be completely misunderstood because I did not express myself perfectly clearly to you. Thus the relationship must be accounted for in the very expression. I must consider you and, even more wonderful, I must recognize you in order to be able to express myself to you as fully as possible. This started sounding very nice to me as it was being formulated in my thoughts... but even this is limited.
For example, I spoke in a post from not too long ago about telling my father I felt I was unrecognized, by both he and my mother, while I was growing up. At the beginning of the conversation I was pretty confident I had a handle on the idea and that as long as I remained present and calm and kept him from feeling unsafe, I'd be able to express it to him. My father is a very intelligent man; his mind is highly impressive. But when I expressed what I thought was a very clear, precise, and concise thought... it just fell to the ground. He looked at me as a man without any firm ground from which to understand what I had said. I realized then and there that, yes, it must be expressed with and for this particular individual if he is to understand what I mean; otherwise it is just me talking to myself-- where's the relationship there? So I tried my best to follow with him and enter into his way of thinking and seeing the world. I believe he and I see the world in radically different ways; Sonia Hoffman (from 'Mindwalk') would maybe call it a conflict of perception! But every time I felt I had finally found my way into HIS language, and HIS perspective... it fell flat again. What's the deal? Finally we managed to get to a place where I was beginning to understand him a bit better, and he was able to finally have a take on what I was saying. He didn't get it well enough to really get a hold on everything that I am expressing in saying "you guys did not recognize me," but our relationship is growing nonetheless.
A COMPLEX SENTENCE BY ANY OTHER ARCHIMEDEAN WHAT?
Imagine yourself at the top of a mountain, the mountain’s peak, the very apex, let’s say the Archimedean point. You see what I just did? I just took a simple image, a metaphoric image, and made it complex by bringing in another metaphor: Archimedean point. Why would I do that?
According to Wikipedia, An Archimedean point is “a hypothetical vantage point from which an observer can objectively perceive the subject of inquiry, with a view of totality. The ideal of "removing oneself" from the object of study so that one can see it in relation to all other things, but remain independent of them, is described by a view from an Archimedean point.”
I’m trying to communicate to you an idea about something which doesn’t really exist, in and of itself, but rather metaphorically points to that in my direct experience which I not only want to share with you, but want you yourself to experience so that we can better know each other, be intimate, if you will. Taking you to a mountain peak, however, is close but not enough. I want you to come with me beyond the peak and so see from the peak everything possible, like an aleph (if you remember from a previous post which explains my theoretical perspective on language and communication). As I said, “In Borges' story, the Aleph is a point in space that contains all other points. Anyone who gazes into it can see everything in the universe from every angle simultaneously, without distortion, overlapping or confusion.” Now this is closer to the peak I want you to imagine with me, though different from an Archimedean point because, unlike the Archimedean point, it is not independent of everything else; in fact, my Archimedean point is empty of independent existence. This is what I think Buddhism means when it talks about omniscience, having a “pure” view of reality.
So, now I ask you to imagine yourself at the top of a mountain where you can see everything below, which of course, isn’t really a below because there’s no above. Now, why did I go and do that? Why did I have to throw paradox in this sentence and make it more complex? You see, my view of this metaphorical peak is that it is outside of space and time, which doesn’t mean that it’s nonexistent, it merely means that it exists both outside and inside conceptual reality. What I am trying to convey is the Buddhist idea of emptiness. According to Matthieu Ricard, “Emptiness refers to the ultimate nature of phenomena, which means that phenomena lack permanent (inherent) and autonomous existence, the things of this world are fleeting, ephemeral. If you can’t speak of real existence, you cannot speak of non-existence either. Because phenomena have no intrinsic reality, they can have infinite manifestations. The wise abide neither in being nor non-being.”
Now, this philosophical perspective is not theory for theory’s sake, it is theory for compassion’s sake. The ultimate understanding of Emptiness is to alleviate suffering. And so, further, regarding my nondual view of our empty mountain peak, the reason it has both neither below nor above and below and above, “space can't be reduced to one of its parts, or be viewed as independent of its parts. Only direct knowledge that transcends conventional thought can see the world of phenomena in a nondual way. Ricard: “In Buddhism there aren’t bits of matter, but rather “particles of space” that represent (energy) potentials manifesting as light and then elements. The universe is not independent of consciousness and so does not have independent objects.”
Now, I’ve already written five paragraphs and could go on and on but it would be terribly inefficient and timely. Instead of this overwrought task, I prefer to be parsimonious and condense my essays or posts or meanderings to fewer words. But, there is a cost I presume, possibly that of clarity and turning people off because the text is too dense. Like I said, I have lots of ideas I would like to share.
So, once again, I bring back my original solution. If there’s something I’m not making clear, please ask and I’ll do my best to clarify it. And I think this goes for everyone. Sometimes I have to read James and Noah’s poems 10 times before I get a real sense of what the poem is trying to convey (and Caterina, wwwwsshhooo! if you know what I mean). That doesn’t make them bad poems, it makes them complex poems which hold many layers of meaning. That is, it goes deep. That turns many people off. But, for me, it turns me on. It feels like a treasure buried deep below the sea and I’m a diver seeking its contents.
process and metaphor
re: A COMPLEX SENTENCE BY ANY OTHER ARCHIMEDEAN WHAT?
The process you have described here is the work of artists and teachers... to close as much as possible that gap that is inevitable between any two humans. I cannot experience your experience, but you can give your experience a form that helps me to get closer to you.
HOW TRUE, ARNOLD
but what to do when there are divergent opinions about the form itself? What if some say, wow, that's pretty clear to me and others say, you need to make this clearer? What to do?
Now, because we have a relatively small group, I think it's manageable. What would help me is if you are more specific and clearer about what I am not making clear. That would help me in two ways: 1) to make my ideas clearer to you; and 2) make me go deeper into my ideas so as to gain broader perspective.
AS I WAS COMPLEXINGLY TRIPPING OVER KEN WILBER
I came across this paragraph. Tell me what you think of it.
According to ken wilber evolution produces greater complexity of material body and this is correlated with increased subtle energies and consiousness. So increased complexity of the physical form is the vehicle for manifestation of subtle energy and consiousness. He supports the view that subtle cannot be reduced to consiousness but these energies accompany and support the correlative level of consiousness. According to him, with increased complexity of physical forms more subtler energy also evolve. With physical particle gross energy like gravitation etc, with viruses etheric body and with brain stem astral body etc.... According to Wilber each of the seven chakras also contain three type of subtle energies and the corresponding minds(gross,subtle,causual).
OK, Wilber
When I receive this paragraph and it is dense, my first question is "Why am I going to exert myself over this prose?" I have not read the book from which these ideas come, so its context cannot motivate me. By quoting it, you, who I know as a credible commentator, it gets your importance. And that is motivation.
With all respect, however, where you quote him, "... increased complexity of the physical form is the vehicle for manifestation of subtle energy and consiousness. He supports the view that subtle cannot be reduced to consiousness but these energies accompany and support the correlative level of consciousness." This is where I leave the train. Forgive me for being a snob. I know that Wilber is well regarded, but what is he talking about and how does it matter to me? Perhaps this is not a good example because it is out of context.
What I want to say is that the reader must know why it matters. Intellectual masturbation will not do. Because I have not read Wilber and do not know the context of the idea you are expressing, I am withholding judgement. ut if you tell me why this is important, it will help me.
LOL! NO ONE HERE IS OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW MR ED!
Wilberrrrrr. One of my babysitters. Seriously. Sadly. Arnold, actually the text itself on Wilber is less relevant than my point about complexity. Complexity is complex and it requires time, effort, and motivation. But, as you correctly say, "What I want to say is that the reader must know why it matters." The reader must know why it matters to her.
I don't know why you refer to yourself as "a snob." Perhaps Wilber's theories are uninteresting or have no immediate relevance to your life and that's okay. The key is motivation: "What I want to say is that the reader must know why it matters." As a sharing community, what we (on the block) say matters because we want to become more intimate with each other and evolve as human beings. At least, that's why I'm here with you.
Intimacy (relationship) and evolution (psychological/spiritual development), irrespective of what I post (or don't), this is always and ultimately my focus. That's why I'm here and here. Nothing else matters.
dude, it's called NICKELODEON
Watched Mr. Ed as a kid too, even though it was in black and white (b. 1975...) Also watched Denis the Menace, Father Knows Best (not much of this though), Gilligan's Island...
Expand and include.
Cable.
phbphbphbphbphbphbphb!!!!!!
No what I mean?
the koshas
Wilber's is an evolutionary view which takes into consideration a certain directionality of time. From what I have understood about a Tantric perspective of this, there are five Koshas, or "sheaths", which are co-extant, in that, perhaps in a Nagarjunian way, they are co-arising:
Annamayakosha: food-appearance-body (what is perceived through the senses; the "physical body"; nutrient, etc)
Pranamayakosha: breath/life-force-appearance-body ("energy"; life force; breath)
Manamayakosha: mind-appearance-body (assimilates and coordinates information, where "naming" occurs)
Vijnanamaya kosha: place of discrimination, choice, intuition, feelings, how you use your mind, home of empowerment, where decisions get made, greatest chance of alignment and misalignment, more responsibility)
Anandamayakosha: bliss body (layer that changes the least, where the party is always going on)
Oh Wilbbber!
I like this and shall move with it a bit
"He supports the view that subtle cannot be reduced to consiousness but these energies accompany and support the correlative level of consciousness."
I am intrigued by this notion of "accompanying" and "supporting" what is "correlative". I experience this in how I can start from any "kosha" and treat it with something nice... say, start with the breath and soothe the mind, and the nerves, my energy shifts, (it can become harmonious, it can build up or slow down and soften)... relationships are happening on a neurological and endocrine and respiratory and nutrient level... more oxygen is delivered to the blood... meanwhile, my mind is becoming more clear, emotions arise but i can let them flow more easily, and under this is an intention to listen and to feel, to be... I am brought into a state of awareness of feeling peaceful... where is consciousness in all this? Is it simply in the awareness? Is it all of this?
Sometimes I feel like my "body" and my "consciousness" are one, when I don't feel them as separate, but one, flowing. Whatever arises in mind as thought or identity ("this is my friend," "this my body", etc) is just another aspect of knowledge, naming, ascending and descending, relating to my ideas and associations about these things, relating to a deeper desire and intentionality and imagination or vision which includes desire, but ultimately, all connected, through notions of past, present, future.
In the tantric yoga I practice, we tend to see the body as a "manifestation" of what is "inside", concealing as it reveals. I find a deep secret in wondering if al these forms do not come out of a deeper dream and desire for their being here to communicate our oneness to ourselves, to enjoy the conversation, and yes, to heal (align) where we are broken (misaligned).
For what some may call "grace" another may call "science" or "knowing", and there is always more.
fair enough
Now you want me to be specific instead of just lobbing in generalizations? OK, but can we work on things going forward instead of rehashing the past?
OF COURSE, ABSOLUTELY
going forward, when something comes up, please be direct and say, Om, what do you mean by this? Or, this sentence, idea, etc. doesn't make sense. Unlike many people, I love a good, stiff, truthful critique. It helps me to improve-- my writing, my communication, my spiritual practice. I'm very flawed, so I'm not afraid to say, I don't know. Never trust a man who says he knows.
ARNOLD, DID YOU GET A CHANCE TO READ JAMES' POST?
"My father is a very intelligent man; his mind is highly impressive. But when I expressed what I thought was a very clear, precise, and concise thought... it just fell to the ground. He looked at me as a man without any firm ground from which to understand what I had said. I realized then and there that, yes, it must be expressed with and for this particular individual if he is to understand what I mean; otherwise it is just me talking to myself-- where's the relationship there? So I tried my best to follow with him and enter into his way of thinking and seeing the world. I believe he and I see the world in radically different ways...".
This made me cry. What beauty in expression and intention; what sadness in not being able to reach. This is very much my story, too. If only I had such clarity at 20!
Iwould love your thoughts on it.
yes, I read James story about his father
I also found it touching and optimistic. James identifies that he has work to do,,,, that, as you have said, it is all about relationship. James (and all of us) have responsibility for the other. So true and well stated. Thanks James.
i read james' post too and cried
but I've been crying a lot lately...
Sometimes I have felt a resistance when tying to communicate something from my own language-ways... a resistance that is not to the things I am saying, perhaps but in how I am saying them, how I am reaching deep into my own formations to connect to someone though not really connecting, not really knowing what it is that I really want to say to you, and if under this, in me, there is frustration or the habitual fear that you wont understand me, maybe you are picking up on this and sensing my stance of defensiveness in the very moment I think I'm reaching out to you. And perhaps you resist me, and don't listen deeper, because you think I'm judging you (though I'm not) but maybe what you are sensing is that I am judging something (you think it's you, I think it's me). And as I feel your resistance grow, i grow more resistant and frustrated and the feeling of being misunderstood again manifests itself and I'm (we're) repeating the patterns of misunderstanding.
Language can be a barrier. Let it not be! May I not lose you in trying to connect to you. If I am connected to me, I'll do a better job at connecting to you. Sometimes it takes trial and error and error and error and then I'll realize, as James says, "I believe he and I see the world in radically different ways...". And that's ok, because there are other ways that we can care for each other and ourselves.
When I stopped seeking recognition from my parents our conversations got more enlightening, for me. I was able to listen better to them and serve them and the relationship better. I would seek, in a sense, to learn their language and way of seeing, rather than asking them to understand mine.
ARNOLD, I LOVE THAT YOU BROUGHT THIS UP
"The process you have described here is the work of artists and teachers... to close as much as possible that gap that is inevitable between any two humans. I cannot experience your experience, but you can give your experience a form that helps me to get closer to you."
There is possibly nothing more important to me than communication and the intimacy it potentially reaches. On the blog, I do let loose a bit more, like playing guitar riffs, but there's more to it than a kind of masturbatory delight; it allows me to get more expansive, which is where the real insights reveal themselves-- outside the box.
I love your challenge, really, but I think I need you to step up a bit more in your statements. Sometimes I feel you leave me hanging. You tell me the problem but I need you to help me come up with some solutions. This is the real dance, no?
Like James
I see that I have a responsibility to be a partner in this conversation, not just one who complains (whether right or wrong). I will work on it.
quickly
I've been trying to figure out how to insert myself in this conversation without sounding lazy. I have some of the same issues as Arnold at times with being able to connect to some of the more theoretical posts. Sometimes I find myself either drifting away as my eyes scan down to the end or hardening when I read something that makes no sense to me. I think we've already gone through the analysis of this type of reaction in the past (shame, judgement, boredom, etc), so I'm not going to elaborate more. I just want to mention that, for me, it makes it much easier to get things when there are specific examples mixed in with the abtract concepts. It's like when those guru types throw in these really concrete and oversimplified stories about the guy sitting under the tree or whatever. That's just how I learn best. I guess I lack some of the motivation to look up all the words or literary references I don't know and really sit with dense theoretical statements, as much as I would love to be that type of person. I do try though and have learned a great deal from all the dialogue here. Like Caterina, I appreciate Om's diverse writing style, which is what enables me to get inside some of the denser stuff, along with the diversity of voices and perspectives of everyone else (archimedean points or whatever).
there's more I want to say, but I got to go deal with construction budgets (can't get more concrete than that!)
simple summary
I just want to say something simple….. about complexity and being understood. There are many languages within languages. Academics have a way to speaking, doctors have their medical language, lawyers….. I could go on. When I go to my doctor and he tells me I have a metabolic disease and explains it in the words of his medical world, it makes little sense to me, until he describes it in the most simple of terms – as a teacher explaining something to me for the very first time. Once I understand it in this way, I can explore it more deeply, understand his language, and we can meet on a different level. Maybe it is a different kind of relationship, but I hope that he can break it down for me, help me visual it, so that I can then understand the words he attaches to what he is describing. If someone asks me about Alzheimer Disease, I don’t talk about the plagues and tangles – I talk about it more simply and then move to the more complex. I have to make sure people have the same foundation in which to understand. Because we are so varied in who we are, and how we learn, I can’t assume that what I know so well in my mind and in my bones is the same for anyone else. What I know, about what I know, is so much a part of me, that I can forget that it is not the same for everyone.
I know I am repeating what everyone has already said. But hey, I have been quiet lately and just wiggling my way back in.
KING OF DOTTY: EMILY MAKES ME TANGLED UP IN VIEW
"If someone asks me about Alzheimer Disease, I don’t talk about the plaques and tangles"
So, here we go. I would actually rather talk about plaque and tangles. First of all, I love the words. Plaque has a playful clack to it and i want to plosive my consonants through my lips as if our faces are inches apart and spray you with my love. And then I want to Dylan my way along the beach and untie the laces of my shoes while Bobbing up and down singing a poem just for you with one of the greatest songs ever written and knowing that "we always did feel the same,/We just saw it from a different point of view."
And then I think of Iris, remember Iris, my lovely flower with a broken pot and a broken brain because of her amyloid plaques and neurofibrillary tangles. And Iris died tangled up in blue as I died in her Parkinson's Disease and birthed my way back again and again in a greater death and a deeper depth and love and joy knowing that one day my brain will be broken too, but not before I dive into the plumby depths of my complex sentences. I know they're sure to take me somewhere, even if that somewhere is nowhere, especially, and God.
AND WHILE WE'RE ON IT
Come on, it doesn't get better than this girls.
AN APOLOGETIC FOR MY COMPLEX TEXT
There was a woman so complex
She oozed along the length of my text
And she found in the end
Her body with a bend
And a smile the length of her sex
Tree huggers
I went on a five mile full moon hike at the National Arboretum this evening.
We came to a Willow Oak in the middle of what used to be farm land. It was between two hundred and two hundred and twenty five years old. There were no other trees planted near it so it could grow out as well as up. It was sixty five feet tall and one hundred to one hundred and twenty feet wide. I had to bow.
There were two metal cables that hung from it so that lightening, which prefers the easiest route, would run down them instead of strike the tree. The tree requires five hundred gallons of water a day!
I wish you all were there so we could have held hands and hugged the tree together.
QUERCOS PHELLOS WILLOW OAK
I love Willow Oaks. When I was a windy boy and a bit studying to be a forest ranger my favorite class was `Woody Plants.' I feel in love with trees and, it was at that moment I became a tree hugger.
I remember when cicadas damaged the oaks in my yard.
Cicada's Song
I have waited seventeen years
burrowed
like roots in the heart of ground
sucking juice
from plants, waiting
waiting for my journey.
I have begotten myself three times
like a seed bursting
out of its mother fruit
growing out of itself
through time's tick
and two more it will be on this path
through this pilgrimage to the barks of God.
There I will play my song for the growing nymphs.
My time is not long here, but I will play my song.
string
I want to see if I respond to this post will all of my words just be one long vertical string of letters. And then I'll make them into an anagram!
anagram away
anagram away
oh my god, we have busted
oh my god, we have busted through some narrow dimension into an alternate universe. How very quantum of us ;)
the inhabitants of the
the inhabitants of the comment box had always wondered what lay beyond the bounds of the known boxi-verse.
then they understood
the word koosh is almost as funny as the ball it describes
onomatopoeia
BUZZ!-CRASH!-ZAP!
its like going into a black hole
when all your atoms get all streched out by the tidal forces--but then on the other side, there is this new universe thats a little less boxy. I used to be so square, but now I see it as a line. I should go to bed.
longest word in dictionary is going with us into the next dimens
pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconeosis
LOL!!
weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!
strings and barriers
When I was very young, an artist -friend of the family- taught me to color outside of the lines. I suppose, Caterina and Noah, you have discovered how to speak outside of the lines. C'est magnifique
HOGWASH
The string that can be strung
is not the everlasting Tao
anagram away
a raga may wan
"raga" means "color" or "mood" in sanskrit
it is name of a traditional form of song
Omdylan
Many thanks for reminding me that this was the first Dylan song that I had ever fallen head-over-heels for.
Om... king of Dotty
Now, I am sure I am demented!
DEMENTED?
Oh, shall we dance?
Shall we dance?
I don't remember how.
YOU DON'T REMEMBER?
Oh come on, you might be a young girl, but there are things we never forget.
JAMES, THIS IS TASTY
"What I've begun leaning towards lately is that an idea expressed clearly enough by one person to another can be understood by that person. This means that I can express myself perfectly clearly and still be completely misunderstood because I did not express myself perfectly clearly to you. Thus the relationship must be accounted for in the very expression. I must consider you and, even more wonderful, I must recognize you in order to be able to express myself to you as fully as possible."
Arnold used the word "gap." I like this word, but it's more complex than it seems. Understanding another's meanings is dependent on a number of conditions (factors), for example, intention, cognitive disposition, time, psychological factors, such as, anxiety, anger, shame, etc. My interest is motivation. I tend to put the extra time into understanding the other. Arnold's statement about taking all this time to read my posts touched me in such a deep way (how can I not love this man!). It says, I really want to understand your meanings and know you better. As we're seeing, it will take more from both of us, but, my God, how rare is it that someone takes the time to try to get to know us? I think this (the failure to seek understanding) is such a pervasive issue and the main reason why we tend to isolate. Isolation is a form of giving up.
By the way, has anyone seen Nico?
ARNOLD, THERE IS TIME
and it's time for Dr. Wu! But, before I go, i wanted to state it simply: There is time there is time there is time to free ourselves from suffering. It is now and eternally in the stillness and silence.
There is only one voice from within and voice from without-- love.
Everything else is noise.
Talk to you later!
A Big Hug
om mani padme hum
fully connected
I take this to mean that I can be fully connected (to myself, to everything) anytime that I am ready to give myself to love.
ARNOLD
You just brought me to tears.
ON A MORE SERIOUS NOTE
John Cleese’s “Letter to America”
Originally uploaded by Browserd.Dear Citizens of America,
In view of your failure to elect a competent President and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately.
Her Sovereign Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths and other territories (except Kansas, which she does not fancy), as from Monday next.
Your new prime minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed.
To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:
1. You should look up “revocation” in the Oxford English Dictionary. Then look up “aluminium,” and check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it.
2. The letter ‘U’ will be reinstated in words such as ‘colour’, ‘favour’ and ‘neighbour.’ Likewise, you will learn to spell ‘doughnut’ without skipping half the letters, and the suffix “ize” will be replaced by the suffix “ise.”
3. You will learn that the suffix ‘burgh’ is pronounced ‘burra’; you may elect to spell Pittsburgh as ‘Pittsberg’ if you find you simply can’t cope with correct pronunciation.
4. Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels (look up “vocabulary”). Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as “like” and “you know” is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication.
5. There is no such thing as “US English.” We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter ‘u’ and the elimination of “-ize.”
6. You will relearn your original national anthem, “God Save The Queen”,
but only after fully carrying out Task #1 (see above).
7. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday. November 2nd will
be a new national holiday, but to be celebrated only in England. It will be called “Come-Uppance Day.”
8. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you’re not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you’re not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you’re not grown up enough to handle a gun.
9. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. A permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.
10. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and this is for your own good. When we show you German cars, you will understand what we mean.
11. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric immediately and without the benefit of conversion tables… Both roundabouts and metrification will help you understand the British sense of humour.
12. The Former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling “gasoline”) - roughly $8/US per gallon. Get used to it.
13. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call french fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called “crisps.” Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with malt vinegar.
14. Waiters and waitresses will be trained to be more aggressive with customers.
15. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as “beer,” and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as “Lager.” American brands will be referred to as “Near-Frozen Gnat’s Urine,” so that all can be sold without risk of further confusion.
16. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors as English characters. Watching Andie MacDowell attempt English dialogue in “Four Weddings and a Funeral” was an experience akin to having one’s ear removed with a cheese grater.
17. You will cease playing American “football.” There is only one kind of proper football; you call it “soccer”. Those of you brave enough, in time, will be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American “football”, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like a bunch of Jessies - English slang for “Big Girls Blouse”).
18. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the “World Series” for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.1% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable and forgiven.
19. You must tell us who killed JFK. It’s been driving us mad.
20. An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty’s Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all monies due, backdated to 1776.
Thank you for your co-operation.
John Cleese
I feel like I read this
I feel like I read this years ago...
I love #19.
Few Questions for the Queen
1) I know Prince Charles is an improvement over George W., but how much? I can only think of nitwit when I think of him. And as they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the royal tree.
2) Also, that dreary weather isn't going to follow us here? is it? but then again, with global warming, anything is possible.
3) Is the Queen ever going to admit to having Diana bumped off because of her partygirl ways? I mean, if we tell you about JFK then you must tell us about Diana.
4) In addition, is there anyway you can take back David Beckham and Posh Spice? They just suck. She can't sing and he can't play soccer anymore.
5) Finally, could it be possible to have you replaced by Helen Mirren? She's much hotter in that motherly kind of way!
brilliant!
Helen Mirren IS hot.
Caliente!
Caliente!
An apologetic for my simple text
There once was man whose words
Were larger than the size of turds
The smell was much sweeter
The aftermath much neater
And so bravo to the sound of the words.
LOL! I TOLD YOU YOU HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN
to dance. You give great Limerick, Emily! Bene! Bene!
string! hahaha!!
Caterina, I love you. all night long i've been thinking about how painfully skinny these posts are getting... and every time there's been a new post there has been a moment when the page loads when i'd pause eagerly thinking, "did this person post an even skinnier one?"
and then you write:
i'm sorry that isn't what happened. but damn, how silly!!! ahh!! you cried reading my post, and i laughed and laughed and laughed reading yours :):):):)
PS!!! I BELIEVE NOAH HAS LOST IT-- AND I LOVE IT!!!!!!!! :D:D:D
I think I lost it / let me know if you come across it
true that james, havent we all?
I Lost It Dont mind the visual :/
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giving up is a form of isolation
Thank you for this reminder, Om.
I have two things to say. One about Om and complexity.
And I will complexly describe it in my serendipitous, imprecise, and lacsidaisical (sp?... Precisely!) way.
I sense a necessity that links the constructions and choices for Om. Why, for example, he says that he wants to talk about the plaques and the tangles. There is in what I perceive in his writings and thinking a need to understand the particular in relation to the universal, and it is strenuous and old. "Old" in that the need is old, time-tested; we are witnessing a finely-tuned instrument of thought and idea play that feels to arise spontaneously but is in fact the result of a long walk with ideas and concepts and their meanings and their assessment and truth value, measured against experience, and much experience and introspection and ever-present in the simplicity of touch, which as Noah knows, is never "simple". The necessity speaks to me of integrity and efficiency. No wonder his recent post on Wilber's theory of evolution... (which I want to hear more about).. linking the physical and subtle to a theory of consciousness. Get on that, will you?! Get on that "accompanying and supporting the correlative"
"He supports the view that subtle cannot be reduced to consiousness but these energies accompany and support the correlative level of consciousness."
yeah. Necessity.
Second thing. o.. I'll save it for another post.
but giving up control isn't!
you reminded me of a song of mine, so i just had to share it... i think i've shared the lyrics here before, but not the music. it's really late, though, so i had to use an electric guitar (which actually sounds pretty nice for this tune, turns out-- i can plug in the electric directly so there's no amplification in the room) and try and keep from singing loudly... but, hey, you get the idea!
giving up control is not so scary, after all
when i'm sleeping i find i can.
i have heard the rewards
when i'm sleeping...
( on second thought : )
i'll be patient for love
i don't think i was taken care of
so i'll be patient for love
so far i feel broken
feels like giving away my independence
so i'll be patient for love
( on second thought : )
giving up control is rather scary, after all
don't think i'll try it on my own
James, your song
ARE YOU F#$&*NG KIDDING ME?!
Did you just play that piece last night and link it to this post in response to ...? hey I don't know if it was in response to me, but it responded. I'm in tears.
I logged on this morning hoping there would be a response to my post about not giving up... something to encourage me or just find me. Thank you so much James.
There is a tender sort of self-holding that I love about this song. And I resonate with that (need that right now) as well with the realizations through dreaming, and the lines "I don't think I was taken care of, so I'll be patient for love," and "so far I feel broken, feels like giving away my independence."
I have to ask about this line:
do you mean that feeling broken, like you're giving away your independence,
is what you feel when relating ("giving up control"), and that since it is scary
you'd rather do it with someone ("don't think I'll try it on my own")?
It reaches out to friends (or to the vibe of friendship) and to one's support by the closing lines. I love this. These lines seem to say that it is through this type of relationship (healing, supportive, capable of recognizing one another) that one will find the love one seeks.
A romantic relationship has to start from this capacity, this foundation. It takes time to build friendship and trust, to know that it is safe to be "broken" with someone.
I just read this on my 2007 calendar which I am now taking down:
"When our minds are full of compassion, we are never alone; an infinite retinue of celestial beings accompanies us on our journey."
Thank you James!! You are beautiful.
it feels like that
:D
yes, Caterina, i played that and posted the video immediately after reading your post. i feel like you hit the nail on the head, like you're right there inside the song with me. "There is a tender sort of self-holding." in what is still my all-time favorite post of mine (which, like all good posts, doesn't make nearly as much sense without reading all of the posts influencing it, and all of the posts it influended...), i wrote the following:
this is all in the context of a conversation that began with Robert Frost's "Mending-Wall." i go on to explore two basic kinds of mending-- mending my wall (the one that keeps you, neighbor, out), and mending my broken-self. i explore the way that when i mend my sort-of defense wall, i am also mending my broken-self, becoming more whole, more confident; the way the one mending depends on the other, because:
and so a "tender sort of self-holding" is quite exactly what i am experiencing, singing the song. what you say about my line about being broken is beautiful. i'm telling you-- you're there, you're in the song. it's your song, now. "so far i feel broken." this is also a single line standing in for my entire Fuck-you, I'm planting my feet here! song (which i'll hopefully record sometime, soon, because it's always relevant here!), "Father, Have I Got Your Attention Now?" in the end it's less about my folks than it is about my experience, the struggle to take responsibility. so far i feel broken, because, i can say, "you never, never taught me how to think / you never, never taught me how to feel," and so on. but that isn't the whole story. so far i feel broken, and, exactly as you say, like i am giving away my independence when relating. this is why i bring up my response to "Mending Wall;" this "feels like giving away my independence" is a peculiar kind of defensiveness, it's the fear driving the opening assurance that "giving up control is not so scary after all." by that point in the song i don't even know what 'giving up control' means! it's amazing-- the way you put it shows this somewhat as paradox, which i think makes it ring even truer.
in other words: Relating is scary, so I can't do it on my own. And further-- I need some tender self-holding so that I can be patient for love; I need some tender self-holding in order to "give up control," and I need to "give up control" (with another) if I am to learn to self-hold. the extremes (isolation / indulgence) are breaking down over the course of the song. isolation is, of course, a familiar one. now, indulgence is sort of a bizarre term for me to use, but i can't think of a better one just now. i'm using it to refer to the notion that if i just enter into the right relationship, it will cure me, so to speak. both are denials of relationship, actually, because when i isolate i am outright denying the possibility of relationship, and when i am "indulging" i am actually refusing to truly relate. i'm removing my own responsibility from the relationship, and imagining that the very fact of the relationship is sufficient. but then there's no relating!
i think one point of the opening lines is pretty much, "Relating is scary, but I can just delve into my dreams, I can just go off on my own (isolate) and get everything done, anyway... because when I (think I) get down and dirty into relationship (indulgence), it just disappoints me and hurts..." and then by the end, as you show so well, there is a new notion of relationship. healing, supportive, capable of recognizing one another. the love one seeks. so on second thought... i'll be patient for love. i think love deserves that much.
i could just keep on writing about the song and your response to it... every time i read back over this post i think of another thing i left out. there's just too much! it's terrific. thank you! i haven't really sunk into this song in a good while. i am very glad the recording came out well enough for you to embrace the song as you have. the line that gets me the most is one that you point out: i don't think i was taken care of / so i'll be patient for love. i wrote this song what feels like so damn long ago that it's already gone beyond me. some songs i take more credit for than others, this one is already out there; and now i feel i've finally given this song, that it is finally mine, because it is no longer mine.
another post, about not giving up
... and necessity.
What it means to me right now to not give up is to remember:
1) I am creating this
2) this, what I'm feeling and experiencing, though it is painful, is a gift, an opportunity for increased awareness
3) this is all part of my practice
4) no judging, dammit!
5) I refuse to hurt myself anymore, so i will not judge (already said that) and not take this to a place of, for instance, trying to understand how I "fell for this again", fell for this offer of relationship and offer to trust which was probably sincere but untenable, which I knew was untenable, but maybe I didn't know it was untenable and wanted to give it a shot,
5.5) and I'll not take this to the place where I wonder "what did I do to make him go away?" because...
6) I'll not take this personally
7) I'll stay with myself and my needs
8) and I wont go to the place, "I can never have a relationship because no one can sustain my need for consciousness" because I am not wrong to want the things that I need, to ask for them, and besides, my work is to become more conscious, and if it isn't my partner's need/work as well then it isn't serving me at all (or probably him either).
9) So I'll be patient and let this whole thing go back to the no-thing that it is
10) and stay with the breath.
Easier said than done. If I can do one of these things, I'll be in the center of them all and that would be a fine way to untangle myself... untangle and not give up.
:) i am so glad re-reading
:) i am so glad re-reading these two posts of yours on "giving up," after reading your response to my song (and after writing my own response!), because it all feels so much more fully after sharing; the way the song holds its patience even more beautifully now that it is a responding to your own need for patience. and so on, and so on...
relationship manual
Caterina, I think you should copy this list and send it to every girl mag in the country!
or boy mag for that matter... If I only had this list in my pocket so many times in the past! I think it all comes down to compassion, as you know. Compassion for you and for him. And gratitude for 1) having opened to the experience and 2) being in a more self-aware place to be able to do that in a real (not romanticized) way. He clearly didn't have that capacity, or at least not at this time. Each person we encounter in our lives makes his/her mark on us. If we pay attention, we can figure out how.
This fact that you wrote such an amazing list in the midst of this speaks to your awareness. You are already there.
"HE DIDN'T HAVE THE CAPACITY"
You know, I think you're onto something here. Guys are like elevators, they can only hold 6, none of which includes the other :) It's that feeling thing, I'm telling you.
Relationshiip Manual
Wow, Caterina - I am just catching up - been out at sea somewhere in a dense fog - lovely actually, but not good for clear vision. Reading your post gave me a viseral feeling - the memory of shock, of a sinking down, when a relationship ended and not being able to clear the debris to see myself under it all. You, like camila wrote, have such awareness and such a strong sense of self.
Yesterday, I had a woman visit my assisted living home - she helps place people in need. She is a beautiful woman, in her early forties ( a transplanted new york jew who is now exploring meditation and buddhism). Two women, two jewish women can talk for hours and hours, but throw in the exploration of buddhist thought into the mix, and we sat on the couch for nearly three hours and could have gone on if we hadn't forced ourselves to stop. Just recently she met the love of her life. She was talking about how difficult it was to find someone who wanted to take the same kind of journey in life that she was seeking, someone gentle and compassionate.
So you go, girl. You are a light, a seeker, a continously opening flower.
And by the way - I love your new photograph. When I was a child I used to stick cheerio's ( besides fingers) up my nose. One time, I remember sobbing as my sisters held my hands and my mother desperately grabbed her tweezers to try and get it out. What memories you bring to the surface of my awareness.
a proposal of relationship. part 1
I am drafting a letter to a man who is seeking a relationship with me.
This is a letter to him but it is really to myself. And of course, I wont send him this letter. It's meant for self-reflection only. And you all are part of that for me. Any comments welcome.
This is what I wrote in my journal:
***
I don't mean to torment you.
I must check the quality of desire - am I fantasizing your desire?
No, I feel it. It feels ... ALL OUTWARD, with a deep INNER SEEKING.
The nature of your desire is inner; it's name would be "Self-knowledge."
You have turned it OUTWARDS towards me, but it is not for me.
I can help you with it, though.
It is ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL.
You don't need to come here (cross the ocean, to me) to develop it or heed it, but you need to respond to it, cultivate it, honor it. (At least, that's what it feels like to me.)
I can help you with this, too.
"What's in it for you?" you ask. Nothing! Which is everything to me. (1)
Don't think I don't also have desires that you can help me with through your own true seeking, through the quality of your intention.
I feel you. I have strong feelings of attraction and repulsion. (2)
I want to help you dive.
There's no more beautiful journey and really no more important one at this moment. It will feel like a continual argument, a struggle, as you come constantly up against the boundary of my otherness.
It will feel like a struggle until you breakthrough and find yourself.
You'll feel that, too.
I will help you find your self, through helping you distinguish between me and you. This is not a selfless act, but my most self-centered.
You'll be giving to me, too. Constantly. If only in my discovering that by being myself I can actually be trusted. (3)
1. What's in it for you?" you ask. Nothing! Which is everything to me.
What is truly in it for me is to see if a person can actually handle my needs, and primary among these (in my relational needs - particularly where intimacy is the direction) is the need for the other to have a self, to recognize himself and to develop a sustained capacity for introspection and relatedness. What's in it for me is the experience of staying true to my own needs, voicing them, and guiding the relationship to learn how to respond to them.
2. I feel you. I have strong feelings of attraction and repulsion.
I am attracted to this man for many reasons, primarily to what I sense is his desire and need for recognition, and to discover his own goodness in himself, and not just in the world and acts of others. I am also attracted to his natural talents, his generosity, and his work. And he has money, which is nice (I feel there's some freedom available to us with this).
The repulsion comes when he doesn't recognize the boundary (and so cannot recognize me). Or when he wants to collapse the boundary (confusing us, fusing us, abandoning the relationship.)
3. You'll be giving to me, too. Constantly. If only in my discovering that by being myself I can actually be trusted.
I don't need to accommodate, anymore. I don't need you to stay or go. If you are present to the relationship, and to your desire, and if you find you can open to me and to yourself, your feelings, thoughts, etc., if you find a way to feel safe to bring them into the relationship, if you feel increasingly safe with me, given also that I am working to help you feel safe while being true to my needs, you will be giving so much to me. Your presence and earnestness are all we need. I may begin to feel more safe... with you, and ultimately with my desire, with me. And so practicing, which is all I'm "doing", I'm practicing trust in myself.
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proposal of relationship, part II
What I am beginning to be aware of is how these needs I bring to relationship are the very formative elements of my relationships as well they are my own true voice.
They are an aspect of this voice.
I have often had a tendency to be drawn to those who need self-recognition, or who are seeking help creating a container, a self. (Stuff I've worked on and am pretty good at helping others with). I have also been drawn to those who have an inner goodness that they are seeking to recognize. (Something I am still working on in myself and am trying to learn how to trust). I have also been drawn to those who have brought out my power, my voice, my awareness... people with whom I feel there's a space and desire for this power, voice, awareness to be present.
A dear friend often likes to remind me that my true mode, in relationships, is "therapeutic", meaning, I take it, that this is my tendency, as it is my desire, to heal through relationship, seek balance and harmony (recognition, integration, safety, etc).
I have often had to turn back and ask myself if the relationship was really serving my needs if I was actively seeking to educate the other. But I am realizing that this "education" is not a one way street, but a cultivation and affirmation of my own needs through voicing them, and besides... I cannot turn myself off! I cannot turn off who I am, cannot turn off this "mode."
i am feeling more comfortable with it, recognizing it not as a device coming out of my old "accommodating ways" but rather the name of the desire that has always been in me, that urges me to evolve.
While I don't want the conflict and struggle that is engendered in relationship, if we are truly seeking that precious safety and fertile abundance that is intimacy, there will be struggle because there is the coming together of two different people with different histories and languages, metaphors, points of reference. If we begin first with mutual respect, and a basic sense and intuition of each others' goodness, and let's face it, if there is an attraction (which I understand as a desire to understand what this relationship has in store as potential for personal growth), then we can begin to build trust. This is the hardest work and takes the most time. Maybe it's all the work really. After that, we can relax and enjoy the fruits of the long labor as they reveal what our complementarity can offer.
I do not seek mergence. I am no longer romantic. But I listen to and respond to the feeling, "I want to touch you. I want to be touched by you." This is a desire for intimacy.
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