Brain Candy: On Meditation

Recently some friends asked me for some pointers about meditation, and here's what I said...

DISCLAIMER: I am nowhere near an expert and still have a shitload to learn. What I've written below are just a few things that have helped me get started.

First and foremost, I would begin familiarizing myself with meditation as a whole. There are a bunch of great books out there on the subject by authors such as Sogyal Rinpoche, Pema Chodron, Thich Nhat Hahn, Lama Surya Das, and HH the Dalai Lama. I like the book "The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying" by Sogyal Rinpoche (not to be confused with "The Tibetan Book of the Dead.") This book covers much, much more than meditation, but the section on meditation has been instrumental in the development of my practice. Those of us in the West have a lot of ideas about what meditation is supposed to be (i.e. that there is some result that we should aim for specifically), and this book is a great place to begin learning about true meditation. Plus, if you're interested in learning about reincarnation, samsara, and the bardo's, this book is invaluable in that regard. You will get a crash course in Buddhism, but this is not to be feared or judged, and the effortless way Rinpoche explains some very heady concepts will leave you thirsting for more. If you're anything like me, this book will change your life.

Here are some things that have helped me:

The use of a mantra. I'll chant the mantra of Padmasambhva (Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Siddhi Hum) or Avalokiteshvara (Om Mani Padme Hum). The Padmasambhva mantra is roughly the equivalent to the Catholic Hail Mary. It feels weird at first, but that is just your ego fucking with you. Stop judging and get over it. If you can do this, after a while all else will cease and you'll feel like you're in space. Again, I got this stuff from "The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying."

Diaphragmatic breathing. Breathe through your mouth. You don't want your jaw to hang to the ground like you've just opened up an email and it was a video of a donkey show. Think mild sinus infection mouth breathing, not holy shit I can't believe people do that. We don't realize it, but often times we are not breathing properly. In order to take a fully restorative breath, we must breath from our stomach, not our chest. If you aren't quite sure what I'm talking about, lie on your back before you begin to meditate, and rest your right forearm at the top of your stomach below your rib cage. Watch your arm rise and fall, rise and fall. Your stomach will be pushing your arm out as you inhale. This is breathing from your diaphragm. This technique can be applied anywhere at any time, and for those of you who may suffer from anxiety/panic disorders, this technique is a hell of a tool to help you calm down.

Keep your eyes open. Contrary to popular belief, one should keep his/her eyes open and fixed upon an object/picture while meditating. Once again, I took the book's advice, and stare at a picture of Padmasambhva. His eyes are hypnotic, and at first I was a bit freaked out at the picture because he's pretty intense. But then I remembered he was a Buddha, and there is no hate there, only love.

Don't try to achieve anything. The most important part of meditation is showing up. At first, I began with 10 minutes in the morning, ten minutes at night, and have upped the time as I've grown more comfortable. The biggest thing you can try to remember when meditating is to practice non-grasping. Allow your thoughts to come and go, let them run through your mind like the waters of a mountain river runs over rocks. If you have a negative thought, acknowledge it, but don't latch onto it. Simply let the thought be born, and die. All thoughts return to the same place they were born: your mind. Eventually you will have moments when something truly magical happens, and you will want to prolong the feeling. The minute you try to do that is the minute you will lose it. Think of it like sex: when your girl says, "right there" she's not saying "go faster." Just keep doing what you're doing, because it's working.

You don't have to sit in full lotus postion. If you are flexible enough to chill in full lotus, then by all means, do it. Don't force it, though. A certain amount of uncomfortability is expected when you begin to meditate, but do not confuse uncomfortability and pain. If need be, you can use a chair; any book on meditation will cover this in depth. This is a mental workout, not necessarily a physical workout, although you may experience some soreness during the first few weeks as your body becomes accustomed to this position.

All of this is just a scratch on the surface, but I hope it may have helped in some way. The benefits to developing a daily meditation practice are massive, and after a month of consistent daily meditation you will feel like you are becoming a different person. You are. The mind is as vast and infinite as the universe itself, and the first time you get a little taste of this, you will experience a bliss most people believe to be a myth. The key is to carry that bliss into your life through mindful actions, speech, thoughts, etc. To learn more about that, see the 4 Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path.

You can, of course, add a bit of the sticky icky to your practice, but try to do it without herb first. I'm a huge proponent of cannabis use and the benefits of such a wonderful plant, but you don't need to be higher than a cat's back to go deep. Your brain will do that for you. If you must smoke, start out sober and smoke when you're done. If you have one of those blissful sessions I was talking about, smoking afterward is often a great way to carry over that state of mind, especially if combined with yoga.

Be well and good luck. Namaste.

-----

We're all on this rock floating through space together, stuck in one of an innumerable number of galaxies. We inhabit a miniscule portion of the infinite universe, and every time I pause to look up at the sky I am bewildered by how completely insignificant life is. But, this is why life is so precious. We're entering a period of solar activity that can, at any moment, wipe out all the electronics on earth, and plunge us back into the dark ages. To some, that is a most depressing thought. To me, it's the beauty of creation. It's never been more important to share and spread love than in this moment, right now, today. Bask in the light of the truth, and never forget that you are not alone; you will always have the stars. All you have to do is look up, and smile.

-----

"So, the teachings tell us, if we do not assume the fullest possible responsibility for ourselves now in this life, our suffering will go on not only for a few lives, but for thousands of lives to come." - Sogyal Rinpoche

Farm Flies 2: Revenge of the Fruit Fly

"I don't know why I ever come in here. The flies get the best of everything." - Otis Criblecoblis

Ah, yet another summer of shortened fuses thanks to my arch nemesis the Farm Fly, and this year, they seem to have quadrupled their numbers.  Once again I have boldly stepped onto Farm Fly turf, and having learned from my missteps during last year's battles, I am now strapped with a wider whacking device (See: two rolled up issues of News 4U), a lighter, and a travel size bottle of Garnier Fructis hairspray. Surely they don't stand a chance, right?

Wrong.  These rotten bastards have not only increased their numbers, they seem to have gone through some type of intensive combat training combining the brutality of Jiu-Jitsu with the speed of Formula 1 racing. The larger flies have noticeably altered their attack strategy from the previous year.  Instead of using the Kamikaze style of fighting they had become so annoyingly known for, the large flies have been hanging back, allowing armies of Fruit Flies to swarm any given area with unparalleled chaos in only a matter of seconds.  Compare this to the amount of time it takes for me to go from "holy shit, flies!" to striking my lighter and letting the hairspray rip, it's easy to see that we've got a bit of a problem here, folks.  

Equally as disturbing as the Farm Fly's change in battle tactics is their change in dietary preferences.  It's not so much a change as it is an addition, as this year, no food is safe from instantaneous attack.  Due to their massive numbers (which put the populations of China and India to shame), a 20 second skirmish with these minuscule monsters can result in the loss of 12 blackberries, an entire peach, or, as was the case during one of the more intense battles recently, HALF of a rather large tomato.  The devastation is so horrifying when these soulless fiends find an unsupervised cantaloupe that I dare not even speak of it here (RIP Molly McMelon).

I have made headway in learning the origin of these Fruit Flies though, because I can hear buzzing choruses of "Za Rodinu" (For Motherland) swirling around my head as I desperately swat the air in vain.  This leads me to believe the ferocious hunger of the Fruit Fly was born during a long, hard winter spent in the Siberian shithole called Novosibirsk.  Known for vodka so strong that it often doubles as tank fuel and temperatures that can give a polar bear hypothermia, Novosibirsk is exactly the kind of gritty and impoverished place that produces talented fighters looking for ways to avoid experiencing love.  My trusty mag-whacker and poor-mans flamethrower are going to ensure that they are unequivocally successful in that pursuit.   

Gone is the beauty and appreciation for the Farm Fly's aeronautical grace.  What was once a marvel of physical impossibility is now, simply put, a monumental pain in the ass.  Where there is one, there are ten someplace else, thus engaging me in an infinite game of cat-and-mouse that often leaves me more bloody and bruised than the flies.  Another impossible factor to deal with is the rapid rate at which the Fruit Fly breeds. Rabbits, dogs, the Octomom- all pale in comparison to the frequency of birth and amount of offspring these Commie pricks produce.   

At the moment, I fear I am outflanked and outnumbered.  My limited talent for espionage and total inability to refrain from cursing loudly during stalking sessions has delivered me to an area of Hell known in Souther Indiana as "Summer".  With another chapter of this war in the books,  I am reminded of those who came before me, and the sacrifices they have made during their valiant efforts to protect produce.  "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today that sheds his blood with me, shall be my brother; be ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition," Shakespeare wrote, and with the way people smelled in the 17th century, I'm certain he must've known a thing or two about fly flagellation.

My condition has yet to be gentled, but with each successful eradication, I find a moments peace in the satisfaction of fighting for such a noble cause.  The war may never be over, and assuredly, more produce will be lost.  But, as long as I can continue to Google ways of inducing mass genocide on Farm Flies, the epic saga of Man versus Farm Fly will rage onward.

How Many Times Do I Have to Tell You?!?

As I entered the library today, I noticed two things: a new photography exhibit lining the western wall, and a kid being bitched out by his Dad. This poor pre-pubescent kid was enduring a public barrage of "you need to learn respect" and "no more video games" due to some nefarious (and likely anti-Christian) offense he had committed with some friends. The father's argument was, as much as I could piece it together, that the son had decided to "play the video games" with his friends instead of helping with some bullshit around the house. Couple of thoughts I had on this...

1). Where's the kids mother? She's probably one of the pill-popping wino suburbanites who play Christian to appear socially-upstanding. Clearly, she drives an SUV of the large and obnoxious variety, the tailgate of which is peppered with all the 99-cent patriotism one can afford. Three books on her nightstand: Sarah Palin's autobiography, Twilight, and a bible that has pretty flowers etched into a protective leather cover. She'd never admit it in public, but that Ann Coulter makes a lot of sense. She's not happy that a black couple moved in three houses down, but boy oh boy can she whip up one heckuva pecan pie.

2). What is this guy trying to make up for? What is he so afraid of letting slip away? His lack of vocabulary to describe the video games he was bemoaning leads me to believe his lecture was more the result of peer expectations than his own true feelings on the subject. Why donate all that money to church if they weren't giving sound parenting advice, right? Perhaps there was even a six-part series recently, a post Christmas, start-the-New-Year-on-the-right-track oeuvre of lectures that promised a renaissance of family values through strict parenting while focusing on the dangers of technology and, of course, porn. Lots and lots of gooey porn.

3). I don't have a family, so I could be totally full of shit.* However, I do have parents, and I can identify the source of our mutual discontent, and it all stems from a lack of communication. The inability to understand doesn't have to be a precedent for anger or an imposition of one's will. When a kid screws up and needs to be disciplined, well, that's life. But to publicly embarrass and berate your child to prove how good of a parent you are- I'm thinking the problem isn't the child, it's you. Not to mention, kids who are good at video games these days have legitimate career options, and these careers are ten times more lucrative than going door to door selling vacuums.

I wanted to say something, I wanted to tell the kid, "save your money, go to college as far away as possible, and don't ever, under any circumstance, allow your parents to drive you away from the life you want to live." But, I didn't. It's not my place, although I don't think I would've been hurting this particular kid in any way. I don't know. What's the proper course of action when you see a resentment being born in real-time? Oh well. Poor kid got an earful and he won't be playing video games for a while, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. The part I have a problem with is what happens next: does the kid evaluate what is important in life and use this experience to his benefit, or is he going to withdraw into his own world of fantasy even more, slowly shutting the doors of parent/child communication...

Anyway, yeah. I'm not a parent for a reason(s), obviously...

P.S. Ann Coulter looks like the byproduct of an anorexic llama who banged one of those hooded horseman from "Fellowship of the Rings." I bet it coughs and lets out a puff of white smoke when you touch it...Kind of like when they elect a new Pope.





*It's true.

Together, One

In the literal and figurative wake of the tsunami/quake in Japan, millions of people are now facing unimaginable chaos, destruction, and uncertainty. Regardless of geography, political allegiances, or religious affiliations, this moment is an opportunity for the World to stand in solidarity with the people of Japan. It takes more energy to hate than it does to show compassion. Great moments in history are not shaped solely by an event. They are shaped by the will of ordinary people to come together, declaring loudly with one voice, that they will overcome.

Perseverance is the gift of humanity; there is no other cheek to turn when innocent victims are involved. Don't be a bystander. It is the civic duty of all who are capable to take their condolences further than YouTube and Twitter. Whatever you can do to support to the millions of people affected by this tragedy, do it. Why? Because it just as easily could've happened to you.


The writing on the flag is the Kim Ga Yo, the Japanese national anthem. It reads:

May my Lord's reign,
Continue for a thousand years,
Eight thousand generations,
Until pebbles
Grow into boulders,
Covered in moss.

Text REDCROSS to 90999 to send $10 to relief efforts in Japan.

Accidental Dignity (Part One)

My fascination with the answer-less questions of life has finally turned me into a member of Hermit's Anonymous. Astrology-- what the fuck?!?

Of course I know my sign, and I've suffered through the "sign compatibility" Google searches with countless girlfriends, but I've never given astrology much thought. The extent of my astrological knowledge goes as far as knowing that I am a Cancer, and according to one of the aforementioned (mandatory) compatibility searches, Cancer's have fantastic sex with Gemini's.*

Lately, it seems I've been having frequent run-ins with constellation inspired self-prophecy. A month ago, a friend sent me a text that read, "I never check my horoscope, but I did today, and when I read yours, I nearly fainted." She proceeded to send me the horoscope, and she was right- I was blown away by the accuracy as well.

Newspaper horoscopes are more of a novelty item filled with broad generalizations and speculations designed to be applicable to the masses. To put it another way, newspaper horoscopes are the McDonald's of horoscopes. The horoscope my friend sent me was different than any I had ever read before. Instead of vague generality, this horoscope was focused, clear, and addressed the very questions I had been kicking around in my head. It was, in a word, spooky.

So, after this unexplainable encounter with the stars, I began receiving my daily horoscope via Twitter. Perennially a favorite of all things space (otherwise known as Pothead Prospecting, or "Physics"), I began to entertain the possibility of the stars being a source for answers instead of a source for geeked-out eye candy. Why not, right? I mean hell, they are up there, and clearly the ancient Egyptians and Hopi Indians found some significance in astrology. Both the Great Pyramids of Giza and ancient Hopi cities of Mintaka, Oraibi, and Hotevilla all directly correspond to the three stars that make up Orion's Belt. Those are two entirely different ancient civilizations who performed the mathematical equivalent of turning a dog into a television. I'll save the "Ancient Aliens" rhetoric for another time, but the precision involved in these examples is to be revered.

And now, a brief history of astrology:

- Astrology originated with the Greeks. (There's a fucking surprise.)

- Ancient people used the positions of the sun and moon as well as the appearance of certain constellations as an almanac for planting season. It's worth saying that in 1733, Ben Franklin stole this idea, and writing under the pseudonym Richard Saunders (AKA the Original Tricky Dick), published 'Poor Richard's Almanac.' It was a massive success, selling some 10,000 copies per year, a circulation that is the equivalent of 3 million copies today. Baller.

- The Greek's were certain that a person's life was pre-determined and therefore predictable. By examining the positioning of certain heavenly bodies like the sun, moon, and Megan Fox, as well as the constellations present at the time of a person's birth, the Greek's began to fuck around with predicting the future. Speaking of ancient Greece and birth, one day Zeus got tired of hauling around his locomotive sized lightning rod, descended from the heavens, and took the form of a swan. Somehow, a suicidal eagle didn't get the e-mail, and began chasing the swan. The swan sought refuge with a woman named Leda who was on her way home from working a double at the bath complex. Leda, who liked the sauce and had downed two bottles of wine before the long walk home, decided that today would be a good day to give bestiality a go. The swan killed it, and then snuck away, leaving Leda preggers. The result of Leda's encounter was Helen of Troy. Poseidon never let him live it down. (Coincidentally, Lady GaGa was also 'born this way.')

- The ancient Egyptian astrologer Ptolemy (who was rumored to be more boring than a Glen Beck play) used data from previous astrologers to map over 1,000 stars, compile a list of 48 constellations, and essentially describe the longitude and latitude lines of the earth. Ptolemy, who enticed his audience to his lectures with a sign that read "Free Manna," proclaimed that the earth was the center of the universe, and published a 13 volume work on the subject called the "Almagest." At the length of the Harry Potter and Twilight series combined, Ptolemy's work was criticized as "dry, tedious, and difficult to read," proving once and for all that douchebaggery through criticism is the timeless birthright of all mankind. Today, much of Ptolemy's work has been called bullshit by the scientific community. Poor fella.

- Skipping ahead to the 16th century, we get to a man named William Lilly. Not wanting to go the way of Lizzy Proctor, Lilly made the practice of reading horoscopes more palatable to stuffy churchgoers by calling it "Christian Astrology." Lilly also created much controversy when he allegedly predicted the Great Fire of London 14 years before it went down. This led many to believe he and his team started the blaze, and Lilly eventually had to answer to Parliament. Proclaiming his innocence, he opened his trial by boldly stating: "we didn't start the fire." He was found innocent, and his words went on to be the inspiration for the hit Billy Joel song of the same name. Like Leda from ancient Greece, Lilly never met a God-inspired loophole he didn't like, and consequently avoided being put to death by burning at the stake.

"Suckers!" - Leda and Lilly.

- Today: Hacks abound, the field of astrology has largely been reduced to the aforementioned newspaper horoscopes and late night TV ads featuring large women with fake Jamaican accents.** Therefore, many people find astrology to be a joke, but the anticipation of the end of the Mayan calendar (2012) and the LEGITIMATE finding of a massive new planet in our solar system is starting to prove that there might be something to this astrology business after all...

Stay tuned for part two.













*It's true.
**I'm talking to you, Miss Cleo.

From the journal of Dr. Herbert Blaquemac

And thus begins the journal of Dr. Herbert Blaquemac...

Oh the beauty of this Universe! The wonder of these people, so unique yet all so inherently different! Regardless of birth, despite circumstance, they thrive, in all manner of developmental obstacles, they continue to survive! It's all so breathtaking, this Human race! I hardly think it could have been envisioned what this experiment would become. A continuation of our race, grown from the ground up, raised from infancy to enlightenment...Did they know it would take so long? At this stage of the existence of the Human race, knowledge has yet to be unlocked, and I fear little progress will be made in this regard for the next 100-150 years. They have tremendous ability, the Humans, to attach to their emotions. The animal instincts have yet to evolve and absolve- these Humans are still tied to their animal brethren. These characteristics, these genes, these limitations the Human race was born with- they have yet to be defeated. What power these Humans are ignorant of! Everything they need is there; if they would listen! With pain, I recall the inconvenience of Jesus. His defiance of the truth created inquiry and mystery, both of which have lasted thousands of years now on the Human Planet...

And thanks to this Mystery, thousands of years of evolution have been prolonged. It is the concept of Faith. These Humans have come to the evolutionary point of being acutely aware of their impermanence, and yet, are peculiarly accepting of it. How is a battle to be won without fear? Lack of acceptance is paramount to fear... How can it be that this Human race was closer to enlightenment in the days of Aristophanes and Simonides than it is in the supposed 'prime' of its' existence? What the Egyptians and Mayans had accomplished has long been forgotten and eclipsed by the spectacle of modern achievement, even though modern Humans cannot explain the precision of the Architecture from their own family tree. They are oblivious, and often times I fear the entire experiment has progressed beyond the point of salvation, but the deadline for such events is still lifetimes ahead of my own. All I can hope, in a strange connection to the Human experiment, is to contribute to something greater than myself while I am fortunate enough to spend time in this manifestation of existence.

To be frank, I do not understand the gravity in which our current preoccupation with "physical" existence is held. If the object of a conscious existence with a physical body is to obtain consciousness without the necessity of a physical body, well, then, what are we wasting our time for? The majority of the Human race wants what we possess in galactic proportions: an understanding of existence. Although there have been certain minds capable of grasping an understanding of the Future of Energy, any revelation in regards to this insight would inevitably be met with growing choruses of (Human) discontent. The problem with intelligence is that it breeds resentment amongst those who are unable to possess it. In this regard, I feel compassion for the Humans. They are prisoners to their emotions, and have very little ability to perceive a reality beyond their current misery. Again, it is their "acceptance" that gets in the way. They have a stunning inability to challenge the things they do not understand, and thus, the things they do not understand have begun to define them. Answers to riddles such as this are better left as mysteries; or so goes the intellect of the Human race...

This assignment is, without a doubt, a dream come true. Although I criticize the necessity for the physical manifestation of existence, I can appreciate the desire to study such a critical evolutionary point. The necessity for a physical body is little more than an on-demand service required for procreation. We have all been there; it's our own roadblock in evolution...And from my own experience, I can understand why some make the decision to never come back...But, it is certainly not the end. There is so much more, and even in our current point in what the Humans call "History", we are quite infantile. There is so much more...

How Many More Need to Die?

Let's start a movement. Fuck alcohol. Let's get the truth out so other generations don't end up screwed before they have a choice. Every time I see a beer commercial, I don't find it funny or cute. First of all, these commercials are not the product of the company being advertised, they are the product of hipsters at advertising firms, and trust me, these people are not concerned with whether or not you get in your car and try to drive home after a few drinks...

They are concerned with promotions, bank accounts, reach, impressions, demographics, and overall success with advertising campaigns. It's a game. It's a smart ass (much like myself, because this is what I was trained to do), sitting in a cubicle in New York or Chicago who is trying to come up with the Next Big Thing so they can sell YOU enough shit to get a bigger apartment, a nicer car, and a hotter girl. It's a fraud, and every time you put that fucking poison to your lips you are aiding in perpetrating that fraud.

Alcohol companies don't want you to stop, just as cigarette companies have mastered the art of reverse psychology. Think about it. When is the last time you looked at the Surgeon General's warning and didn't chuckle at the obviousness of their message? We laugh in the face of warnings because we are stubborn as hell, and nobody wants to be told what to do. So the warnings become a joke.

These warnings, the skull and crossbones on cigarette packs in Canada, and the dead baby photos that are squarely tucked into packs of Marlboros in other countries, become badges of honor. We defy the truth because when facing the truth, most of us cower like puppies who've messed the carpet. Yet the proprietors of this sick substance continue to make a profit, and in the end, that's all that matters, right?

Dude. That's bullshit.

The death toll from alcohol in the past 20 years is greater than the death toll of every war we've ever fought combined. Are we to sit idly by as the brains of our peers become sodden with the dregs of whiskey and vodka and beer? For what? So we can get laid? Alcohol dependence and abuse cost the US approximately $220 billion in 2005. For the sake of comparison, this was greater than the amount of money spent to combat cancer ($196 billion) and obesity ($133 billion).*

Do you really want to support companies that not only advertise, but subliminally encourage cancer? They want you hooked, they want you out every night, they want you telling "dude, I was so drunk" stories at work because ALL of it adds zeros to their bottom line...

WAKE THE FUCK UP, PEOPLE.

The truth is out there and if you're not willing to stare it in the face and do what is right, you're a coward.

Not EVERYBODY who drinks is an alcoholic, and I understand and respect those who can put it down just as quickly as they picked it up. But alcohol is cunning, and often times, it hijacks that choice from us. I'm not calling out casual drinkers of alcohol, and for what it's worth, if you can put it down without a moments hesitation, then you're a better man than I. But, I think we all know, for many of us, that isn't the case. If you've ever had to consider whether or not you have a problem with alcohol (or any substance), chances are you already do. Nobody wants or likes to admit defeat, especially when everybody around you appears to still be winning...

It doesn't have to be that way, though. It doesn't have to get any worse than it already is. You don't need to get another DUI, or have another person you care about turn their back on you. It can all end right now.

The choice is up to you.





*Statistics from link provided below. Click on it. These numbers will blow your fucking mind.

http://www.treatment-centers.net/alcoholism-statistics.html

Requiem of Innocence

Simply astounding.

Mr. Rockie Blunt's testimony during his interviews with the History Channel for 'WWII in HD' has left me in awe. To imagine the dreadfulness of the emotional torment Mr. Blunt (and his fellow soldiers) endured during their heroic efforts throughout WWII is to push the human mind to the very limit of sanity.

Blunt was a jazz musician, thrust forth into the bloody rampage of one man's (Hitler) horrific and murderous quest for acceptance, met with the full atrocities of war, yet was lucky enough to escape the throes of such idealistic madness. To be there, to hold within one's grasp the final breath of his fellow man, rising with premeditated remorse to the challenge of murder, ultimately fulfilling a promise no man should ever have to make...

Mr. Blunt is a man, if ever there was one, and he and his comrades deserve the full recognition and appreciation of my generation, a generation lost in an orgasm of the senses. His confessions of Darwinian weakness shatter the illusion of what one can be capable of during times of unparalleled duress. Saying thank you simply isn't enough, for what Mr. Blunt (and his fellow soldiers) sacrificed was far greater than their lives.

That war and those experiences took with it a part of their minds, a part of their universal human innocence that otherwise would be left undisturbed, and trying to convey my appreciation by simply saying "thank you" would be an insult to Mr. Blunt and the memories of the men he served with.

And although I know nothing of the sacrifices these gentlemen had to make, I watch the footage of their darkest hours with pools of sympathy collecting in my eyes and a broken heart sinking in my stomach. These men were men, and long after they have gone, it is our duty, and the duty of future generations, to ensure that their stories live on...

"He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother..."*

Please permit me, Mr. Blunt and the remaining members of the Greatest Generation, to say, perhaps at last, welcome home. We shall never forget.




*Portion of St. Crispin's Day speech from Shakespeare's Henry V.

Neruda's Ghost

It should be about the passage of time, lost opportunities, chance encounters, and stolen moments of shared possibility. But, when it strikes, it’s almost always about the attraction. Love. Destroyer of appetites, inciter of emotional riots, and purveyor of late night blog entries…

There are certain moments in life when the true gravity of a missed opportunity lies heavy upon one’s shoulders. It is in these moments of impossible despair that we are often given the clearest view of ourselves we will ever have. Never are our desires, wants, and, in many ways, needs, more apparent than in the wake of the truth. Some things, regardless of how unjust they may seem, are simply not meant to be. Such is the curse of possibility. One never truly knows if he has made the correct decision.

Understanding the idiosyncrasies of love is an impossible feat, one that would require many lifetimes and imperviousness to pain. Seeking the why to such a powerful impetus will only lead to sleepless nights and utter disappointment. In other words, it’s unattainable for anybody with a pulse, and even then, I believe the dead can still feel the fanatical anguish of unrequited love.

Men have gone to war for love. Empires have risen and fallen as part of love’s preposterous notion of a shared existence in which we try to allow ourselves to let another human being in. Love is the acme of the human condition. If one can find a way to master his emotions while simultaneously being attracted to other human beings, he has indeed achieved some variation of Nirvana.

To define love is to teach a class in absurdity, for no one definition can fully encompass love’s unlimited boundaries. Love takes many forms, and defies classification. It cannot be eradicated nor can it be prevented. When all else is gone love will, in one form or another, remain. "Remember tonight, for it is the beginning of always," wrote Dante, and in my opinion, few things are as pure and historical as the moment love is born.

Soliloquies of the Damned

Speed
She came in from the rain
She says, "it's bad out there."
Whatever she starts always ends up the same
Nothing ever gets anywhere.
Swore she'd never do it again
One last time was all she'd need
Hit the gas and closed her eyes
She always wanted to believe.

The Fool
When I try to sleep
I see your face
See you standing there
In your dress
In your tears
In your disappointment
And I cry
Knowing that the pain I've caused
Is the only thing that's left.

Gone
Gotta go now baby,
Gotta go, it's time to be movin' on.
Gotta go now baby,
Been puttin' this off for far too long.
I been tryin' to tell you,
Tryin' to tell you what went wrong.
But you don't want to hear it,
No reason to stay, I must be gone.


Dreamgirl
She dwells in a dream,
Trapped forever by a trapped mind,
Making her presence known
Through the righting of wrongs.
On a cracked sunbeam she rides,
Ready to finally be alive,
She holds onto the light
Like it's a second chance.
But he stirs, disturbed,
And the shutters open
Just as quickly as they close.

Psycho Killer

Killing a Southern Indiana Farm Fly requires a sense of coordination usually found amongst Olympic gymnasts. When cornered with a rolled up magazine or gym shoe, the traditional housefly is an achievable get for even the most fatally graceless amongst us. Farm Flies, on the other hand, are a breed unto their own.

At roughly the size of a mid-level sedan, this unsavory pest takes on an identity of Lady GaGa sized proportions with its mammoth wingspan and unbreakably stubborn will. Like Kamikaze pilots, these pests lack any form of self-preservation. They have but one goal: annoy the enemy to the point of insanity.

Traditional houseflies seem to have developed the illusive sense of mortality these flying Volkswagens are so hell-bent on destroying. Shoo a normal housefly away a few times, and he eventually recognizes the mortal danger of flailing newspaper pages. After years of family members being taken down in their prime, the common housefly has evolved, cherishing avoidance as an invaluable virtue.

This is not true of Farm Flies, as they blatantly disregard the apprehension of their cousins with relentless energy. No matter how close one comes to annihilating one of these corn-fed monsters, it will only renew their resolve to attack. It is a game of mental endurance, to engage the Farm Fly, and I would like to think even cerebral heavyweights such as Albert Einstein or Carl Sagan would have had their asses handed to them by these persistent minions of insecticide.

It's not all the Devil's handiwork, though. To watch two flies attempting to mate is to watch the beauty (and simultaneous decimation) of aeronautical physics. They maneuver through the air with the precision of heat-seeking missiles, treating gravity as if it were merely a suggestion, rising high in the chewy summer air before tumbling downward through an invisible double helix. Trying to maintain visual contact on two flies while they’re going at it like a couple of Jersey Shore cast members is a lot like viewing a solar eclipse: although beautiful and awe inspiring, stare too long and you'll go blind.

Eventually, interest in reproduction wanes, and Farm Flies resume their usual baneful existence of buzzing loudly whilst nowhere in sight. This is perhaps the cruelest aspect of going to battle against the Farm Fly; they have mastered the art of teasing. The frustration of routinely coming within millimeters of a successful whacking is enough to cause the Pope to cast off his Godly robes in exchange for a blunt object and some under-the-breath cursing. It is a hunt that never ends, even in the event of a kill.

Never in my life have I cursed my unavoidable human size as much as when engaging the Farm Fly, and at 5’5, I have some experience with this particular contempt. Trying to recall the limited knowledge I have learned about hunting from listening to beer-fueled campfire tales of deathly excellence, I began to strategize in my quest for Farm Fly blood. I began to crouch down when skulking around the farm. I would inch forward, slowly and deliberately, hypnotized by the soft clak-clak of my sandals hitting my heels as I scoured the empty air, shovel in hand. Should anybody have witnessed me in these pursuits they would have surely thought I was hot on the trail of an escaped convict, or trying some new, hillbilly form of Tai Chi.

After bouts of unsuccessful hunting, I would begin to question my validity on this Earth. Each whiffed swing took with it a piece of my integrity. How dare I call myself a man, I would wonder when walking in from the fields, head hung low in disgust of the lack of splattered guts that should decorate my shovelhead. My thoughts would inevitably shift post-game, and entire evenings have gone unaccounted for due to imagining the many ways in which I would right my previous wrongs during the next hunt. The thrill of the pursuit had me in its vengeful claws, and I vowed to someday taste retribution.

At this juncture I have given up on traditional methods of fly-murdering as much of my efforts have been in vain, and am seriously considering petitioning the Department of Defense for a missile strike. At the very least, maybe they'd let me borrow a flamethrower.

Regardless of how many of these country-bred demons I kill there will always be more. In fact, since I began my killing spree, it seems like every time one goes down, fifteen more take its place. Summer in the Southern Indiana country is hot, sticky, and boring on the surface. But, take a closer look and one will find he is surrounded by the poetry of nature, and an epic battle for the survival of the fittest.

La Porte de l'Enfer

Montana: It's Fucking Huge.

As I am beginning to settle into my new life in Montana, I feel it's probably a wise move for me to resume (or finally take seriously) old habits. For better or worse, this blog is one of them...

I left Evansville in a fury, my mind moving in so many directions that now, six days later, I'm still struggling to find some sense of stability. It's never been easy for me to uproot my life regardless of how excited moving makes me. For me moving represents new beginnings, a rebirth, a chance to do things the right way. How unsurprising it is that these things would be attractive to me. But previous experiences have taught me that, like all things, these feelings of excitement and promise dissipate with each new second spent in unfamiliar surroundings. Eventually, the ugly beast of reality rears its head, and the cold hard truth hits home with the force of a thousand sledgehammers: I am alone.

There is no glory in pursuing the purposeful life, at least not from my current vantage point. It's the ultimate gamble, to try and figure out (and pursue) one's passion with unabashed determination and relentless vigor. It takes a tremendous leap of faith and a level of stupidity incapable of most people. This highly coveted form of freedom does indeed come at a price...and as a family friend commented to me before I left (albeit regarding thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail): "after a while, you're only proving something to yourself." Although I've barely begun to embark on this journey I can't help but to wonder, is there more truth than I'd like to admit in what he said? Pursuing a life of personal purpose and happiness is a noble quest, but does it lack virtue? How do you tell the fucking difference?

Before I came to Montana, I promised myself that I would take advantage of my heavily wooded and incredibly alive surroundings by doing things I know very little about. To ease myself into this new brand of wilderness flagellation, I have been considering doing my first freelance piece on fly fishing. Admittedly, I know as much about fly fishing as BP does about safe offshore drilling practices, but it's something I have done before and thoroughly enjoyed. It's only natural to think I would enjoy it even more if I knew what the fuck I was doing. So, I need to get over my fear of contacting people for the sake of freelance writing (how are they going to believe me if I don't even believe in myself) and get with the tying of the flies. In a few months when I'm standing knee deep in a cold mountain stream, the heat of the morning sun warming the back of my neck, surrounded by trees much older than any of man's stories and struggling to reel in a monstrous Cutthroat, I'm sure it will all be worth it. Unless, in my distraction, I'm attacked by a bear...

They say a journey of a thousand miles begins with a cash advance...But seriously folks, first steps are always the hardest. As I continue to remind myself that nobody ever got anywhere through complacency, I wrestle with myself over the steps I have already taken. Healthy reflection is beneficial, but there is a fine line between reflection and dwelling. Dwelling in a self-imposed prison is detrimental to creativity, for the very definition of dwell is to "live in or at a specified place." Stagnancy breeds ignorance and ignorance is death for the creative soul. For me creativity comes from the experience, from trying something new, learning something about myself and gaining new insight into life. That being said, there is no shortage of creative propellant in Missoula, Montana...

There are no guarantees that any of this will work out in the long run and it has become increasingly harder to convince myself that the end result isn't necessarily the goal; the goal is to have the courage to try. And if nothing else, I know that there is virtue in that...

Blame It On the Fuck-Its

AAAAAHHHHH...back to the blog, back to writing, back to the breath of life, my creative oxygen, the proverbial water to quench the thirst of my curiousity...Alright. That's enough of that shit.

So, I apologize for not posting anything in a while. You might have seen me post an update on Twitter or Facebook regarding why. After years of staying up all night, on, mainlining information into its poor little circuits, my Macbook finally succumbed to The Last Great High. He will be missed.

I tried to access my blog from my iPod, not anticipating any reason why I couldn't continue my project linear-style. As usual, I was wrong, but I don't think I'm necessarily wrong. For some reason, Blogger won't allow you to update your blog from an iPod. I'm not sure if the same holds true for an iPhone (I don't see why it wouldn't), but that was the turd in the punch bowl.

"Well, why didn't you go to the library and use their computers you lazy bastard?"

Because I got a case of the Fuck-Its. And yet another lesson was learned...We must stay on task, remain focused, and be persistent even when you shank one into the woods. Pretty obvious advice, certainly not original, but sometimes life's simplest lessons are the hardest to remember. Hell, that's what Buddhism was trying to teach me-be calm during the storm-but it was just too obvious. And one thing about the Fuck-Its, once they latch their razor sharp claws into you, they're hard to shake off.

But I'm back.

21 Days of Buddhism certainly wasn't intended to go this way, but in the spirit of rolling with the ebb and flow of life, I'm adapting...

The Fuck-Its aren't necessarily all bad. A good case of the Fuck-Its can lead to incredible bursts of creativity, positivity, and productivity. I imagine this is because once one has surrendered to the sweet kiss of procrastination a certain freedom is experienced that is illusive in responsible daily living. The key, like all things, is in knowing the line between procrastination and "holy shit!".*

During my most recent case of the Fuck-Its, I added weights to my yoga practice. Although yoga continues to blow my mind on a daily basis, I've been unhappy with my overall strength. I had some free weights lying around so I figured fuck it, let's add some heat to this sauce...Shortly thereafter I heard Schwarzenegger in the back of my head calling me a girlie-man. It sucked. But, if I stick with it, the pay off will be increased strength, stamina, and endurance (wink). So you see, sometimes saying "fuck it" can be a smart move.**

Although I don't advise adopting this attitude as a way of life or endorse experimentation with this concept by novices, if you must resort to a case of the Fuck-Its, may I suggest starting small. Don't start with your job. Finding a way to live life everyday is one of the most challenging but important tasks we are faced with. The stress of work, family, money, school, oil spills, terrorist attacks, whatever- will suck the energy out of you before 10 a.m. Our brains tell us that resorting to such a position of uninvolvement is ludicrous, but our brains are lying assholes. They will convince us of all kinds of shit that isn't true; anybody who has had to suffer through the abysmal fate of a panic attack knows exactly what I'm talking about. We are hardwired to believe that if we don't get it done, do it right, and have it all figured out wayyy ahead of schedule, then we'll be failures. This is a fraud that has been perpetrated on millions of people throughout the world by the people whose sole interest is in controlling you and keeping you down.

Don't listen to a fucking word of it.



*At the time of this writing, the author still cannot accurately describe the properties of this line, but has come to the conclusion that said line does, in fact, exist.

**If the outcome is in your favor.

Day 7: What Dreams May Come

"Craving is the cause of suffering." - Buddha

What do you crave? No, I didn't score some freelance market research work for White Castle. I'm not talking about money, sex, or cars either. When you picture your happiness, does the image in your head reflect your current reality? If not, what are you doing to change it?

We all make excuses, but I believe that if we have the capacity to be brutally honest with ourselves, we will begin to see that there are no such thing as excuses, only obstacles. By allowing ourselves to focus on what we think is holding us back, we fail to see the things we can do that are right in front of us. If you're dream is to play in the NFL but you lost an arm in a tragic sheep shearing accident, well, you're kind of fucked. But, that doesn't mean give up. Like the Stones say, "you can't always get what you want..." Can't play in the NFL, but it's a massive organization... "but if you try sometimes you get what you need..." So, find another way to contribute! The only thing truly holding any of us back is ourselves. Sure, bosses suck, wages are a scam, and real life will always happen, but if we let this shit hold us back, our dreams will fade to black.

And that's suicide.

Going through life terrified of failure is just plain death. Personally, I am horrified of failure. The possibility of putting something out for public consumption only for it to be criticized, rejected, and discarded without a second look sometimes drives me to the point of vomiting.

By allowing this type of thought process to happen, by fearing failure in any area of life, we push our dreams and goals to the point of annihilation. Eventually, many of us succumb to the comfort of daily life, cocooned in our mediocrity, convinced that it is booth foolish and impossible to try and be anything more than what we are. Years pass by and before we know it we are referring to our passions in the past tense. This is not a life.

I would feel remiss without mentioning the concept of success. Many of us would like to think we'll end up rich, but that is the problem with the American Dream; we are all waiting for "some day." Some day is today. I hate the cliche, but no bullshit: none of us have any guarantee against cancer, or car accidents, or co-workers gone postal. Sometimes there are worse fates in life than death.

So what does success look like to you? Do you have it? If not, what, if anything, are you doing to get it? Is there more to success for you than money? If you could make the same amount you're making now by doing something that you love, even if it takes you a little while to get there, why wouldn't you do it? Be honest with yourself, what's really holding you back from chasing down the happiest version of your life you can have?

Chances are I'll never make much money from doing what I love, that's just a reality of that particular industry, and I'm OK with that. It beats the fuck out of working for some douchebag, and the chances of getting getting rich by working for anybody other than yourself are slim to none. My success comes from when somebody says "thank you" after reading something I have written. Whether or not I get through to one person or one million, it doesn't really matter as long as in some way, I've helped somebody.

Of course it's much easier to preach than practice, but I'm working on it. If nothing else, Buddhism is reshaping the way I view the world. Being able to recognize suffering and impermanence as part of daily life is a remarkably freeing feeling. I'm beginning to feel lighter, and it's not just because my appetite has gone the way of spinner rims and the Constitution since the surgery. The past few days I've been waking up feeling, well, good (mentally; physically my stomach is spewing up more shit than an Icelandic volcano). And the reason why is because I've been winning the battle against the most difficult opponent any of us will ever face: ourselves.

One last time I ask you to ask yourself, am I working towards living my dream?

If not, it's time to start.

Day 4: Sometimes You Just Have to Bitchslap Your Brain

Today has been an interesting day for this project, as today was the first time I've been tested by life to put what I've been learning into practice...

I can't fucking eat.

Days like today make me realize how important it is to take proper care of yourself, otherwise the mind will be the first thing to go. Eating is fundamental and when you no longer have the ability to do that, well, let's just say things get frustrating...

When I sat down to meditate today, it was impossible to get to that place. It was impossible to let the thoughts come and go and a vicious game of tug of war began in my mind. After 45 minutes of sheer frustration, I stopped trying, citing lack of sleep and horrible stomach pain as the reasons for my meditation road block. As a result, I spent much of the rest of the day wandering around aimlessly, obsessing over the pain. Thankfully, I've also been lucky enough to be distracted by something awesome today, so I've managed to keep my anger level in check. But goddamn if I don't want to smash a guitar right now...

Burning. That's the only way I can describe it, really. The pain sits right above my belly button and radiates all the way to the right side of my upper back. It's like being kicked in the balls and hit in the back with a sledgehammer at the same time. I'd rather get blown by the devil.

I've tried to find the lesson in today's pain, and as usual, it's been right in front of my face the whole time: slow down. When I let my thoughts go unchecked I have a tendency to work myself into needless anxiety and frustration. That's what happened today. Instead of recognizing that today was going to be a little bit uncomfortable, I obsessed over ways to make the pain stop. Buddhism has been telling me that everything I need is within myself, and I completely ignored that little chestnut of wisdom for most of the day. Sitting here trying to figure out what the hell happened today, it's painfully easy to see, and when I'm done writing this, I'm going to try and meditate again. There's an old saying that has sadly made it's way onto magnets sold at places like The Container Store and Barnes and Noble that goes like this: Peace does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart. Yeah, it may be a little corny, but I'll be damned if it isn't true.

Life is inconsistent, but we don't have to be. On days like today, although it might take a little more effort to "tune in", challenging ourselves to face whatever it is that is fucking with our equilibrium needs to be done. It is the only way to become unshakable during those times when everything around you seems to be falling apart. By taking the time to slow down and letting my thoughts happen organically, I am beginning to understand how incredibly beneficial (psychologically, if nothing else) prescribing to a religion can be. Sure, there are aspects of Buddhism that I find bat-shit cray (more on that later), but for sheer practicality, I know of no other religion that encourages you to rely on yourself instead of a deity as adamantly as Buddhism. Too many of us have been convinced by others that we are something we are not, and have lost faith in ourselves as a result. With Buddhism, though, the sky's the limit.

What's the Fequency, Kenneth?

Energy. When we think of energy we usually relate it to something tangible, like a stove or a light bulb. But what about the energy we cannot see? How is it created? Can we create, through positive brain waves, a law of attraction? As the book "The Secret" suggests, can it really be as simple as thinking what you want into existence?

To be honest, I have no fucking clue.

All I have to go by is my experiences, and I've felt the effects of invisible energy many, many times in my life. For those of us who are music lovers, we typically love music for precisely what I'm talking about- energy. Think of your favorite song. Chances are it's your favorite song because it makes you feel good; it elicits a positive response from your brain. You sing at the top of your lungs (when nobody is around, of course), letting yourself go, succumbing to the rhythms and melodies as your heart bursts with happiness. The song ends and you feel like you've just run a marathon, and won. That's energy.

OK so hear me out. For a while now, I've been thinking about things I don't really understand, and one of them is frequencies. There are certain frequencies associated with different things, for example, genetic biochemists use the Solfeggio frequency of 528 Hz to repair broken strands of DNA. Think about that for a moment. There are people out there manipulating DNA, the fucking blueprint of life, through sound. What?!? So, in my constant effort to "figure it all out," I've been thinking about the relationship between brain waves and the natural frequencies of the Earth. I know this is going to sound all Avatar, but I truly believe that when you see somebody doing something exceptionally well, like Tiger stepping up to the tee and knocking the piss out of the ball, they are able to do that because their energy and the Earth's energy are in harmony. Thoughts are caused by little electrical sparks. These sparks create energy. Energy emits waves. Waves can be detected as sound. The Earth is constantly spinning. Spinning produces energy. The Earth produces sound as well. Simultaneously sounded notes produce harmony, or a sound that has a pleasing effect. Is it really so hard to imagine, then, that a state of unconscious perfection (or zen) is attainable by simply figuring out your notes and syncing them with the Earth's song? That was a gay analogy, but think about it. When people say some hippie shit like "I am one with the earth", who the hell are we to say they aren't?

It's a stretch, I know. But, there is an energy that we cannot see, science has proven this. Otherwise, they wouldn't be able to call it science. Personally, I've been trying to put a lot of positive energy into the world over the past few days, and something is happening. Those fleeting moments of mindless connectedness I've been getting during meditation are beginning to happen more frequently. Usually I get so excited when I realize I'm having one of these moments (holy shit, I'm really doin' it!) that I snap myself right back into thinking about thinking. But when I can let the thoughts come and go, independent of any agenda, I can feel the hum of the Earth, and it seems to be bringing positive things to my life. I haven't been able to make it last longer than a few seconds yet, but the clarity and calm I feel as a result of these close encounters of the zen kind is, in a world, exhilarating.

Something's going on, I can feel it...and thankfully I no longer have to look for the answer as to what that "something" is. It's energy.

Day 2: Go Out Back and Get Dinner

I was outside on my back porch smoking a cigarette breaking Buddhist commandments numbers 1 and 5, when I noticed a fishing pole stuck in the ground by the banks of the lake...this got me thinking...

...i can't fish for shit..i do love fly fishing though...Christians fish...are you kiddin' me, Christians fished like a motherfucker!...they even had that symbol...i wonder if Buddhists fish...they must fish, what with all the caves and nature and streams and shit they meditate by...i know Buddhists are supposed to be vegetarians, so it's probably more of a catch-and-release type of situation...but then how would anybody ever know they caught anything?...i bet Buddhist fishing stories are crazy, "that damn fish was so big it almost didn't exist!"...maybe that's more existentialist than Buddhist...

Then my neighbor walks down to one of the fishing poles, pulls it out of the ground, reels it up and blammo: dinner. He unhooks his catch, drops the pole, and casually walks back towards his porch, fish flopping in hand. I'm all for fresh, the best sushi I ever had was some tuna plucked straight out of the pacific and into my belly in only a matter of minutes, but something about watching my neighbor left me feeling off. I don't know, maybe it's all the Buddhist stuff I've been reading; it's definitely prompted question after question. I've done the veggie thing before and I didn't really feel a difference. Frankly, I just don't care enough about animal rights and burgers taste good. It's hard for me to argue with myself with that logic...

But, Buddhism is challenging me in many ways I did not anticipate. For some reason, I thought this was going to be easy. As usual, I was wrong.

Day 1: What the Dukkha?

It's been my experience that when I need to quit something, the best way to go about doing it is to go cold turkey. Otherwise, I will never stop. The same holds true for when I go through one of my highly motivated phases and my head fills with ideas and projects and goals. If I don't throw myself immediately into whatever it is I want to start doing, I simply will never start.

This morning is a prime example. Last night I drew up a schedule for myself detailing my daily activities during my 21 days as a Buddhist. Today, being day numero uno, I had slated myself for a 6 a.m. wake up call. Then, it was 7 a.m. Then 8 a.m. I finally rolled my lazy, undisciplined ass out of bed at 8:52 a.m., which I never like because when I do things right, I have already made a french press and have a cup of coffee in hand before Regis and Kelly start at 9 a.m. Those are the good days. If I wake up later than I intended to I feel like I'm running late the rest of the day. Plus, the mental ramifications of not sticking to my plans make me feel uncomfortable and tense. I slacked this morning, and paid the price. Although I didn't have to work until 11 a.m., I left myself no time to accomplish anything I wanted to. Needless to say, I set myself up for a mediocre day all for a few more selfish hours of sleep.

I did read though. I started reading "The Heart of the Buddha's Teaching" by Thich Nhat Hanh, and have slowly started to realize that everything I thought I knew about Buddhism was wrong. First of all, there is no "bible" for Buddhism. There are records of different discussions and ideas, but there is no single book that claims to have the way. When Siddartha Gautama left his wife and children at the age of 29, he had one goal in mind: figure out how to end suffering. He spent six years traveling and studying with many different teachers. One day he sat down to meditate at the base of the bodhi tree and vowed not to stand up until he was enlightened. Shortly before morning, Siddartha had a profound breakthrough and became a Buddha filled with compassion and love. He spent the next 49 days enjoying his new found peace until he finally made his way back to civilization to share what he had learned.

That's it. Granted, I'm paraphrasing, but that's the story. No virgins, no wise men, no north stars, no immaculate conceptions, no lambs; just a guy sitting under a tree. And that's the beauty of Buddhism, it's not necessarily a religion per se, but a state of mind. Each and every one of us is capable of attaining enlightenment and becoming a Buddha. Buddhism is a state of mind, the perfect state of mind, where our minds and bodies are completely in sync and 100 percent present in the here and now. We have all experienced this at some point in our lives, that moment when "it all comes together," especially for those of us who played sports or musical instruments. There have been moments of synchronicity for me when skiing, moments when my mind and body are so perfectly in tune with my equipment and terrain that thinking dissolves into doing; the two become one. Those moments can shake you to your very core. It's exhilarating to possess that much energy; the only reason it ever goes away is because most of us have not yet developed the ability to manage such an overwhelming force. This comes through meditation, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The substance of Buddhism comes from Buddha's Four Noble Truths. These are:

1. Suffering (Dukkha) - All of us experience some sort of discomfort (suffering) in our minds and bodies. Buddhism encourages us to recognize and acknowledge the presence of our suffering; touch the suffering.

2. Origins of Suffering (Samudaya) - The origin, roots, nature, creation, or arising of suffering. After we recognize and touch our suffering, we must look deeply into it to see how our suffering came to be. We pinpoint the spiritual and material things we have consumed that are causing us to suffer.

3. Cessation of Creating Suffering (Nirodha) - We must refrain from doing the things that make us suffer. Healing becomes possible.

4. The Path (Marga) - This is the path, or direction that leads to refraining from doing the things that cause us to suffer.

Today I've been thinking about the first of these Four Noble Truths, suffering. We all suffer. Any time the mind and body feel a sense of unease we are suffering. I didn't stick to the schedule I had made for myself and I've felt like shit all day- this is a form of suffering. Certainly it's not the same as the suffering caused by, say, zipping your balls up in your zipper, but it is suffering nonetheless. Buddhism teaches us that although impermanence is guaranteed, suffering is optional. Hell, the whole reason I started this exercise was to find a way to alleviate suffering. It perplexes me, it really does. So many of us walk around with attitudes of righteousness, yet live lives of quiet desperation, like Thoreau said. If the underbelly of life were exposed, all of humanity would see that everybody is afraid. We are afraid of death, we are afraid of divorce, we are afraid we'll lose our jobs, our cars, our houses, our identities- all of us are afraid of losing something. And for me, the saddest part of that is the truth. Yes. Slowly, we are losing everything. Nothing is permanent and everything changes. But, as Buddhism tells us, we can choose not to suffer.

That's a shitload to take in all in one day. Everything has a duality. Birth and Death. Marriage and Divorce. Peace and War. Turkey and Tofurkey. OK so maybe not that last one, but what I'm trying to say is that even though everything is essentially suffering, we could not experience joy without it. My head hurts, it's almost midnight, and I can already hear my rigorous self-imposed schedule laughing at me tomorrow morning. Suffering. Dukkha. I think I'm beginning to understand...

New Project: 21 Days as a Buddhist: Enlightenment Now!

Alright so here's the idea for the next project...

Under the presumption that it takes 21 days to form a habit, I will explore the benefits, if any, that come from incorporating Buddhism as a spiritual and psychological tool in everyday life.

Sound lame?

Well here is a teaser of the plethora of fun that is to come:

The Ten Commandments of Buddhism:

1. Do not destroy life
2. Do not take what is not given to you
3. Do not commit adultery
4. Tell no lies and deceive no one
5. Do not become intoxicated
6. Eat temperately and not at all in the afternoons
7. Do not watch dancing, nor listen to singing or plays
8. Wear no garlands, perfumes, or adornments
9. Sleep not in luxurious beds
10. Accept no gold or silver

I know, right? I thought Buddhism was the cool, hip religion, but after reading this list, clearly they forgot number 11: no fun.

Stay tuned for more in what will be an undoubtedly imperfect journey into the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Path, Karma, Dharma, Shmarma, and Buddha only knows what else.

Now, I wonder if a sleeping pad counts as a luxurious bed...

In Between the Lines

Im lost.
I would ask for directions, but nobody knows how to get to where I want to go.
The other day I caught my reflection in the window of a store and it frightened me;
for a moment, I thought I was being followed.
It's a terrible thing, to exist together and alone.

I turn every corner with my head down,
but keep my eyes open just in case.
Sometimes I can feel it again,
I hold my breath, afraid to blink,
eyes watering from the burn of the air,
but everything I see
looks like it's missing something.

My head fills with the thoughts and advice of men who did extraordinary things,
and doubt.
The snarling voice of comparison and hindsight
hacks away at what's left
of hopeful ideas and endless possibility.

Everything takes so much time and nothing ever gives it back.
Just lesson after lesson,
forming a chronological line of what could've been,
in preparation of having to answer to
the most terrifying thought of all.

But there's no shame in effort,
or being there and doing that,
facing shame and consequence,
overcoming risk and rationality,
and jumping into the fire.