Day 290

7PM:

DO NOT LOOK AT THIS AGAIN!!!

Now that that is over with…

While it is true that my comments about Summer Reading are stuck in time, static and representative of the me in that moment, it is important to express how they impact me now.  Otherwise, and this would be a correction to yesterday, the commentary becomes meaningless, the writings become meaningless if I never comment.  And then I’m just one of those self-important douche-bags who start to bemoan the art (or make sound installations that make no noise…).

As such, I will reiterate – DO NOT LOOK AT THIS AGAIN, and in doing so, the words will always represent trueness and possibility.


So, the rest of the story is a dystopian mess, but Ursula K. LeGuin’s short story “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” has a point here:

Joyous! How is one to tell about joy? How describe the citizens of Omelas?
They were not simple folk, you see, though they were happy. … They were not less complex than us. The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can’t lick ’em, join ’em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make any celebration of joy.

There is nobility in being strong, in not falling down.  However, there is nobility in peace, in quiet, in calm, in Tz’u.  There is no nobility, no honour in exhaustion, martyrdom that leaves you without power or capability to continue being a good person, being a Don.  There is no nobility in destruction and the dead tell no tales.  The dead get one celebration; the living celebrate every day they are grateful and appreciative.

And in the “weirdest finds” category (kind of like the one workable item in an otherwise crap-tastic antique shop), we have Tracy Hickman’s Wayne of Gotham:

“Gotham balances on the edge of an abyss, and I alone feel the weight of holding it precariously there.  What kind of a life is that?”

“An important life,” Alfred urged.  “A necessary life.  A life given so that others might live theirs.”

I’m the guardian.  Who guards the guardian? (220)

Doesn’t Wayne’s life suck as a result?  He is stuck being for the world, not of it, and as such, loses pieces of his care, of his potential, of his power of Tz’u.  If you care about the concept of people more than people themselves, losing sight of people, then disconnection is imminent, cynicism is resolved to and a life of lovelessness is guaranteed.

While not as good as his first novel (The Imperfectionists), Tom Rachman’s The Rise and Fall of Great Powers does include some truisms that we would be stupid to neglect:

According to the world, capitalism had won [the Cold War], but Humphrey called it a tie at best.  He couldn’t see capitalism lasting.  What was the point of any system, he asked, if it only encouraged the worst in humanity, elevating self-interest to a virtue? (61)

In the same vein as Batman, it is not a life of Tz’u, a life of love — fuck that, it is not a LIFE to neglect care and ignore Intentional Acts of Niceness in the way or system in which you live (that’s why veganism suits me fine).

Family meant nothing more than did random names in a telephone directory.  The relations that counted were those of choice, which made friendship the supreme bond, one that either party could sever, and all the more valuable for its precariousness. (73)

It is not a LIFE to take the quality of bonds for granted and not be intentional or aware of that precariousness, thereby taking the people for granted.

Her only unease was a hovering sense of responsibility – that she ought to be looking after someone.  But there was no one anymore, just herself, which seemed so frivolous. (371)

It is not a LIFE to live without people-purpose, to live without love.

She resolved to blunt her flintier side, not to assume that she understood people entirely, and to accept that to be surprised or disappointed or even betrayed was not a catastrophe.  It could be a revelation to learn that you were wrong (372).

It is not a LIFE to lose the humanity in you, in the way you live, by trying to predict perfectly, to control wholly, to try to out-think the universe, to allow your head to dictate your nature (a la Tao of Pooh).  Give the universe its due, it has been around much longer than you.

At the beginning of this literary trek, the world lost a legend, Maya Angelou.  No books of her’s were read, but her words are loudest:

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Intentional Acts of Niceness = focus on the people, not the act; focus on what is meaningful to them, on how it will make them feel; love people the way that you can, but as much in the way that they will receive it.

“You may not control all of the events that happen to you but you can decide not to be reduced by them.”

Gratitude and Appreciation = “what’s one good thing about your day?” — looking at the best of the world, as opposed to the worst; there will be shit thrown at you, but you can decide to cry or make mudpies – I will make mudpies!

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

Writing has helped me immensely.  Putting a stopper in myself, keeping it inside, also keeps the blackness in, keeps its torment and its toxicity and its absolute power over emotion.  Writing this down, connecting with other writers, communicating with my wife, talking to my support system (when I could), these things released pieces of the blackness that held onto my silence.  I try to ensure that my students have the same ability to share, the same ability to release pieces of their blackness with a safe space, an ever-present ear and a kind word.

“One isn’t necessarily born with courage, but one is born with potential. Without courage, we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency. We can’t be kind, true, merciful, generous, or honest.”

It is interesting how the wisest words often are shared by the wisest ones.  While different and generationally distant, Taoism, Winnie the Pooh (Benjamin Hoff) and Maya Angelou all believe in Tz’u.  They all believe that care, kindness, truth, generosity, honesty and goodness, that these things all start with being courageous, with being able to manifest the first step, and then the second step, and then the third.  By doing courageously – which sometimes means doing without knowing the outcome, which probably means falling down and getting back up, and which definitely means being frightened and not having that stop you – that potential for care becomes limitless, infinite.

“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.”

Love conquers all.

Day 289

7PM:

The commentary will stay in my head, because after yesterday’s post, I know that if I comment, that the comment is static, is a stop.  Without comment, the commentary will sound different each time I read these.  The commentary becomes infinite, is never limited, always has possibility.

As promised…

So, the rest of the story is a dystopian mess, but Ursula K. LeGuin’s short story “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” has a point here:

Joyous! How is one to tell about joy? How describe the citizens of Omelas?
They were not simple folk, you see, though they were happy. … They were not less complex than us. The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can’t lick ’em, join ’em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make any celebration of joy.

And in the “weirdest finds” category (kind of like the one workable item in an otherwise crap-tastic antique shop), we have Tracy Hickman’s Wayne of Gotham:

“Gotham balances on the edge of an abyss, and I alone feel the weight of holding it precariously there.  What kind of a life is that?”

“An important life,” Alfred urged.  “A necessary life.  A life given so that others might live theirs.”

I’m the guardian.  Who guards the guardian? (220)

While not as good as his first novel (The Imperfectionists), Tom Rachman’s The Rise and Fall of Great Powers does include some truisms that we would be stupid to neglect:

According to the world, capitalism had won [the Cold War], but Humphrey called it a tie at best.  He couldn’t see capitalism lasting.  What was the point of any system, he asked, if it only encouraged the worst in humanity, elevating self-interest to a virtue? (61)

Family meant nothing more than did random names in a telephone directory.  The relations that counted were those of choice, which made friendship the supreme bond, one that either party could sever, and all the more valuable for its precariousness. (73)

Her only unease was a hovering sense of responsibility – that she ought to be looking after someone.  But there was no one anymore, just herself, which seemed so frivolous. (371)

She resolved to blunt her flintier side, not to assume that she understood people entirely, and to accept that to be surprised or disappointed or even betrayed was not a catastrophe.  It could be a revelation to learn that you were wrong (372).

At the beginning of this literary trek, the world lost a legend, Maya Angelou.  No books of her’s were read, but her words are loudest:

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

“You may not control all of the events that happen to you but you can decide not to be reduced by them.”

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

 “One isn’t necessarily born with courage, but one is born with potential. Without courage, we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency. We can’t be kind, true, merciful, generous, or honest.”

“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.”

Day 288

8PM:

What we encounter, they leave impressions, marks.

For the last four months, I have been doing a book “competition” – it started as something else, but mutated into a self-care challenge, something that kept me doing something without doing something.  I have shown these marks, these impressions, in different posts since May.  Some of these marks have left cuts, speaking to the demon, the blackness inside of me.  Some of these marks have helped exorcise some of those demons.  And some of them are yet to be determined.

These impressions are only as important as my impression of them.  I listened to the words, heard what I wanted to hear depending on how I was feeling at that time.  Depending on what order in which I read them, the impressions would have been dramatically different, could have changed.  The marks look different depending on what I was ready to get from the words at that particular moment in time.  As Tom Rachman wrote in The Rise and Fall of Great Powers: “Tooly avoided talking to Noeline about him, dwelling instead on what linked them: books.  They had read hundreds of the same works, yet in a completely different way.  Tooly took a book as the creation of one particular brain, while Noeline viewed text as context, each work the fruit of its times, sown by manifestos, fertilized by historical events, harvested in orchards that petered out, burst forth again, producing a landscape known as the Culture.  Such classification, Tooly argued, wrecked a work – akin to seeking the soul of a girl by dissecting her body” (160).

The impact of such works, of such words, are just as much about us as they are of what happens around the works.  Neither one took into account the reader, the one who ultimately takes the words off of the page, digests them in their synapses and uses those articles to speak to the inner workings of their soul.

This weekend marks the end of my four-month Summer Book Challenge.  This weekend will allow a peering in to how some of the works I have read – that my ME has collected – have spoken and been heard by the inner workings of my soul.

Are you ready?

Day 287

8PM:

There is evidence to this, but not pointing to a conclusion I had ever drawn.  It took my mother in law, who can go from naive to innocent, from blind to brilliant in a split second.  It took her to draw the conclusion.

“Family is important to you”

She sees that.  One of such kindness and innocence, of beautiful insight and clear mind sees what I do, sees how I take care courageously, how I am.  She sees these things and concludes, that I am a family man.  She sees that I take care of those I love.  She sees the love transferring into attention, attentiveness, care, compassion, strength.

She said it out loud, in no words and in all the ones that mattered: Don.

Day 286

4PM:

Why I am so strong through it all, or at least, why I try to be.  Why I try to be strong through her rage, her blackness-opened doors of poisonous anger, toxicity that takes away the eyes I love so dearly.  Eyes that even when taken for a split second, can make a moment into eternity.

There is motivation to be by my wife’s side through her struggle, her recovery.  This motivation was written long ago, at a time when writing was not this.  But maybe it was, because that writing was still an expression of feelings I couldn’t yet verbalize, ones that had to process.  But this first piece of writing was simply about that motivation, about that love:

“There isn’t much in this world of which I am certain.  The sun rises, the day ends, the stars shine — that’s about it … until I fell in love with her.  We came into each other’s lives and turned them upside down.  Everything I thought I knew about myself and my capacity to feel emotion were completely up-ended.  She made my entire life paradigm make no sense one minute and make total sense the next.  Tomorrow became yesterday, night became day, and time never mattered again … not when she is in my life.”

Day 285

5:30PM:

Finding value in others, in the challenge of strength training or marathon training; helping a friend; being there for my family, my adopted mother; holding on through the appearance of spousal blackness (coming closer and closer to getting ahead of it, but taking a whipping in the meantime – but more on that another day).

They have the ability to distract myself from, take myself away from the way I look, that ever-obsessive part of me.

Distracting the blackness?  Probably.  Crisis mode?  Definitely.

The only problem with crisis mode is that if I stay in it too long, it will take away the parts of me that are loved.  They will take me from the Don to the automaton.  From inside the world to outside, from of the people to for the people, but not with the people.

I have seen that before, and it is ever-the-more precarious given my increased responsibility at work, at home, with my potential Masters, in the family, in my head.

I am scared that no one will be there.  I am afraid there will be a repeat performance.  I want more than anything to have more than just my beliefs, my faiths that it won’t be like that.

But it only takes once.  It only takes one reinforcement of that belief, one glorious gloriousness to break through.  Getting ahead of the blackness takes practice.  In this case, practice makes perfect(ly imperfect).

Day 284

7AM:

I received an excellent gift yesterday: time.

I felt the oddest slowness throughout the day, one that left me bored at times and in a state of waiting at others.  Until…

I don’t know exactly how my mindset changed.  I just know that it did, because it was a decision, actually.  Not one of necessity, one attributed to the universe, but one of me.  I chose to use the longest day.  I chose to not drink it away.  I chose to finish reading my book and clean the entire house and get ourselves prepared for my mother-in-law’s surgery, giving us the chance to hold that exclusive in our hearts and minds by ensuring the house was a no-thought.

We have the power to move forward, to accomplish greatness, to be strong and smile and say “fuck you” to our blackest thoughts.  I broke the two-a-day rule, but I broke it, not the blackness.

Day 283

5:45PM:

Choosing Raw and Greatist do a “Links of the Week,” so I figured, what the hell… let’s co-opt the idea!

1. The ever-intelligent and inspirational Neghar Fonooni turned me on to this little ditty: “Byron Katie, author of Loving What Is says about [self-deprecating] thoughts: ‘A thought is harmless unless we believe it.  It’s not our thoughts, but our attachment to our thoughts, that causes suffering.  Attaching to a thought means believing that it’s true, without inquiring.  A belief is a thought that we’ve been attaching to, often for years.’ … Tell yourself something enough times and it will become true for you, no matter how far off it is from reality.”

The way that my wife feels about herself sometimes, her self-worth, her self-image, her direction, these are far off from reality.  These are far off from reality because the blackness took hold of them and made her believe they were true, without inquiring.  For me, the lack of stomach definition is a trigger, and may actually be a figment of my imagination.  However, if I continue to believe that it defines me, that it is anywhere near as important as valuing myself or being a capable Don, then I have given it to the blackness, given these thoughts to it to be malevolently twisted into flaws.  Instead, treating ourselves compassionately, telling ourselves that “our weaknesses are not the blackness’ anymore,” telling ourselves that “I value myself,” these will allow us to reclaim healthy thoughts from the blackest pits of neglect.

2. http://greatist.com/play/blood-sugar-hunger-anger-relationships

How many arguments between my wife and I, my parents, their parents, their (you get my drift), has been caused simply by hunger?  I do not want to not understand my hunger.  I do not want to be able to blame not recognizing my hunger at a 6 as the reason for a fight.  It is why I ate lunch yesterday, because I need to know.  Not that I need to be in control or that I shouldn’t let myself get hungry, but because I want to be a strong, loving and respectful person – none of which can happen with overwhelming hunger, not the least of which because it gives the blackness traction and a willing ear to hear its screams.

3. I like the “defining” part:

http://www.stuff.co.nz/life-style/wellbeing/10403767/Confessions-of-a-vegan

Day 282

7PM:

I have had Workout Friend’s voice in head, especially after Wednesday’s post and particularly after the recent Don-ish musings.  If I am not waiting, even if I am and it is temporary, as the new Don of Tz’u, it means being invincible.  Scratch that…

The Don is not invincible.  The Don is not Superman.  These are illusions, but illusions that are part of the role.  The Don appears stone-faced, steadfast, without doubt or vulnerability, because it is from this that others gain strength and trust and security.

Truth is, the Don just makes decisions, uses supports and blackness-weakening tools, chooses to live so that this perception is possible.  For me, that means doing things and accessing supports that will allow me to be a better teacher, a better student, a better husband, a better son, a better employee, a better rock.  Better able to deal with family drama, with my mother-in-law’s impending surgery, with my wife’s thoughts about changing jobs or at least changing the make-up of her current one, even through the job I will face come September, the Masters for which I have gone all in, the house to keep mortgaging along.

That means taking it slow for a few days, recovering.  That means setting the stage so that physical rest can be restful, because physical rest is not restful if my mental health is unhealthy, is weak, is screaming the sirens’ song of the blackness.  Perhaps that means shifting meal-conception to allow for more regularity, more regular blood sugar and blackness-weakening strength spread throughout the day.  I tried varying the times and number of meals per day (trying to act on my natural hunger cues), but ended up eating certain amounts and not spreading it out.

Therefore, perhaps to be a more capable Don, I need to vary the amounts, but make the times more certain, more definite: eat too much at breakfast, eat a light lunch; not feeling hungry at dinner, eat something small.  This will also ensure that I am not drinking to gather up much needed calories (and suffering the aforementioned consequences).  Instead, allow my body to tell me the truth, provide the colour, but within the lines of breakfast-lunch-dinner regularity, and by doing so, finding vividness, strength against the demons inside, rest and peace, the appearance of being superhuman.

Day 281

7:45PM:

It was dark, cloudy; the impending night threatened to dawn.

And then, the final intensity of sunlight for the day reflected against everything it touched.  Although it was its last, it was its most glorious.  The glamorous palette and shimmer multiplied exponentially – giving credence to “the sun will rise again.”  Even after the darkest night, the last sunlight of today stands steadfast as tomorrow’s hope.