“Fish or cut bait.”
“Stop whining.”
“If you don’t like your situation, do something to change it.”
“Cut the pissing and moaning.”
“Why don’t you count the blessings you have instead of moping about what’s missing?”
Sometimes we need a swift kick in the ass to get us moving again, to look at the white walls and decide that they don’t need to stay white forever. The sides of this rut are smooth and high, but there’s someone topside throwing a rope down, and tying the end around a thick oak tree. Take hold of the rope and pull yourself out, man. One hand over the other, left, right, left, inch by inch until you can see the light of morning again.
For the first few minutes after climbing out of the trench you dug you’ll probably stumble around some. Don’t worry, that’s normal. It takes a while to get your legs under you again. Stand up straight, reach for the sky. Decide then and there to suck it up and create the conditions you imagine. Suck the cool dawn air into your lungs and get started. Take a step, then another, it doesn’t take much courage and it gets easier the more you do it.
If you can’t believe in anything else, at least believe in the power of renewal. You can break any physical habit or turn of mind if you focus on it while you’re doing it. When Buddha was sitting under his tree, with that serene smile on his face, he wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, nor was a dialogue raging in his head. No, man, Buddha was controlling his mind, patting his thoughts on the head and sending them to bed. If you want peace, you’ve got to get quiet inside so you can hear the calm, compassionate voice of your higher self, rather than the incessant braying of your lower self. Think of it this way: the lower self is like Bill O’Reilly; the higher self is like Thich Nhat Hahn.
Humans can explore outer space and dive to the bottom of the sea, but the greatest mystery is still the self.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Sunday, August 14, 2005
An August Update
Time is racing. This is a fast-paced age of electronic devices, smart automobiles, wireless signals; the airwaves crackle with information; teens send text messages to friends sitting two feet away; phones moonlight as cameras and video recorders, game stations. We beat boredom over the head with our electronic clubs. We obliterate silence. So busy without, we no longer recognize the quiet voice within. We become strangers to ourselves.
Well, that's some heavy, depressing stuff for a Sunday morning, with a thick marine layer hanging over Fat City. I have not posted on this blog for some time, but with Summer quickly slipping past I thought I should write something and zap it into the electronic universe.
Gabriel, my dear son, spent the first few weeks of his summer vacation in theatre camp -- Santa Barbara Summer Stock -- and did two performances of the Sign of the Seahorse. He learned his lines well and delivered them clearly and in character. Since camp ended, Gabriel has been hanging out with his Nana & Tata, drawing, watching movies, doing some 4th grade level math to keep his brain sharp. The breathing issues he had for most of the last school year have vanished.
Miranda, dear daughter, just completed her first ever camp experience at the Santa Barbara Zoo. Considering that she has never been in an organized nursery school or preschool setting, she did great, trotting off with her fellow campers and counselors as if leaving Mom and Dad was no big sweat. Miranda still pitches wicked tantrums, though she's slowly learning that screaming and stamping her feet do not persuade us to give in.
Terry, dear wife, is the consumate mother, still working part-time at Magellan's Travel, then shifting gears to take charge of the kids in the afternoon. What she does is amazing, and the kids reflect her effort and devotion. There is no gig as challenging as the parent gig; it's constant, every minute, all-consuming.
I was in Las Vegas the first week of this month, serving as a delegate to the California School Employees Association annual conference. I'm not a Vegas person and six days there -- even staying at the comfortable Paris hotel -- was more Vegas than I could handle. I read somewhere that Vegas is the American city that most accurately reflects our society at this time, just as New York and Chicago reflected where we were in the past. Vegas is a city built on vice, a shimmering illusion in the desert, with pyramids and pirate ships, gondolas and knights. Over the past two decades, no city in the nation has grown as fast or as steadily as Vegas. The city is a money machine, churning day and night; visitors pour into the city by car and plane -- they come from California and Manilla, Arizona and Denmark. Strolling through the Paris casino I saw people sitting transfixed before slot machines. It was the same at Bally's and Treasure Island, lights and noise demanding attention and cash.
I spent most of my free evenings in my room, reading Naked, a very funny book by David Sedaris. I had a couple of workouts in the hotel "spa," paying $25 for the privilege.
The CSEA conference passed smoothly, with the election and installation of new state officers, and a lot of discussion of the political challenges facing working Californians in this November's special election. Our celebrity governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger, has shown no inclination or interest in legislative horse-trading, preferring instead to take his causes directly to "the people" in the form of ballot initiatives. Unfortunately, none of the initiatives address the fundamental, structural problems facing the state, like traffic congestion, illegal immigration, education funding, or the legacy of Prop 13.
It will be a busy fall for all union activists as we work to defeat the governor at the polls, and hopefully send him back to Hollywood. We will be out walking precincts, phone-banking, and talking to fellow members at our work sites. A lot of people are still unclear about the special election or the measures that will appear on the ballot.
Well, that's the quick and dirty. My beloved, high-priced New York Yankees are playing decent baseball but still find themselves 5 games behind Boston in the AL East, and a few games out of the wild card chase. New York has suffered all season from a lack of pitching talent and depth. Randy Johnson has showed his age, Carl Pavano and Jared Wright have spent time on the DL, and Kevin Brown has been injured, as always, and ineffective. The middle relief corps is shaky, at best.
Well, that's some heavy, depressing stuff for a Sunday morning, with a thick marine layer hanging over Fat City. I have not posted on this blog for some time, but with Summer quickly slipping past I thought I should write something and zap it into the electronic universe.
Gabriel, my dear son, spent the first few weeks of his summer vacation in theatre camp -- Santa Barbara Summer Stock -- and did two performances of the Sign of the Seahorse. He learned his lines well and delivered them clearly and in character. Since camp ended, Gabriel has been hanging out with his Nana & Tata, drawing, watching movies, doing some 4th grade level math to keep his brain sharp. The breathing issues he had for most of the last school year have vanished.
Miranda, dear daughter, just completed her first ever camp experience at the Santa Barbara Zoo. Considering that she has never been in an organized nursery school or preschool setting, she did great, trotting off with her fellow campers and counselors as if leaving Mom and Dad was no big sweat. Miranda still pitches wicked tantrums, though she's slowly learning that screaming and stamping her feet do not persuade us to give in.
Terry, dear wife, is the consumate mother, still working part-time at Magellan's Travel, then shifting gears to take charge of the kids in the afternoon. What she does is amazing, and the kids reflect her effort and devotion. There is no gig as challenging as the parent gig; it's constant, every minute, all-consuming.
I was in Las Vegas the first week of this month, serving as a delegate to the California School Employees Association annual conference. I'm not a Vegas person and six days there -- even staying at the comfortable Paris hotel -- was more Vegas than I could handle. I read somewhere that Vegas is the American city that most accurately reflects our society at this time, just as New York and Chicago reflected where we were in the past. Vegas is a city built on vice, a shimmering illusion in the desert, with pyramids and pirate ships, gondolas and knights. Over the past two decades, no city in the nation has grown as fast or as steadily as Vegas. The city is a money machine, churning day and night; visitors pour into the city by car and plane -- they come from California and Manilla, Arizona and Denmark. Strolling through the Paris casino I saw people sitting transfixed before slot machines. It was the same at Bally's and Treasure Island, lights and noise demanding attention and cash.
I spent most of my free evenings in my room, reading Naked, a very funny book by David Sedaris. I had a couple of workouts in the hotel "spa," paying $25 for the privilege.
The CSEA conference passed smoothly, with the election and installation of new state officers, and a lot of discussion of the political challenges facing working Californians in this November's special election. Our celebrity governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger, has shown no inclination or interest in legislative horse-trading, preferring instead to take his causes directly to "the people" in the form of ballot initiatives. Unfortunately, none of the initiatives address the fundamental, structural problems facing the state, like traffic congestion, illegal immigration, education funding, or the legacy of Prop 13.
It will be a busy fall for all union activists as we work to defeat the governor at the polls, and hopefully send him back to Hollywood. We will be out walking precincts, phone-banking, and talking to fellow members at our work sites. A lot of people are still unclear about the special election or the measures that will appear on the ballot.
Well, that's the quick and dirty. My beloved, high-priced New York Yankees are playing decent baseball but still find themselves 5 games behind Boston in the AL East, and a few games out of the wild card chase. New York has suffered all season from a lack of pitching talent and depth. Randy Johnson has showed his age, Carl Pavano and Jared Wright have spent time on the DL, and Kevin Brown has been injured, as always, and ineffective. The middle relief corps is shaky, at best.
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