Alleged Gravitas

TRAGIC HANDS

2012-02-17T21:24:00.000-05:00

It's a mid-February day here in Louisville, Kentucky, that seems more suited for mid-April. In other words it's way too warm for this time of year. Maybe the earth is trying to break a few laws of physics just to keep us all guessing. Or perhaps time, on some level, is actually accelerating. At this point in my life, being north of fifty, the archives of perception I possess may have no choice but to compress the several decades I have stored in my memory, making it appear that a yearly passage of time would be shorter until the last day of the last month of the last year I carry around this dilapidated mess of bones, time, along with me, either ceases to exist, or becomes something else.

On a sunny mid-winter day my awareness of mortality for the speck of time I'm here carries a past of friendships, places, people, circumstances and aspirations that have all withered and exist only in faded memory.

I really don't have that many memories in common with a lot of people. The list of those I may share experiences with gets shorter as I get older. In most cases those experiences are uniquely my own and that awareness provokes an incredible feeling of immensity and loneliness. It's hard to articulate, but some people have been gifted enough to get that particular feeling on paper. Hopefully I'll be able to find the words, the bones, that adequately communicate some kind of resonance, but until then, the above video of Jack Kerouac, reading on the Steve Allen Show during the year I was born, gives that feeling of immensity, luminosity and loneliness a beautiful, and timeless, voice...

THE END OF THE WORLD

2012-01-14T22:14:00.000-05:00

In case you’ve been sleeping under a Mayan temple, I should remind you that it’s now officially 2012 and R.E.M. is no longer around to belt out the theme song. There’s no turning back the clock to the good old days of Harold Camping’s Bible thumping about the rapture – or any other doomsday scenario that keeps cropping up only to pass with little or no fanfare.

The belief that 2012 is the year of the apocalypse comes from an interpretation of the Mesoamerican Mayan calendar made by Mayan scholar Michael Coe. In 1966, Coe felt that a particular “cycle” of the calendar would end on December 21, 2012, at which point Armageddon would ensue. I’m not sure what kind of logic Coe used to arrive at this conclusion, but since then his theory has been gathering steam as a number of other theoretical embellishments have been added to it, such as magnetic pole reversals, the earth being sucked into a black hole, or the earth colliding with a planet called “Nibiru.”

I’m in no position to argue with Mr. Coe, but I have to add his name to an ever-growing list of self-proclaimed prophets who have been citing inside information about the apocalypse since I was in high school. Back then, everyone was buzzing about Hal Lindsey’s book “The Late Great Planet Earth,” and pulling out the New Testament to compare notes. When I got to college a friend of mine listened to the album “Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars,” while under the influence of a powerful hallucinogenic drug, and became convinced that David Bowie was the second coming of Christ who was going to descend to the earth in a UFO and take all the Nice People to Bowie World. This made total sense to a lot of my friends, who immediately bought the album and memorized the lyrics as if they were scripture.

(Image: Fernando Marfa)

Yes, those were the good old days of doomsday-speak. Since then, it seems that every few days someone else is banging the drum slowly about the hammer coming down, and I’m always amazed that they have at least a few people who believe their message is genuine.

I imagine that someday there may be a real day of reckoning, but in the meantime I’ve got things to do – like pay bills, show up for work and live my life. What concerns me is why so many people would think so little of themselves and the gift of being alive that they would evade personal responsibility by grasping at even a hint of Deus ex Machina.

I realize that 2012 has been tied to a lot of positive possibilities for mankind that have nothing to do with the final thunder. But the few hard-core believers who are counting on a supremely catastrophic event will be supremely disappointed on the day after, when they find that civilization is still here despite their hopes and dreams for it all to be over. It kind of reminds me of that old Rodney Dangerfield joke: “When I was born, the doctor came out to the waiting room and said to my father, ‘I’m very sorry. We did everything we could, but he still pulled through.’”

Recently published at The Highlander Online.

VISIONS OF JOHANNA

2011-11-01T21:05:00.000-04:00

A TALK BY MARC GAFNI FROM "TED."

2011-06-18T22:00:00.000-04:00

I've been contemplating exactly the nature and definition of what is loosely called "enlightenment." I've taken in a lot of information but for the meantime, here's a video by Rabbi Marc Gafni, a very dynamic and engaging spiritual teacher.

IN RESPONSE TO THE PSEUDO-MANIFESTATION OF MAY 21

2011-05-19T20:23:00.026-04:00

LIKE NEON

"Life was filled with guns and wars,
Everyone got trampled on the floor,
I wish we'd all been ready..."*

In the Seventies
Church was the drug culture

Jesus People
Jesus Freaks
Talking in our own hip dialect
Saying things like
"Jesus, the ultimate trip"

We greeted each other with an extended forefinger skyward
We justified our existence
By talking about the end of the world
Pointing to Matthew Chapter Twenty Four
Daniel Chapter Nine
Ezekiel Chapters Thirty Eight and Thirty Nine
And a UN resolution
That formed Israel in 1948

"Two men coming up a hill
One disappears
And one left standing still,
I wish we'd all been ready...”

We talked about The Rapture
Like it was insider information
Those of us in the loop
Would rise into the air
Kick back
And watch The Great Tribulation
Like it was Monday Night Football

One day I read a Parallel Bible
Four translations
Column by column
First Corinthians
Chapter Thirteen

"If I have prophetic powers..."
"I may have the power of prophecy..."
"And comprehend all mysteries..."
"The knowledge of every hidden truth..."

The words glowing and humming
Like neon tongues
Leaping off the page
In four languages

"The sun will be turned to darkness
And the moon to blood
Before the coming of the great and glorious
Day of the Lord..."

This was the time when Jesus was a drug
We would tie off
For Pentecost
We were chosen
To ascend to God's Right Hand
And have His Revenge

"There's no time to wonder why,
The Son has come,
And you've been left behind,
And you've been left behind..."

*I Wish We’d All Been Ready words and music by
Larry Norman ©1969
Beechwood Music Association/J.C. Love Publishing

ALL TOGETHER NOW!

2011-04-27T00:39:00.000-04:00

This video makes me VERY happy!

KITTY MOJO

2011-03-19T11:18:00.000-04:00

Just when I think I’ve got this planet figured out, some kind of unforeseen circumstance happens to totally destroy whatever paradigms I’ve constructed in a vain attempt to understand reality. I work very hard to get myself aligned to the “flow” of the universe, but all too often I need a little support get me into that vibratory resonance, or whatever you want to call it. It was precisely for this reason that for over fourteen years I had a cat.

I’m convinced that all cats know something and they’re just not telling us what it is. Sure, they’re cute, cuddly and mysterious (which is just another way of saying moody), but the real reason people own cats (or rather, people who are OWNED by cats) is that one day we think they will let us in on the SECRET.

A couple of times I’ve come close to finding the Holy Grail. The last cat I had, Patience, arrived about the time I was in the midst of a yearlong stretch of unemployment. One day, as I was leaving my apartment for another job interview I looked at her and on a whim said, “Patience, I really need this job. Could you help me out a little?” She just looked at me blankly and then went back to licking her belly.

As it turns out, that was the best job interview I ever had. They loved me. I was hot property and hired on the spot. When I got home I found Patience reclining on the couch looking at me like she expected applause. I just stared at her and asked “WHAT did you DO?” She didn’t say anything and just laid there with her eyes twinkling, flicking her tail.

After that I always asked for some kind of supernatural kitty intervention when I left for work, and I can attest that for the remainder of Patience’s eighteen years on this earth, she took good care of me even though she NEVER let me in on exactly WHAT it was she knew.

I remember that at one point the veterinarian admonished me about her weight and so I began to spoon out her food in smaller portions. It was then that the chaos in my life increased in direct proportion to the amount of food I had withheld. Suddenly I had car problems, money problems, health problems and a stream of miscommunications and misunderstandings between friends and relatives. Then one morning, because I was running late, I simply dumped a can of Fancy Feast in her dish.

With all the speed and ferocity of a lightning bolt my life suddenly improved. My health cleared up. Phone calls were returned with apologies. I was able to have my car battery replaced on my lunch hour, and the bank found some money for me I didn’t know I had.

After that episode I needed no convincing. Kitty Mojo is definitely real. And like any good cat worth her salt Patience never disclosed what she knew and took it with her to kitty heaven. And like any good human who has ever been owned by a benevolent dictatress, I cling to the hope that one day she will come to me in a dream and let me in on the secret…

This essay has also been published online at: http://www.thehighlanderonline.com/current-issue/111-ruminations/394-kitty-mojo

ONE WHITE BOY'S RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. KING AND MALCOLM X

2011-02-11T10:25:00.003-05:00

When I was growing up in Western Kentucky all I ever heard about Martin Luther King was that he was a communist. My family moved to Birmingham, Alabama after Dr. King's assassination and from what I heard from classmates and several adults who should have known better was that every problem under the sun was Dr. King's fault.

One day I decided to read a book and find out for myself exactly who this man was. Up until then I knew nothing of Rosa Parks, the Montgomery Bus Boycott or Dr.King's "I Have A Dream Speech." The one thing that impressed me was hiscommitment to non-violence. As I read more I became fascinated with theinfluence of Mahatma Gandhi. I later read of book of Gandhi's called "My Experiments with Truth" and that's when I discovered an essentialquality of all great men: the ability to recognize truth, have thecourage to embrace it, and the commitment to follow it through...

Such was also the case with Malcolm X. Unfortunately this little white boy didn't know a thing about Malcolm X until college when someone showed me an interview he did with Alex Haley. Over the years I tried to read his Autobiography, but allowed myself to be distracted everytime I picked it up. It wasn't until I saw Spike Lee's movie and the scenes of Malcolm in Mecca that I began to grasp the depth of this man's greatness. When he was in prison Malcolm recognized the truth in the teachings of the Honorable Dr. Elijah Muhammad. Now those teachings had lead to a deeper truth he was committed to follow. Malcolm X was not a man to run from the truth, or twist it to suit his own personal needs. He embraced the truth and, like, Dr. King, allowed the truth to bring about his rebirth.

It's a terrible injustice that both these men died so young, but the impact of their work is timeless. After Dr. King's assassination I saw a political cartoon of him speaking to Mahatma Gandhi in heaven.Gandhi is smiling at Dr. King and the caption reads: "You know, the absurd things about these assassins is that they think they can actually kill you!"

Also found at: http://www.thehighlanderonline.com/current-issue/111-ruminations/386-one-white-boys-recollections-of-malcolm-x-and-dr-king-

RESOLUTION AND INSPIRATION

2011-01-26T17:44:00.001-05:00

Well, it’s the beginning of a New Year and tradition dictates that every year should begin with a resolution. The idea being that something in our behavior made the past year such an utterly miserable experience that we have to do something to correct our behavior and savor what little time we have on this planet.

Okay, I admit it. I’m being cynical. It’s just that the notion of a premeditated decision that coincides with an equally premeditated date is something that usually doesn’t work for me. It reminds me of this friend of mine who would always try to give up something for lent, with pitiful results. Finally, he threw in the towel and decided to give up some things he knew he would have no problem missing. He gave up going to bed early, getting up early, sobriety, austerity, and celibacy. With the exception of celibacy, which stayed with him like a parasitic infection, he passed with flying colors.

Perhaps it’s the word itself. I looked up the word “resolution” and found that several definitions had to do with legal proclamations. But the root word “resolve” had what I was looking for. There I found words like conviction (and I don’t mean felonies), a firm decision, and decisive action. In other words, a genuine sense of responsibility.

You see, I tend to view a resolution as something that takes a real effort so one should, at the very least, choose something worth the effort. The problem is that the idea to devote yourself to a particular course of action can happen at anytime and you’d better be ready to take advantage of the opportunity.

I have an artist friend who lives in Brooklyn. A few years ago, she hit the wall as far as her creativity was concerned and decided the time was right for her to explore how she could improve as an artist. She began a thorough program of meditation and, yes, her art improved, but in the process she found that she had embarked on an amazing journey of self-discovery and growth. Everything about her life, including the way she thought, changed for the better. I asked her if any of this could have happened if she waited until January 1^st and resolved to “become a better artist.” No way, she told me. When it comes to inspiration, you simply cannot negotiate. It’s carpe diem or nothing.

Inspiration, enlightenment or just the idea to change something fundamental about your behavior knows no calendar, but the start of a new year can at least bring it into your awareness. One New Years I resolved to cultivate an attitude of gratitude and then discovered that while I may plant the seed I cannot force it to grow. I can only tend the garden. The attitude is still, and will always be, a process, but like my artist friend, I’ve found results I hadn’t expected. So, if you have chosen a New Year’s Resolution, I hope you’ve chosen something you’re willing to follow through on. And for those of you lucky enough to have inspiration strike on Dec. 31^st at 11:59pm, I hope you seized the moment.

Also published at: The Highlander Monthly Online.

THINKING ABOUT CHOICES

2010-12-04T16:53:00.001-05:00

LETTER TO SANTA

2010-12-04T16:49:00.000-05:00

Dear Santa,

Well, it’s that time of year again and while I’d like to write you a letter telling you that I’ve been a good boy and deserve all kinds of groovy things like an Android 2.3 with 500 apps or a Bose Acoustic Wave Sound System, but Yuletide protocol dictates that since I’m technically an adult — which puts me in a different tax bracket — I should confine my requests to more altruistic endeavors, such as Peace on Earth.

Of course, Peace on Earth is a very laudable goal and I’m sure that people have been asking for it ever since God was a boy. Yet for reasons I can only speculate, there are dozens if not hundreds of armed conflicts throughout the world and all we get from you are Barbie Dolls, Nintendo, and thirty-year-old TV specials starring Burl Ives.

In thinking about the practicalities of this request I realized that there may be too many obstacles for even you, Santa Claus, to bring it about. First of all, I’m not sure how we would deal with the culture shock. I mean, what’s going to happen to all the people that depend on war for their livelihood? Lockheed and McDonnell Douglass would have to lay off thousands of employees and have a yard sale just to keep their heads above water. The 82nd Airborne would have to be downsized and restricted to kite flying tournaments and the Joint Chiefs of Staff would be standing by the side of the road holding up a sign that says “Will Outline Battle Strategy for Food…”

One of the finest warriors our country ever produced, General George C. Patton, said “Americans traditionally love a fight…” Of course, he was rallying the troops for D-Day when he made that statement but he had a point. And as long as there are TV shows like Breaking Bad, CSI and old reruns of the Untouchables, I don’t think we’re going to get psyched for Peace on Earth anytime soon.

You know, it’s not that we really LIKE war so much; it’s just that we’re terrified of peace! We have no idea how to act! World Peace is uncharted territory! It’s like a vast unknown frontier! We have become so accustomed to war, hostility and violence that to even think of changing our behavior is about as nerve-wracking and stressful as going through a divorce after 5000 years of marriage!

So instead of just arbitrarily asking you for World Peace I’d like to ask for some kind of global mechanism that would help us all to face this demon. Right now, one of the things that scares people the most is the idea that World Peace means not being able to do anything with aggression except maybe beat up some pillows or having to take World Wrestling Entertainment seriously.

I certainly don’t expect you to come up with anything right away but I would happy to meet with you up there in the Fortress of Solitude to help you brainstorm over this matter. Maybe we can put something together for next Christmas. So, have your people call my people and we’ll do lunch. By the way, my parents have been trying to convince me since I was 12 that you don’t exist and I’d like to give them some hard evidence to the contrary.

LETTING THE DAYS GO BY

2010-11-06T21:54:00.000-04:00

Well, once again, the holidays are with us. And with the holidays come the inevitable gathering of the tribes to reflect on what the past year has been like. When I reflect on what I wanted and what I actually have I’m not surprised when a song by The Talking Heads begins to play over and over in my head:

“You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
You may find yourself in another part of the world
You may find yourself in a beautiful house
With a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself
Well, how did I get here?’”*

Then I start to go down the checklist. Let’s see:

Shotgun shack? No, a one bedroom apartment is the best I can do there. The car thing? Never owned anything bigger than a Corolla. Another part of the world? Did that. Great for my perspective. Beautiful House? Beautiful Wife? You’re kidding? Right?

Holidays, for me, are always a challenging time in that I get to learn once again how NOT to compare myself to my brothers and cousins and how NOT to take the bait for being the “lone liberal” in the family. For years I made myself miserable by casting myself in that role and really getting into some heavy victim consciousness. It was like I was emitting some kind of vibratory resonance from another part of the same song:

“Same as it ever was
Same as it ever was
Same as it ever was
Same as it ever was…”

I tricked myself into believing I was supposed to gauge the progress of my adulthood along the lines of the tangibles of my brothers. No I did not have and do not have the beautiful house with the beautiful wife and yes, things certainly did appear to be the “same as it ever was…” After a while I decided to kick down the door and took a sojourn overseas for a couple of years. About the same time a member of our family, a cousin, younger than me, was found to have cancer. For me and my cousin, (cousin-in-law actually) life changed quite a bit. I started asking myself “Where does that highway lead to? Am I right? Am I wrong?” and even daring to ask “My God! What Have I done?” Suddenly my mortality came into focus clearer than it ever has. Time had become the great equalizer.

Somehow the fact that the same number of relatives are getting together is a miracle in itself. The oldest generation in my family is approaching 80 and none of us have been immune to health or financial problems. I could claim to have been the victim of unemployment but I’ve seen far worse than me. I’m extremely lucky when I look at what some of my friends have had to endure. These days I don’t care about how much the TV at the family gatherings is running FOX News or football, my cousin (and his wife and kids) are happy he’s alive and well. And I’d rather talk about the job I’m lucky enough to have and the career direction I’m fortunate enough to be taking. I just don’t get to talk about the beautiful house with the beautiful wife….YET!!

*Once In A Lifetime by Brian Eno, David Byrne, Chris Frantz, Jerry Harrison, and Tina Weymouth. © 1980 Sire Records.

Essay also found at thehighlanderonline.com

THe MEANING OF ENLIGHTENMENT PART 1: PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE

2010-10-22T22:05:00.000-04:00

The Meaning of Enlightenment. Part 1: Past, Present, and Future (Andrew Cohen and Ken Wilber) from Integral Life on Vimeo.

THERE'S SOME KISS WE WANT...

2010-10-03T23:19:00.002-04:00

For the past several weeks I've been listening to the mp3 downloads at Future of Love Teleseminar Series at Integral Life. The Series is hosted by Rabbi Marc Gafni, and has included Ken Wilber, Lama Surya Das, Diane Musho Hamilton, Sally Kempton, Deepak Chopra, Andrew Cohen, Mokshananda, Traleg Rimpoche and many other spritual luminaries that are at the heart of the evolution of consciousness.

There's a lot more information you can find at Integral Life, but I'd like to keep it focused on The Future of Love.

I listened to a Q & A session with Sally Kempton and Diane Hamilton that included a wonderful message with Marc Gafni. You can download the mp3 here. At one point, Sally Kempton lead a mediation that included a poem by Rumi that really touched me. I've posted it below.

There’s some kiss we want with our whole lives,
The touch of spirit on the body
Seawater breaks the pearl
Seawater bakes the pearl to break its shell
And the lily, how passionately it needs
Some wild darling

At night I open the window and ask the moon
To come press its face against mine
Breathe into me
Close the language door
And open the love window
The moon won’t use the door
Only the window

---Rumi

POET FOR THE CITY

2010-10-01T19:17:00.000-04:00

The Poet at the Nuyorican Cafe in NYC circa 2003.

One of the first clues I had that life might not be fair happened when I was 8 years old and I asked my mom if she would get me a rocket belt. She told me I could have one when I turned 16, and then conveniently forgot about it when the big day arrived. Not that I was terribly surprised. Moms are great at selective memory.

When I was 22, I got drunk and called up a friend to whine about how my life was not working the way I thought it should. “I don’t ask for much!” I slobbered. “All I ever wanted was to have what John Lennon had when he was my age!”

Okay, I’m the first to admit that I suffer from delusions of grandeur, but I’m still baffled by the societal trophies you’re expected to accumulate by the time you reach a certain age. The Ward Cleaver Academy of the American Dream taught me that I would go to school, meet some woman, marry, have a career, and then children would suddenly appear, along with a house, two cars and a satellite dish. Supposedly, it would all magically arrive, like the rocket belt I’m still waiting for.

A while back, I went to a 30-something birthday party and reminisced about how I felt when I embarked on my 30s. It is, after all, an age that’s long been considered the gauge by which adulthood is measured. At that time I had a job waiting tables and was a dedicated practitioner of better living through chemistry. I was also impatient to get on with life, so I managed to get myself entangled in a so-called “committed” relationship and took a “real job” I secretly loathed. I thought this was how it all worked. Appearances were everything. Never let ‘em see you sweat. Never let ‘em see you bleed.

Without going into a lot of details, I can say that the relationship went south and the painful consequences of a miserable dead-end career saddled with addiction mandated that core lifestyle changes be made. So for the past 20 years I’ve been engaged in a conscious process of self-discovery, something you never really arrive at as much as integrate into your day-to-day life.

About 15 years ago, I had an inkling that things might be turning out okay when one day I called my college alumni office to update my mailing address. They asked me what I did for a living and, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t want to tell them (I was underemployed at the time). So I said, “I work for the City of Louisville.” Then they asked exactly what I did for the City of Louisville. Since I had written a couple of poems that had been published on the Internet, I impulsively blurted out, “I’m a poet!” They took my word for it, and for 10 years my alumni directory had me listed as “Poet for the City of Louisville.” Not a bad accomplishment, even if it WAS a self-bestowed title.

I could write a book about my experiences during this process, but to cut to the chase, I will say that one thing I will always be grateful for is the advice my friend gave me when I called him up to complain about not being John Lennon. “Paul,” he told me, “whatever you do in life, don’t peak too soon.”

Paul McDonald is a writer, educator and graduate student who thinks too much. He can be reached at paulmcd06@gmail.com.

This article can also be read at: http://www.thehighlanderonline.com/current-issue/111-ruminations/349-poet-for-the-city

THE SHAME WAS ON THE OTHER SIDE...

2010-09-27T22:28:00.000-04:00

BLOOD IN MY EYES

2010-09-25T16:09:00.000-04:00

I posted this poem on this blog several years ago. It's gaining significance for me at this time of my life so I'm moving it up to it's current position. You can look for the song, "Blood In My Eyes" on the CD "World Gone Wrong" by Bob Dylan.

tonight i’m listening to dylan sing
blood in my eyes
by the mississippi sheiks

i’m surfing the net trying to find a url
that will give me a sense of destiny

i’m searching for a definition
a paradigm
the means to
create and patent an archetype

my parents brothers and their families
are all baptists

baptist wives
baptist children
deacons and promise keepers
wearing leather bracelets
with the initials
wwjd
like a homing device
to herd the sheep

i am a kashmir shaivite
single closet heterosexual

i enjoy sleep
yogic dreams
on the astral plane
involved in corporate espionage
flying from trees to board rooms
to procure encrypted scripture
agreeing on a soul level
to die in a hospital bombed
by some paranoid militia drone

i’m part of a subculture
sick of comparing legacies
like seventh graders compare their penises

trust me

my voice is clear
my hands are tragic
i have so little
that when i die
i will have no problem
taking it with me

the cyber ghosts
hungry and bloated
might be pushing me
or they might be laughing
i have to take that chance

i’ll stay here in front of this portal
like che on the beach

so proud
of the blood in my eyes

Paul McDonald © 2001

ENLIGHTENMENT QUOTE

2010-09-21T15:35:00.000-04:00

"Enlightenment is an accident and meditation makes you accident prone..." -- Baker Roshi

Found at http://www.enlightennext.org/magazine/j18/wilber.asp

THE PAIN OF EROS -- MARC GAFNI

2010-09-18T00:23:00.000-04:00

I'm reminded of this wonderful passage from Gibran's The Prophet:

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

UPCOMING APPEARANCE ON CRESCENT HILL RADIO

2010-09-15T22:21:00.000-04:00

Your's Truly at the Nuyorican Cafe in NYC in 2002

This coming Saturday, September 18 at 1pm Eastern Daylight Time, I will be making an appearance on Crescent Hill Radio in the lovely Crescent Hill Community (that will get lovelier as the autumn leaves change color). I will be reading poetry and prose and since the signal doesn't reach very far, the internet provides a wonderful connection to the world at large. The web address is: http://www.chradio.net/ .

The artist's bio is as follows:

Paul McDonald began writing poetry in the early nineties even going so far as having himself listed as The "Poet For The City of Louisville" for college alumni directory. During the nineties he was published in numerous poetry journals, most notably Andrei Codrescu’s Exquisite Corpse and the University of Kentucky’s disClosure: A Journal of Social Theory. In 1997, with the help of Naropa poet Bil Brown, he published a chapbook of poems titled Write of Passage. In 2001 he published a small book of poetry titled Like Neon: Poems and Belief Systems. He has given numerous readings in Louisville and has also read at The Bowery Poetry Club, The Nuyorican Poets Café, and the Julliard School in New York. In 2002 he was privileged to be part of day long marathon reading of Jack Kerouac’s Big Sur on Long Island.

From 2001 to 2006 he was a morning commentator for WFPL at which time he shifted his literary gears from poetry to essays. In 2007, on the cusp of his 50th birthday he relocated to Jakarta, Indonesia to teach English as part of mid-life career change. From Jakarta he moved to Bangkok, Thailand where he continued to teach English and made plans to return to Louisville in order to get his teaching certification. He is currently in graduate school at Spalding University where he is working toward a Masters in Teaching Arts with emphasis on Language Arts for Middle and High School. He is currently teaching English as a Second Language at the Americana Community Center and has a column in The Highlander Neighborhood News Monthly called Ruminations. He also has a blog called Alleged Gravitas, which can be found at allegedgravitas.com.

THE THREE FACES OF GOD

2010-09-15T15:26:00.000-04:00

After a discussion with a friend of mine I decided to post a video with Ken Wilber talking about the three persons of God.

JE NE SAIS PAS (ESSAY)

2010-09-04T21:54:00.000-04:00

A few years ago, I had my astrological chart cast by a Vedic astrologer in an attempt to come up with a cosmic road map. I paid through the nose for this reading, so it’s fair to say I was looking for some nuts and bolts answers – like exactly when I would have a relationship that didn’t crash and burn just after takeoff. Instead, the astrologer told me: “Your mind goes 24 hours a day thinking and wondering, ‘what shall I do, when shall I do it, how will it happen, when will it happen, suppose it doesn’t happen, how do I protect myself, how will I be safe, how will I be in control, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, I don’t know what’s good for me, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know ... ‘” And he adamantly refused to tell me anything I wanted to hear. He also told me to forget about dating, at least until March 2013.

The next day, I took my journal with me to work and wrote down everything I could think of that I didn’t know. Here are some of my observations:

I don’t know if I have any regrets.

I don’t know how to laugh.

I don’t know how to cry.

I don’t know why the harder I try the harder it gets.

I don’t know why my cat prefers the carpet to the litter box.

I don’t know if UFOs exist.

I don’t know if professional wrestlers are faking it or not.

I don’t know if Eddie Haskell is really Alice Cooper.

I don’t know if Elvis is dead or if Jim Morrison is alive and running guns in Honduras.

I don’t know if you’ve heard the one about the Zen vacuum cleaner; It has no attachments ...

I wasn’t sure what to do with all these profound revelations, so I put them into a poem and titled it “Je Ne Sais Pas.”

It reminded me of the time when comedian Steve Martin and a friend got into a deep conversation about the nature of reality, the origin of consciousness and just about every audacious problem under the sun. Suddenly, they figured everything out. Reality made total sense and they had discovered the answers to life’s most complex mysteries. After two seconds of silence, they both looked each other in the eye, burst out laughing and staggered out into the street like a couple of drunks. Two weeks later, Martin got a job writing for the Smothers Brothers.

If there’s anything I can learn from Steve Martin, my astrologer and my journal, it might be that, despite my impassioned protests to the gods, I will have to accept the notion that mystery is an enigmatic practicality and that the most insightful answers are those delivered in silence.

A friend once shared with me a quote by Joseph Campbell that inspires me with its wisdom, comfort and terror: “If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path.”

Paul McDonald is a writer, educator and graduate student who thinks too much. He can be reached at paulmcd06@gmail.com.

Taken from The Highlander Online.

JOURNEY THROUGH THE PAST

2010-08-09T23:42:00.003-04:00

NONE DARE CALL IT NARCISSISM

2010-08-02T23:20:00.005-04:00

The first autograph I ever got was when I was nine years old. It was from Fess Parker, who, at the time, was playing Daniel Boone on TV. He was in town for a telethon and I got the autograph by hanging around the TV station looking lonely and forlorn. Later that same year, I pushed my luck by trying to sneak into a concert by the Electric Prunes, only to be caught and kicked out. I took a lot of risks to be near “the famous” and bring back some kind of evidence of the adventure, because, back then, asking a celebrity for an autograph was like going to the oracle at Mount Olympus. Famous People represented a species of human being that had evolved to a level on a spectrum that I could only DREAM about.

Fast forward to my adulthood, and I’m watching a little boy lose his breakfast on the Today Show because he can’t stand lying for his parents who were so addicted to fame that they convinced him to stay in an attic for five hours while they convinced CNN that he was trapped in ahomemade weather balloon. It was a sad thing to watch, but this is what fame has become: a huge – and often tragic – joke.

It used to be that, in order to become famous, you had to do something important. You had to be a great leader, writer or philosopher, or have unquestionable talent. In other words, you had to earn it. Now, all you have to do is post some kind of semi-weird video on YouTube and pray it goes viral.

Talk show host Jerry Springer says he doesn’t have to work to book guests on his show. It seems there is no shortage of people clamoring for the spotlight so their idea of existence can be justified. I wonder if he’s booked the couple that crashed the White House dinner several months ago. If he does, it should come as no surprise, considering the lengths some people go to (like the number of hot dogs you could eat in ten minutes) to get their fix of the fame drug.

The song “Mr. Jones” by the Counting Crows has a couple of lyrics that sum up this pathology very poetically: “When I look at the television / I want to see me / staring right back at me ... When everybody loves me / I will never be lonely / I will never be lonely ... ”

I admit the fame drug first caught hold of me when I was 7 years old and watching a popular kid’s show called “Romper Room.” The hostess, Miss Wendy, saw me in the Magic Mirror and said, “I see Paul! Hi, Paul!” I was in heaven and, for years afterward, struggled to recapture that feeling of bliss. Nowadays, I’m simply happy if I can do something creative that I can honestly say came from inspiration and hard work. That, in itself, is enough. And if I’m lucky, I get to share it with someone else.

Paul McDonald is a writer, educator and graduate student who thinks too much. He can be reached at paulmcd06@gmail.com.

http://www.thehighlanderonline.com/current-issue/111-ruminations/333-none-dare-call-it-narcissism

ADNAN'S DRUMS

2010-05-08T01:00:00.004-04:00

dancing the veil
in the garden of sufi magic, breath and drums
i find a moment
where I see
a hand
my hand
packed with centuries
of angels, flesh, ghosts and shadows

i'm dancing
moving
on the other side
of windows and mirrors
along an empty platform
of statues and saints
where there is nothing but space
and visions that dance

Paul McDonald ©2010

MY SEARCH FOR A MID-LIFE CRISIS

2010-04-15T20:35:00.002-04:00

A couple of years ago I decided that it was high time I had a mid-life crisis. You usually don't have to work hard to find a crisis because they are always out there, lurking in the bushes and looking for opportunities to kick butt, but in my case it wasn't happening so I decided to be pro-active.

I was approaching my 50^th birthday when I realized that my comfort zone had become too stagnant. I decided to move to another city just to see what would happen. In late August of 2007, after quitting my job and selling off most of my possessions, I moved to Jakarta, Indonesia.

Why Jakarta? That's a long story but I can tell you I had been looking for an opportunity to teach English overseas for about a year. I saw an ad on the internet looking for teachers at a school in Jakarta and I thought I would give it a shot.

What I knew about Jakarta and Indonesia was 3^rd hand information from a friend in the Philippines. My friend told me that I would probably meet a beautiful Indonesian woman, get married and have a baby within a year. Yeah. Right. But I believed it anyway. Like I said, I was looking for a crisis. I was also intrigued by Elizabeth Gilbert's book, "Eat, Pray and Love." HOWEVER -- and this is a BIG however – Ms. Gilbert's experience in Indonesia was primarily on the island of Bali, a mostly Hindu outpost situated in the midst of the most populous Muslim country in the world. And Ms. Gilbert's time was spent mostly in the city of Ubud, a lovely city I found to be like a small San Francisco with an abundance of art galleries, restaurants and yoga studios.

The majority of MY time was spent in Jakarta on the island of Java. First of all, as anyone will tell you, Indonesians are a wonderful, welcoming people. They're very friendly and give the impression of being happy all the time. But despite the warm nature of the country, I found Jakarta to be a dirty ramshackle metropolis of about 10 to 15 million people. The traffic, referred to as "macet," was so horrendous I thought it should be re-classified as one of Dante's Rings of Hell. There has been very little urban planning because Indonesia still thinks in terms of being a village, where houses, businesses and even roads spring up almost at a whim. There's a great deal of poverty and a lot of begging on the street. When I asked someone about it I was told that begging was actually considered a job. What generally happens is that poor people and people with noticeable medical problems are bused in from the villages, assigned a street corner where they beg for money. At the end of the day, some shadowy "agency" takes them back to their village and takes a cut of whatever they earned.

I also found the things we take for granted in the US, such as zoning laws and health regulations either don't exist or are simply not enforced. A lot of food is sold on the street and it isn't unusual to buy food from a "warung" or food stand, that's set up next to an open sewer. I was told that it was relatively safe to eat the food, which I knew probably wasn't true. But I was hungry, so I ate it anyway.

A few hours later my face broke out with red blotches and my lower intestine began to do a parasitic slam dance. Aside from food poisoning, I was afraid I might have Dengue Fever, which is spread by mosquitoes and can lay you out for about three weeks. Fortunately, that wasn't the case and my face cleared up in a few days. However my bathroom habits left a lot to be desired. For several weeks I tried all kinds of over-the-counter medications -- and believe me, you can get practically anything you want over the counter in Indonesia! If you wanted to get chemotherapy over the counter it wouldn't be a problem – but nothing worked. I finally went to a doctor who spoke English and treated Westerners. He ran one test, came back, and said almost joyously, "You have dysentery!" and threw a packet of Cipro at me. In case you don't know, Cipro is the recommended antidote for Anthrax. Almost immediately, I got better.

But let's talk about this woman and the baby I was supposed to procreate. Don't let anyone kid you, Indonesian women are beautiful, dress modestly, typically wearing a Muslim hajibb, or veil, and if you ask them if they're married you often get the answer, "Not yet." Despite their beauty, the stress of living in a foreign country, the language barrier, my job and my day to day existence simply erased the desire for a girlfriend, lover, or a wife. But Indonesia has a great way of encouraging you to at least "try it."

I found this out when I went to buy some aspirin at a local pharmacy. Usually these places employ more people than they need and whenever you walk in three women descend on you trying to sell you to an expensive herbal remedy for whatever your problem might be. I always found that annoying but I was totally taken by surprise when one day, a woman asked me if I wanted anything for my "stamina." I was surprised that ANYONE would be interested in my stamina, so I asked her, "Why?" She was too embarrassed to answer.

The next day I read of the death of the legendary Mak Erot, who ran her own distinctive stamina business out of her hut in West Java. She was rumored to be anywhere from 101 to 130 years old and had become very famous for her "art," which consisted of enlarging a certain male "appendage" through the use of 145 secret herbs and Islamic prayer. She had apparently been in business for the better part of the 20^th century and when she died it was discovered that she had amassed a fortune of over 30 million US dollars. Her business was turned over to her great-grandsons who are presently keeping her legacy alive on the internet.

While I'm not sure if Mak Erot's death contributed to what I now consider to be phase-one of a full blown mid-life crisis, I'm sure it didn't help. To be honest, it really doesn't matter.

As many of you know, there is always opportunity lurking in the midst of crisis. Jakarta gave me the opportunity to say good-bye to my youth and pointed me in a direction I hadn't seen before. On my fiftieth birthday I taught my first class and was exhilarated when I found out I could do it. I taught English in Jakarta for a year and then spent the next eight months teaching Corporate English in Bangkok, Thailand. When I returned to the United States I had a much better idea of what I wanted to do with my life as well as a deeper conviction of my own mortality. I can't say that moving to the other side of the world for a couple of years is for everybody, but frankly, I think every young man should join the Marines. I'm grateful for a rich experience and the discoveries you always find when you decide to take a risk.

Paul McDonald © 2010

GARDEN OF SCATTERED ASHES

2009-06-17T21:16:00.005-04:00

My cat Patience passed away in February of 2007 and I had her ashes delivered to me in a very handsome wooden box made in India. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with the ashes so when I went overseas I took them with me

On the first anniversary of her passing I was meditating with friends in Jakarta when I got the message that she would like to be scattered somewhere at my parents home.

When I returned home recently I saw exactly where her ashes would be scattered. A lovely garden with green plants, flowers and plenty of birds to keep her happy.

This garden is beautiful. Just like her.

More pictures can be seen on Facebook.

RETURNING TO THE UNITED STATES

2009-05-28T11:13:00.006-04:00

Tomorrow, Friday, May 29, marks my last day at work here in Bangkok and from here I will return to the US -- and Kentucky -- and Louisville -- on June 2nd.

I have learned more than I thought I would and I can truthfully say that absolutely NOTHING turned out the way I thought it might, but then again, I didn't have much of a reference point of what I wanted to happen in the first place.

I called this 20 month adventure "The Great Work." I will expand on that theme, what I've observed and lessons I've learned in future entries. I will also explain why I made so few entries to my blog while I was overseas.

So much has happened and so much more will happen. I have my plans but life has a way of happening when you're making other plans, so I will have to be flexible to a point (I think I've heard this refered to as yogic flexibility).

More later.

SONGKRAN - STATE OF EMERGENCY

2009-04-13T00:55:00.005-04:00

Songkran is supposed to be the time of the Thai New Year where there are celebrations for three days and water is thrown on everyone as a gesture of of frivolity and goodwill. However, this year, Songkran is coincides with a State of Emergency declared by Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva due to disruptive and violent protests by the UDD also known as the "Red Shirts," and the "polar opposties" of the PAD "Yellow Shirts" who took over the airports a few months back. The UDD are supporters of ex-Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra who was ousted in a coup back in 2006 and has been convicted of several charges of corruption and is living somewhere outside of Thailand. The current government wants to extradite Thaksin to Thailand to serve a jail sentence.

It's all complicated and especially frustrating for the people of Thailand who are working hard to get a functional democracy in South East Asia. It especially gives a bad impression of a very beautiful country, nevertheless...

I'm living nowhere near the protests and violence and enjoying the quiet that this situation has bestowed upon me. At least for the moment.

WIDE AWAKE IN MANILA, JAKARTA AND BANGKOK

2009-02-10T11:09:00.005-05:00

A repost of an earlier entry featuring my video/slideshow of three Southeast Asian cities I've had the privilege/misfortune to visit or live in.

RESPONSE TO GAZA CRISIS AND THE ONGOING DEBATE OF ISLAM VS. JESUS VS. JUDAISM

2009-02-01T10:40:00.007-05:00

Since living in Indonesia I've formed some pretty stong opinions about the people who practice Islam. At the same time I must admit that I know very little about the religion itself, so I always reserve judgement about the faith. The same goes for Judaism because whenever I discussed what I thought I knew with my Jewish friends, I discovered I knew very little indeed. I do, however, know a great deal about Christianity and while I believe at it's core, Christianity is truly a wonderful and liberating path, it again comes down to the people who practice the faith who are certain they have cornered the market on truth.

I'm tired of arguments as to who is more powerful (i.e. Jesus vs. Mohammed) and why the Jews need to accept Jesus as the Messiah returned or else they will risk eternal damnation.

Frankly, it makes me sick.

A few years ago -- 2001 to be exact and before September 11 -- I wrote a poem about a dream I had and still have. I do not believe it is a naive dream but one that will arrive in its own time, like the proverbial Slow Train Coming. I re-read it the other day and decided I wanted to post it again. This is how I feel about the whole matter.

MILLENNIUM PRAYER

it's 2001
and the news today
tells of an 11-year-old boy shot in the heart
in retribution for the murder
of a ten-month old infant

the eye for an eye mentality
that pervades and desecrates
a holy place spreads howling and shrieking
like an airborne virus in the center of a vortex
guarantying that as long as there is blame
warlords, mercenaries and demagogues
will remain fat, wealthy and gainfully employed.

it's 2001
and all grievances are justified
blood reeks heavy
on both sides of the tracks
war, carnage and aggression
have taken names like
security
defensible borders
and surgical strikes
with the assurance of peace
yet they bring nothing
but the promise of blood

it's 2001
and the earth has been drenched
in centuries and generations
of blood

if i could wish for anything
on this turn of the wheel
i would wish for a piercing shaft of light
to split everyone's skull
settle somewhere between the eyebrows
and teach us the next steps in this
evolutionary dance of consciousness

i would wish for a molecular change
so that we stop playing by rules
learned in the peloponnesian wars
and the crusades
and finally realize
violence is no longer an option
intention must be formulated before speech
and simple acts
such as breathing
and listening
are raised to a high art

it's 2001
and if i could pray for anything
it would befor a brilliant pool of light
somewhere between
the dome of the rock
and the western wall
a place for pilgrims
and ancient enemies to worship
bathe and wash the blood
from each other's hands.

MY FAVORITE MOMENT FROM THE INAUGURATION

2009-01-20T13:28:00.003-05:00

MUMBAI GRIEVES WHILE BANGKOK RECOVERS

2008-12-04T07:39:00.004-05:00

The situation here in Thailand appears to be settling down -- at least for the moment. The airports are open and the threats of violence and a coup have dissapated. Again I must add, at least for the moment.

In the meantime Mumbai is having to endure the shock America when through during the 9/11 attacks. I've included a video of the NBC Nightly News broadcast reporting the deaths of several Israelis from the Chabad House including Rabbi Gavriel Holtberg and his wife, Rivka. There is also an interview with Master Charles Cannon who was a former disciple of my guru Swami Muktananda. He was a monk in Siddha Yoga until 1983 when he left the order to found the Sychronicity Foundation. His group was in India on retreat when the attacks occured.

Several friends of mine from Southeast Asia were going to the Siddha Yoga Ashram in Gurudev Siddha Peeth which is located just outside of Mumbai. However, those plans have had to be postponed.

STANDOFF IN BANGKOK; TEARS FOR MUMBAI

2008-11-30T06:01:00.008-05:00

I haven't updated this blog in several weeks and I planned to talk about how beautiful this city is and the difference of living in a Buddhist country as opposed to an Islamic country. However events that I never wanted to happen let alone write about have dictacted that I must not ignore the crisis that is looming over this city.

Several days ago protesters from the PAD (The People's Alliance for Democracy) took over both Bangkok Airports (Survarnabhumi and Don Muang) demanding that the prime minister resign.

The PAD have a legitimate grievence: the current government is perceived(and may very well be) as corrupt as a pirated DVD, but it was democratically elected and legal means are in motion to have it removed by due process of law. But the PAD appear to want none of the rule of law opting for mob rule no matter how much it damages their city, their county or their cause. I hope that violence and bloodshed do not ensue because of this crisis, but when you have two sides that at least appear to not be listening to each other you could have a bloody aftermath followed by weeks of martial law, something I hope never happens in a country as beautiful as Thailand.

Add to this the horrendous events in Mumbai and I'm beginning to feel the way I did in 1968:

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world..."

--W.B. Yeats "The Second Coming"

Several friends of mine from Bangkok were planning on leaving for Mumbai for a spiritual pilgrimage this next week but the events there -- and here -- have put the entire sojourn into doubt. I had also hoped to travel to India sometime in the next several months on my own pilgrimage, but I'm not sure if that's going to happen now.

It's all overwhelming to say the least. In both cases I feel virtually powerless and at a total loss as to how to honor those who have died in Mumbai. I was reminded of a prayer for peace I heard years ago; I don't remember it too well but it's usually recited at the end of Dave Stringer's kirtans. I've tried to reproduce it through Google and memory as best I can. It is a quote from the Rig Veda:

"May the wicked become good,
May the good obtain peace,

May the peaceful be freed from bonds,
May the free set others free."

HOW TO DRY YOUR SOCKS IN BANGKOK

2008-10-10T10:45:00.007-04:00

A rambling personal monologue posted for friends and family.

ONE YEAR IN JAKARTA, NOW ON TO BANGKOK

2008-09-04T04:36:00.001-04:00

BANGKOK 2008

2008-07-26T02:30:00.004-04:00

This is a video slideshow of my recent excursion to Bangkok in July 2008. Thanks and apologies go to Tim Rice, Bjorn Ulvaeus, Benny Andersson and Murray Head for the soundtrack.

EIGHT MONTHS THUS FAR IN JAKARTA

2008-05-08T11:20:00.010-04:00

I haven't made a blog entry for almost two months because real life has demanded I turn my attention to work, self-inquiry and reflection devoid of delusions. In other words, my ego got a major ass-kicking that needed to happen. For a deeper explanation, please see Sally Kempton's article "Waking Life," in the March, 2008 issue of Yoga Journal, because its all part of the growth process. We never stop growing, I suppose, as long as we're willing to jump through whatever firey hoops we encounter.

In my case, I came down with bronchitis in March and was in bed for about a week. This pretty much triggered a ten-day depression that saw me sobbing on the phone to my brother and going though the narcissistic pangs of "Oh, my God, I've wasted my LIFE!!" Looking at the same four walls for over a week in a town where the imams crank it up five times a day regardless of how bad you feel while your collegues at work are struggling with E Coli doesn't tend to breed the most cheerful attitude.

The good news is -- I got over it. Thank God for meditation, mantras, 12-step fellowships, work and Effexor.

Since then I've been extremely busy with work and spiritually related activities that are keeping me humble and in the moment. I really don't care to get specific except to say that the longer I stay here the more I come to realize that the Journey is the Destination. When you live in a city as infrastructurally challenged as Jakarta, you either surrender to a higher knowledge of acceptance or descend into the abdominally cramped existance of self-loathing and resentment.

Its just that simple.

THE CALL TO PRAYER

2008-03-16T15:35:00.003-04:00

One of the things I enjoy about the Indonesian Culture I’ve been exposed to is that it gives me a great opportunity to see just how ingrained faith is in the day to day lives of the people. Up until recently, December 21, 2007 to be exact, I had been frustrated with the mosques that surround my boarding house. Five times a day, an imam will intone a call to prayer, usually around 4:30 am, that is broadcast over a loudspeaker throughout the neighborhoods of Jakarta. If there are several mosques they all intone in a kind of Stockhausen 12-tone cacophony, that, if you’re like me and not used to these things, you might consider annoying. Well, at least that was my attitude up until the morning of December, 21.

December 20 was the day of the Hajj, when the faithful make a pilgrimage to Mecca. From 6pm 12/20 to 6am 12/21, loud recordings of imams and children bombarded the neighborhood. It went on all night causing me all sorts of personal displeasure until I finally drifted off to sleep. The next morning when I woke up and did my morning meditation I was astonished at the depth, bliss and the vibrancy of that meditation. It was then I understood. This was not noise. This was PRAYER!! The atmosphere was permeated and saturated with Shakti, the energy of God.

One of my colleagues is a devout Muslim and told me that there are stories of people who became Muslim simply by hearing the chant and it resonating with their hearts. It reminded me of learning to meditate listening to the chants of Tibetan Monks, a sound which, although it was a little scary, had a majestic compassion that pulled me into a place where I would focus on my breath, still my mind and allow reality to take on a crystalline dimension. My meditation on the day of December 21 was no different.

VIDEO FROM UBUD

2008-01-07T16:11:00.000-05:00

Video made from still photos and Ravi Shankar's music from my visit to Bali over the holidays. It rained alot, but the last day the sun came out and you could hear George Harrison's voice in the wind singing "Here Comes The Sun/It's Alright..."

HEADING TO BALI

2007-12-22T10:16:00.000-05:00

Going to the city of Ubud for Christmas.
With any luck, I'll find Elizabeth Gilbert's Medicine Man.

BLOK M JAKARTA

2007-12-17T13:32:00.000-05:00

Sunday Afternoon at Blok M in Jakarta. A very festive place to be. Great energy. See the slideshow at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/37763169@N00/show/

CULTURE SHOCK

2007-12-14T11:47:00.001-05:00

I have been battling the standard frustrations someone would inevitably battle in a massive, kick-down-the-door move from Northern/Western Hemisphere Culture to Southern/Eastern Hemisphere Culture: 220 volt outlets, a traffic system that was probably inspired by a mixture of bad opium and feng shui, and – the one that has caused me the most grief so far -- medication readily available in the West that you don't have a prayer of finding over here unless you want to sacrifice half of your monthly salary.

Not that I didn't expect this, but I never knew what form it would take until I got here. Besides, I wasn't about to be stymied, stifled, kyboshed or otherwise frightened into giving up the journey because it might be a little difficult to find my anti-depressant meds over here. After all, I was told that most everything, including chemotherapy, is found over the counter here, right? And it isn't expensive, right?

Well, people like to talk…

I brought a three month supply of Wellbutrin XL that was rapidly running out because I had to increase the dosage to deal with the stress of Culture Shock. I was going to have to bump up the dosage even if I was still living in the States due to my ongoing battle with Seasonal Affective Disorder. Of course, over here, there are very little seasonal changes. Sunlight is pretty much 12 hours a day and there are only TWO seasons: rainy and hot" and "dry and hot." But stress can always trigger those feelings of despair, shame, hopelessness and a nagging sense that you have wasted your life. A very contracted, boxed-in space that only gets worse no matter how much time you spend talking with your friends or therapist. I've probably suffered from depression all my life, but it wasn't until I had a couple of years sobriety under my belt (I was 35 at the time) that I began taking Prozac. It made a world of difference. I began writing and was able to hold down a job. I tried going off them for awhile during the summer of '06 and learned, after a major anxiety attack, that it wasn't a good idea. For me, antidepressants are as necessary as insulin for a diabetic.

Anyway I began to investigate how to go about replenishing my Wellbutrin supply when I discovered that you cannot get it here unless you want to pay a small fortune and have it shipped from Singapore. To make a long story short I had to switch to another med, Effexor, which is still expensive, but available nonetheless. This in itself was not a bad idea as it was probably time to switch to another med anyway. I once made the mistake of staying on Zoloft for over ten years. By the time someone convinced me to switch meds; I was thirty pounds overweight and battling suicidal ideation.

I felt pretty good taking Effexor but after about two weeks the chasm of despair began to open like an Indonesian volcanic fissure. The feeling was all too familiar: a hole that would be difficult to pull myself out of; all you want to do is cry and sleep. I was losing my focus at work and being in a foreign country with a language barrier and issues of intimacy magnified twelve-fold I decided to make another trip to the Dr. who advised bumping up the med from 75mg to 110mg.

So far it's worked. However, antidepressants, like any medication, only take you part of the way there. The trick is to find the thought patterns and trigger points so you can handle the Shock, Denial, Bargaining, Depression and eventual Acceptance of living in a foreign county.

I realized a couple of weeks ago that I hadn't left Louisville and it was time to do so. Not that Jakarta is my home. Hardly. But as nice a town as Louisville, Kentucky is, it has become for me – on a strictly personal level – a place to leave behind. It has become my past. And it will probably take a while for all of that to sink in.

One day at a time with only the world to gain.

WHAT MY SIX AND SEVEN YEAR OLDS HAVE TAUGHT ME

2007-11-22T12:54:00.000-05:00

I teach two classes of English for children. They actually speak a lot better than most adults but it's been quite an educational experience for me as well. So far, I've learned:

1. To be grateful that I have an attention span that lasts longer than 3 seconds.

2. To be grateful I don't have to deal with losing my baby teeth.

3. If you want to control a rowdy noisy bunch give them some crayons and paper. Creativity comes natural and works quicker, and often better, than ritalin.

4. If you want everyone to STOP YELLING at the top of their lungs, start to talk in a whisper. They'll be quiet trying to hear what you have to say.

5. Once you have them in that quiet space, YELL one word at the top of your lungs when they least expect it.

6. The next time you start to talk in a whisper, they'll stop what they're doing and put their fingers in their ears, expecting you to drop the bomb any moment.

7. If you create a powerpoint presentation based on the song “I Know An Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly” pretend you're going to tickle one or two of them whenever you get to the picture of the Spider who “wiggles and jiggles and tickles inside her.” Then whenever that picture comes back around watch how fast they pull their book bags from under the chairs to guard their torsos.

8. “Spongbob Squarepants” is really a funny movie!

9. Any Indonesian six or seven year old worth his or her salt knows the Spongebob dialogue – in English–about as well as you knew the Rocky Horror dialogue when you were in college.

Finally, you will learn:

10. That no matter how computer literate you think you are, a third world six or seven year old will ALWAYS have a higher computer I.Q.

JAKARTA MACET: ANOTHER RING OF HELL, PURGATORY OR HUNGRY GHOST BARDO STATE...

2007-11-16T09:18:00.000-05:00

The most glaring omnipresent annoyance I have to deal with in Jakarta is the traffic commonly called Macet. More than one journalist has written that the traffic in Jakarta moves about as swiftly as blood through a corpse. I'm sorry, but that's just giving the traffic a little too much credit. This evening when I was having the cab driver take me home, I had him drop me off a little over 2 km from my destination so I could walk the rest of the way. Before that the traffic hadn't moved in over ten minutes with the meter ticking away. The last time I saw the cab driver he was still sitting there waiting for an opening that I didn't think was going to happen anytime soon. Even though this is pretty much a Muslim country I wonder if there isn't some ring of Hell, Purgatory or Bardo State that relates to Jakarta Macet. Just a thought...

MOTHER AND SON

2007-11-13T09:52:00.001-05:00

There is a school near where I live that keeps three monkeys (I'm not sure of the species) who appear to be a nuclear family, as pets. I took some photographs a couple of days ago and was awestruck by the love I felt the mother had toward her young son. I've included a picture of the father who was out of frame, but can be seen below.

This school also has several chickens, cats and kittens and while the cats may be feral, the monkeys appear to be very gentle. Whenever I walk past the little guy always wants to jump over to make friends. The adults make a noise similar to cat hissing, however, I don't think its anything malevolent. Still I haven't tried to touch or pet them. One day when I was walking past I noticed the mother grooming the little one's scalp, something monkeys, apes and all species of primates do for those they have afftection for. Another time when I was walking by around 9pm they all three were huddled together sleeping. I'm sure they were warm, but I had the feeling they had a need to feel connected. It was a privilege to witness such a moment.

I've gotten all kinds of grief from people who say these animals should be free and not chained. I'm not sure how to argue that. On the surface, I certainly wouldn't disagree. I would have rather been out in the wild taking these photographs, bet despite the restraints, these animals exude an attitude of gentleness and love I've only seen in infants. I was just happy for the opportunity to take a photograph of such a universal expression of contentment. The way the mother is looking at her child is something I could contemplate for years.

NEW DIGS

2007-11-10T08:40:00.001-05:00

I've just moved to another neighborhood of Jakarta. Vastly different from Hashyim Ashyari (my former residence), Anggrek Residence is located in a clean, vibrant Sudirman neighborhood near the World Trade Center and the Australian Embassy. I have a private room with a bathroom that actually includes hot water! I have cable TV, housekeeping, security; all the amenities of a decent hotel. The only thing I miss from my previous residence is a kitchen. What I don't miss is the squat toilet, and a housemate who adamantly refused to flush the toilet whenever he pissed ("if it's yellow let it mellow…").

I've also included some pictures of the Jakarta Skyline taken from a balcony on the floor where I live, the front of the residence at night (at left), and a mosque whose calls to prayer are driving me up a wall. Oh, well, when in Rome…

In other news I've made plans to go to Bali for Christmas in the town of Ubud. Really looking forward to the holidays.

END OF RAMADAN & LEBARAN

2007-10-20T06:01:00.001-04:00

I haven't posted anything for a couple of weeks because I've been extremely busy planning a trip to Manila, Philipppines to visit a friend. This vacation -- one I really needed as I've reached a point in my transition here where a lot of grief and homesickness are coming up -- was a lot of fun. But in the meantime I need to say that it came at came at the end of the season of Ramadan known as Lebaran or Eid ul-Fitr, which is a time to celebrate and vacation.

During Ramadan many Muslims fast from about 4:20am to 6pm. At school, my classes last beyond 6pm, but at 5:55pm we dismissed class for a few minutes so whoever wants to can have some water and a snack. Of course, this is a major selling point for a lot of restaurants as evidenced by the picture to your left. The restaurant is a very cool place called "Hot Planet" and will probably become a favorite of mine because its food isn't spicy and, most likely its safe. (See my previous two entries).

Actually, businesses treat Ramadan pretty much the same way Halloween, Christmas, 4th of July, Labor Day, and any other holiday is treated in the West. There are Ramadan Sales and Lebaran sales galore. But since I could do it and we had a week off from work I decided to get the hell out of Dodge.

PARASITIC SLAM DANCE

2007-10-03T11:58:00.000-04:00

I heard this might be a problem and indeed it has been, but I thought it would be over by now. I have been stuggling with the eventual parasitic infections that happen to practically all tourists or ex-pats to Indonesia. It is intestinal and demands you find a toilet more than five times over a six hour period. That, by the way, is a conservative figure I just made up based on my personal experience.

Thus far my wobbly intestinal fortitude has ruined a jaunt to Singapore, several weekends and one day at work. I've been living on Sprite, Immodium, Carbon Pills and Mineral Water for days at a time and I'm not happy having to spend quality time squatting on/in the proverbial Indonesian Water Closet. One of my housemates has managed to contract a parasite that has made his life miserable for the past few days so I plan to get a medical diagnosis in a day or two so I can get this under control.

This along with a few other obstabcles explain why I haven't posted any additional items since the earthquake last month. My energy has been too depleted for me to talk about Ramadan, Lebaran, Fasting and the other dimensions of living in a Muslim country this time of year.

If anyone has some Kaopectate they can spare I would appreciate it because I've yet to find any.

EARTHQUAKE

2007-09-15T05:54:00.000-04:00

I emerged from one of my afternoon classes last week to hear someone say there had been an earthquake. I hadn't felt anything and I was wondering if they were refering to the quake that shook Jakarta six weeks earlier. That quake was over 7.0 on the Richter Scale but was so far under the surface of the ocean that no fissure opened in the ocean floor and subsequently no damage -- or tsunami -- took place. However, people reportedly ran into the streets screaming "Allah Akbar!!"

This time Jakarta escaped any tremor. If it did happen it was masked by the rumbling of the everpresent traffic. However, the city of Padang, the largest in Western Sumatra, suffered an 8.4 magnitude shock with over 40 aftershocks and dozens of tsunami warnings (none have taken place). I've heard reports that there were four major shocks, three of which measured over 7.0. As I write this the reported loss of life is 17 with 88 injured and over 800 homes destroyed.

Indonesia is in the throes of a very active seismic upheaval, as evidenced by the 2004 tsunami that killed over 200,000 people. There are two very highly stressed and highly determined tectonic plates (Eurasian and Pacific) that meet 125 miles off the west coast of Sumatra, which have been pushing against each other for millions of years. This is all symtomatic of living in the Pacific Rim "Ring of Fire" a horseshoe-shaped line over 25,000 miles (40,000 km) long that stretches from from Chile, northwards along the South American coast through Central America, Mexico, the west coast of the US and the southern part of Alaska, through the Aleutian Islands to Japan, the Philippines and Indonesia before curving back to New Guinea, the southwest Pacific islands and New Zealand. 90 percent of the world's 1500 active volcanoes are in this area and 90 percent of the world's earthquakes occur in the Ring of Fire.

Scientists feel that isn't the "Big One" they expect. That could happen sometime in the next thirty seconds or the next thirty years. Unlike global warming, I don't think there is anything you can do to prevent earthquakes any more than you can prevent a child from growing or an adult from dying of old age. Some people may say that its all a sign from God, that Gaia is pissed off or something like that, but I think its all part of living on this planet. Sometimes shit happens that simply can't be prevented. The only thing you can do is be ready. In the meantime people in the villages of Western Sumatra have resorted to sleeping in graveyards to avoid being crushed in their homes.

JAKARTA

2007-09-08T08:28:00.000-04:00

Well, I’ve been in Jakarta for a little over a week now and it’s been quite an education. This is a very impressive and thriving South East Asian City despite the inevitable drawbacks you will find in this part of the world. I'm working for a company out of Cambridge, England called "English First" and really enjoying the experience. As a matter of fact, I was amazed that the stress and anxiety I had been feeling due to the move overseas actually dissipated after my first class. I love the school, the people I work with, the students, and I can't say enough about the welcoming and loving nature of the people who live in this country.

I've also discovered that this country, which is the largest Muslim country in the world, has had a tradition of democracy and equality since their independence from Dutch Colonization in 1942 and Japanese Occupation in 1945. In my last class, which was conversational English with Indonesians ages 14 to 26, I had a terrific discourse with the students about my county and started learning about theirs. Even though I thought it might be a good idea to avoid the topic, the text I was working with encouraged the discussion of "violence being used to political ends" and whether there is anything in life worth dying for. It was interesting for me, being an American to talk about Gandhi, Dr. King, and ahimsa. The word jihad was mentioned but just briefly. I made the point that I understood jihad to mean a revolution within one's soul, as described in the Bhagavad Gita. When the discussion ended everyone felt that the term jihad had been politicized and that violence should never be used to achieve a political means. They were also very adamant that there was nothing they would actually die for. It was a very honest answer and one I have to admire because there is a typical knee jerk intellectual response that pays lip service to dying for a particular cause when you have no idea what the cause is or if it’s in any way worth dying for. Speaking for myself, I think I will only know that answer when the situation arises.

So I have had a very wonderful time of discovery with my classes and I look forward to teaching more, but the living conditions in Jakarta are definitely different from those I was used to in Kentucky. The first and most noticeable was the lack of hot water and how much that really wasn't a problem. As a matter of fact, in this county, it's kind of blessing because it's terribly hot. Besides, I have a theory that the word "Jakarta" means “poster boy for global warming.” There’s so much pollution it's like smoking a pack of Camels just to cross the street. This town produces a LOT of ozone and I'm willing to bet that most of it is caused by the countless motorcycles that crowd the highway like a giant horde of worker ants. The average motorcycle here must produce enough exhaust to choke a moose and enough noise to drown out a jet engine. The cars and the roads are made to travel on the left side in strict Dutch colonial etiquette, but that’s where the formality ends. Frankly, the trauma you can experience on these roads is right up there with most tribal adult rituals that I really don't want to recount here. There are very few traffic lights and, as far as I can tell, no traffic laws to speak of. The only reason you stop is because the traffic has become congested which is when you become a prime target for the Jakarta sales force.

Anything is fair game to sell on the streets or I should say IN the streets. Weaving in and out of the traffic (the marks for the lanes are virtually ignored) are all kinds of fledgling entrepreneurs selling bread, fruit, DVDs, children’s books, silverware, little naked deities you wind up so they can walk across the floor, life jackets, fishing poles, old issues of "Playboy" and "Maxim," water, grape juice or maybe you'll have someone hobbling on a cane who just wants your money.

Contrasting with this all this heat, pollution, and 97 decibel noise is the five times a day Muslim call to prayer. The first two times I heard this I was actually in awe, because it was this spiraling, majestic Qawwali Chant that could stop you dead in your tracks if you were paying attention. I thought, "What a great thing to have in the middle of all this chaos! It's like reminding you that you need to meditate!" However, some of the chanters sound so uninspired that it can actually be banal and annoying. It hasn't awakened me at 5am like it has some of the other teachers, but when it’s performed well it can be magnificent.

I've posted some pictures of one of the multitudes of food kiosks, a couple of the Jakarta Sales Force, the street where I live, the front of the school I work, and a couple of guys smiling for the camera. Right now, we're in the beginnings of the rainy season and I experienced my first thunderstorm last night. I can only imagine the grit it washed from the atmosphere. So ends the first week of my adventure. Stay tuned.

English First Menteng; Near the French Embassy

Food kiosks near the school

Hashyim Ashyari -- Where I live

Jakarta Sales Force

More Jakarta Sales Force

THE DREAM/ARCHETYPE/OMEN

2007-08-13T00:15:00.000-04:00

Dreams have always been an important part of my life and I've been blessed to remember dreams for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid and I learned that babies came from inside their mothers, I remember dreaming that I popped out of my mother's mouth while she was in mid-conversation. I held her mouth open like I was exiting the trunk of a car and said, "Hi, mom! I'm born!" I can remember dreaming that I was looking inside a living human body to see lights, meters, clocks and other mechanical stuff before I ever learned about cirulatory systems or bones. When I was six I was having a really hard time trying to ride a bicycle because the physics concerning balance scared the shit out of me. One night I dreamed I was riding my bike; complete with the sensation of moving on two wheels. The next morning it occured to me for the first time I could launch from my front steps; and then I rode.

Early in life I had dreams of falling off a cliff or some other high structure. These dreams were always accompanied with the actual feeling of falling, perhaps a form of vertigo. I learned later that dreams like these are often a memory of being in the womb. Falling is perhaps an echo of the birth process.

As I got older the falling dreams ceased. Or, at least, I didn't remember them. Then they resurfaced when I was in my thirties.

Actually it was only one dream. But, believe me, that was enough. I had been involved with a lady who passed away a few weeks before. It was a very intense period in my life, and after her death I found myself wondering exactly what she experienced when she died. My hope has always been that it was a peaceful, healing experience, as her last several months were so painful and draining. That night I dreamed that I was driving through traffic and I was driving the car I owned at the time. There was a thunderstorm brewing and the traffic was moving fast. I was driving on the Watterson Expressway here in Louisville and in the context of my dream had a memory of part of the overpass I was traveling on being blocked off for repairs. Rather than look for another route I just kept driving forward believing that if the overpass was out, there would be barriers and I would turn around.

Of course, this is the dreamscape reality, and as it turns out, the overpass stopped in mid-air but there were no barriers to stop traffic. I plunged over the edge and began a fall of several hundred feet. I had the distinct sensation of falling and knew I was about to die. I felt stupid. How the hell did this happen? I knew I was going to be on the news that evening, but first I was going to die. The fall accellerated faster and faster and just as I was to hit the ground I jumped awake. My bedroom was pitch black and for several seconds I had no idea where I was. I thought I had indeed died.

I finally figured out I was in my bedroom and turned on my light, feeling very shaken up. It was sometime that week that I started working at my present job at the Louisville Free Public Library and would continue working there for the next fourteen and one half years. A couple of months after the dream I realized that it was a classic death dream that marks the end of one chapter of life and heralds the beginning of a new one. I've sketched this out in another blog entry, and I realize now that it what has happened over the last fourteen and a half years holds a lifetime of experience.

I had the dream again a couple of nights ago. Like it's first reappearance in my adult life it came after I had laid the groundwork and put a lot of energy into making a change in my life. It came at the end of a brutal experience (see my Saturn Transit entries) and marks the beginning of a massive realignment of my life considering my move to Jakarta in two weeks. It was a frightening experience and what made it even more frightening was the fact that I watched a Robert Altman movie called 3 Women (one of the scariest films I think I've ever seen) the night before. I may blog about that another time, but for now I dreamed that instead of driving a car I was piloting some kind of watercraft. I think there was a motor of some kind and I either crossed over an aquaduct that was out or fell over a waterfall, I can't remember. What I do remember was the same sensation of falling and dying, that is, knowing that you are indeed going to die and there's no way out. But in this dream I shook myself awake before I hit bottom.

I know what the dream means. Something has ended. Something is beginning. An echo of the birth process we all carry in our DNA carries a primordial directive articulated in the Bhagavad Gita:

"For the born, death is certain. For the dead, there is certainly birth.
Therefore...you should not morn..."
---Bhagavad Gita, Chapter 2, Verse 27

I cannot and will not argue with Krishna or Arjuna. But along with grief I've noticed another sensation accompanies dying in whatever form it takes. Dying, and death, is lonely. Perhaps loneliness is the place we go to learn how to die so we can be born.

Oh, God, I'm getting sophmoric here. Before I engage anymore pretension and try to pass it off as wisdom I would like to explain that I've included a dream sequence from Kubrick's 2001 Space Odyssey, which gets as close to anything I've found so far that can actually represent the falling sensation I had in my dream.

The bottom line is this: The Dream/Archetype/Omen, at least as it functions for me, is still vibrant, lucid and rich with akashic resonance.

THE JOURNEY

2007-08-09T17:13:00.000-04:00

My sincere thanks to fellow Siddha Yogini Kelli Bailey who was inspired to give me this poem

one day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice -
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles "Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
but you didn't stop.
you knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
it was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen stones.
but little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do -
determined to save
the only life you could save.

---Mary Oliver

GURU PURNIMA

2007-07-29T16:31:00.000-04:00

Today is Guru Purnima, one of the most, if not the most, auspicious holidays in Hinduism. This is the day of the fullest, most brilliant moon of the year; a time when the moon is actually the closest to the earth. It is a day when devotees, disciples and swamis chant mantras (such as Om Namah Shivaya) of gratitude to their Guru. It’s also a wonderful time to chant the Guru Gita, which is a beautiful, sacred 182 verse dialogue between Shiva and his consort Parvati that consists of mantras describing the nature of the Guru, the Guru-disciple relationship, and techniques of meditation on the Guru. Above is a video of Sharon Janis chanting a few verses of the Guru Gita.

Happy Guru Purnima!!

SATURN-LEO INGRESS: THE GREAT WORK SHIFTS GEARS

2007-07-15T13:33:00.000-04:00

I've been holding off making entries until today because today marks a very auspicious day for me, at least from a vedic astrological perspective. July 15, 2007 marks the end of the Saturn Transit (astama sani) that has wreaked havoc with my life.
Actually, that isn't an accurate assessment. I've had a very intense, emotional time dealing with money, career and a gigantic "Robert Johnson at the Crossroads On My Knees" life-phase that demanded I get off my ass and do something. Frequently I didn't know what to do. I always thought I just needed to meditate and the answer would present itself one way or another. That's what happened -- sort of -- but God adamantly refused to give me a burning bush; unless I wanted strike the match.

Saturn is not necessarily the hard task master, (think Pai Mei in Kill Bill)but a catalyst for change and I had to be willing to bring about the change. In my case, personal responsibility and effort came crashing into a massive wall of fear and shame. I won't go into detail except to say that I meditated alot, chanted a lot, did a lot of japa walks and confronted parts of myself I thought I was simply not capable of facing. I realized I had wallowed in the the "comfort" of contraction for far too long. I realized I got an ego boost from believing that nothing could be done. But even more so, I realized just how much work and energy I expended maintaining my own personal delusions. And if I didn't do something to shake it all up it would kill me.

The outward manifestation of all this was my decision to quit my current job, get my affairs in order and decide I was getting the hell out of Dodge; this city, this state, this country, this continent, this hemisphere and go do something else with my life. With any luck I will have shed a constricting, outmoded layer of narcissism that stopped serving any productive personal needs long ago.

nilanjana sama bhasam
raviputram yama grajam
chhaaya martanda sambhootam

tam namami shanaishcharam

(i bow down to slow moving Saturn,
whose complexion is dark blue like nilanjana ointment.
The elder brother of lord yamaraja,
he is born from the sun-god and his wife chaya)

PURE, UNADULTERATED INSPIRATION...

2007-06-15T23:38:00.000-04:00

It is absolutely impossible to watch this video and not be moved to tears. I'm not a fan of Simon Cowell and his Idol series, but this is a timeless moment of joy the show brought to the public. Watch and allow yourself to be moved.

THE GREAT WORK CONTINUES. THE JOURNEY IS THE DESTINATION

2007-05-26T23:59:00.000-04:00

It was sometime in April of 2006 when I had a couple of readings with intuitive counselor Rob Robb of Carmel, California. Aside from checking out my aura (Rob determined that I was mostly yellow/violet with some logical tan coated with a badass red overlay), and hearing me whine about my stress levels, Rob felt I didn't really fit into American Culture however anyone might define it. It has occurred to me on more than one occasion that I might enjoy the cultures of other countries. He told me that I needed to get things put away in storage and prepare for an adventure because I would be leaving soon for an international destination. By that time I had visited Manila, PI and the island of Boracay, but I wasn't sure if that or another region -- preferably Southeast Asia or perhaps India -- would be where I would wind up.

I've talked about this in several other entries on this blog, (see: Sade Sati Ashtama Sani: The Greatness of Saturn ; Relocation Astrology; The Great Work Begins) but I wasn't sure how it would all manifest, especially if I didn’t have some kind of plan. Rob had told me that I really didn't need a plan, that whenever you make a decision the universe would support you.

A frightening thought, to be sure. It was a little too much like "The Secret" a film and philosophy that, strictly on face value, I find sophomoric at best. Frankly, I prefer Sonia Choquette’s model, Creating Your Heart’s Desire. Intentions are wonderful but what good are they without the inspiration to put them into action? I'm not someone who can simply "believe" and the universe will provide. It’s too much like masturbation, which, believe me, has it’s place in the world, but only works on one particular level of reality (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more…)

Rob’s words inspired me. Also the words and guidance of Chakrapani Ullal gave me some direction. The encouragement and support of my friends was invaluable. But the most important strength and guidance was from the words of my Guru, Gurumayi Chidvilasananda. Recently the Global Sangham of Siddha Yoga Meditation, spent three years studying the message for 2004, “Experience the Power Within. Kundalini Shakti.” Gurumayi can articulate a universe of teachings in a single word, and while I found correlations between the word “experience” and “discovery” she taught that the word experience means “to participate in personally; to encounter or undergo an event or an occurance; learning by venturing into new dimensions; by going through crisis; by facing real and imagined dangers; by undergoing the struggles and challenges that genuinely strengthen your mind, your heart, and your soul...”

After my anxiety attack on July 10, 2006 – Guru Purnima, of all things – I made the commitment to participate personally in my future.

My goal was to not be working at my current job by the time I turned 50, which will occur on September 3, 2007. My goal was also to leave this town, indeed, leave this country. I knew the need for English teachers in Asia. (As a matter of fact, when I was in Manila I had been approached to teach English but was in no position to take up the offer.) So I decided to take a little over a year for some direct participation rather than waiting for the universe to throw me a bone. I took a course online and obtained a TEFL certificate. I eliminated a lot financial obstacles that were keeping me on an iron tether to my job. And finally, my cat, -- my partner of 14 years and I’m sure a partner of previous and future incarnations -- let me go.

About a month ago I got a laptop computer which was part of the plan for the move. After that, I guess, the universe knew I was serious and so I started getting a lot of communications and job offers. I thought I might wind up in Seoul, but my friend Linda who lives in Manila, highly recommended Indonesia. I was worried about terrorism, but she told me that security was a lot tighter. This was on May 6 and that evening, on CBS’ “60 Minutes” there was a segment about a former Indonesian Al-Qaeda Commander who has had a change of heart and is helping to dismantle the Southeast Asian Terrorist Network.

After answering ads and sending out resumes I was offered a job teaching English in Jakarta, Indonesia. Two weeks later I accepted the position. Last week I gave notice at my job. My last day will be August 23. I should be in Jakarta by August 28. My 50th Birthday will be September 3.

As all this was coming to fruition, Rob Robb told me I was allowed to go have some joy. I realized that if fear were non-existent it would all be fun. It will definitely be an adventure. The contract is for a year and I may go to India afterwards, but whatever happens, I will be listening to the shakti. I will be following the joy.

THE INCONVENIENCE OF GRIEF

2007-05-10T18:02:00.000-04:00

These days I find myself grieving at odd times and strange places; like in the shower before work, at my computer, on the phone, driving home or just as I drop off to sleep. I've been told that my cat is still with me and all I have to do is think of her and she will be there. It's a noble sentiment, I suppose, but it doesn't offer me diddly when I have to deal with grief that has its roots planted deeply in a childhood of loneliness and loss.

I found this grief profoundly triggered this past weekend when I walked into a coffee shop and heard a song that had been running in my head since I got the news I would have to euthanize Patience. (To me I cannot use phrases like "put down," or "put to sleep." Somehow "euthanize" has a gentle dignity about it.) Actually it wasn't the song but a fragment of the song I kept hearing in my head. I didn't know what it was but I knew it would present itself someday and now that was happening in the line at Heine Brothers. I asked someone if they knew the song and found out it was "We're Going To Be Friends" by the White Stripes.

It isn't necessarily the lyrics that cause me grief as much as it is the melody, mood and the sound of Jack White's voice. For me, this song triggers an old, familiar feeling of loss. And I'm reminded of what I went through when I was a little boy and my dog died.

There is still a terrific grief and loneliness that seems to be anchored in my childhood. And just as I committed to caring and loving my animal companion, I must commit to feeling, processing and releasing every square centimeter of the grief that arises over her loss, no matter how inconvenient it may be. It's not so much that healing demands it as much as living -- full rich life that meets all the spectrums of life -- demands it.

Patience now exists in my thoughts and dreams, neither of which are very satisfying. Her corporeal remains now reside in plastic bag inside a very dignified yet simple wooden box, a picture of me holding her on top.

I'll speak without shame for my inner child and say I want her back the way she was before she had diabetes. I want to see her jump up on window sill to watch me drive to work and find her waiting for me to come home. I want to rub her belly while she's sleeping. I want to hear her purr and curl up at the bottom of my bed. I want to see her when she could still run, jump and feel the delight of her ancestors singing in her blood. When even the act of cleaning her paws showed how much she relished and loved her life.

I've been made to think that death is like a thin veil. Those that have passed on are still with us. A psychic even told me that Patience may even be looking for her food and water dish wondering why I'm ignoring her. Assuming that 's the case I feel like doing the Tibetan Book Of The Dead thing (in cat language) to let her know how best to drift into the kitty bardo. Although, I would rather have her around and hopefully see -- and maybe even touch -- her every now and then. Probably not much of chance while I occupy this body on this plane of existance.

The picture I posted is one I found in my cell phone. I took it about a year ago. She has a subtle look in her eye of a determined woman you don't want to fuck with. And under that is a pure and simple nurturance you would be hard pressed to find anywhere.

TRY TO PRAISE THE MUTILATED WORLD (RESPONSE TO THE SHOOTING AT VIRGINIA TECH)

2007-04-23T18:31:00.000-04:00

Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.

You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.

You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.

Praise the mutilated world
and the grey feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays
and vanishes and returns.

--- Adam Zagajewski

Translated by Renata Gorczynski

GOSPEL NOBLE TRUTHS

2007-04-18T15:17:00.000-04:00

I'm not necessarily Buddhist, but this works for me. I heard Mr. Ginsberg perform this in Louisville in 1992. So simple. So beautiful. Now in spirit. Now Absolute and Unchained.

KEN WILBER ON ENLIGHTENMENT IN THE MODERN AGE

2007-04-09T19:00:00.000-04:00

I must confess that I do not know the proper definition for the term Enlightenment. The online Websters Dictionary defines Enlightenment a number of ways but there is one definition that Ken Wilber probably considers: a final blessed state marked by the absence of desire or suffering...

That probably defines at least one aspect of the term. I tend to think of Enlightenment as Moksha or the Liberation from the cycle of birth and death. Yet, even that definition I find somewhat lacking. I did, however, read a description of Liberation that I can wrap my arms around. It's from one of the Sutras (either Bhakti, Shiva or Yoga, I cannot recall) and it states:

"Liberation is freedom from the conditioned mind."

I love that. If I had to ask for just one thing in life that's what it would be. Then I could truly live my life without fear or illusion.

Until that day, I have Sadhana, which is a blessing in itself.

HIGH COGNITIVE DEVELOPMENT COUPLED WITH EMOTIONAL NARCISSISM

2007-04-04T23:46:00.000-04:00

I could probably say that the title of this entry accurately describes a good number of the women I've dated as well as a lot of people I've been in group therapy with. But it's actually the definition of Boomeritis, a behaviorial and literary term Ken Wilber attributed to a generation who believes that whatever it thinks, says or acts upon is, in every way and form, the cutting edge of human existance. In it's smug, self-congratulatory ego stance, Boomeritis stesses that serious individual pursuits such as cultivating spiritual depth as well as a focused spiritual practice can be avoided. I also have the impression that the term envelopes just enough pseudo-buddhist psycho-crap to be "dangerous;" that is, manipulative and deluded with a cheap excuse to have bad manners. Anyway, this video is Spiritual Leader Andrew Cohen giving a lecture on "Boomeritis."

If you want to get down to brass tacks we can say that Boomeritis is most accurately defined as a pathological state of consciousness characterized by relativism, narcissism, and an aversion to hierarchy. Consider, if you will, about the elimination of standards. Why have tryouts for the school football team? Just let anyone who wants to play, play. To hell with individual ability. Then see the hemorraging of the athletic department and call it the natural order of things (or maybe even "God's Will"). Consider the term "political correctness;" a term about as oxymoronic as "Living Dead," "Head Butt" or "Microsoft Works." I don't want to get into this one, although I will say that TIME Magazine designating a "Person" of the year, as opposed to a "Man, Woman or Child" of the year is like diluting the estrogen and testosterone levels of Americans with flouride. Maybe General Jack Ripper was onto something after all.

Somewhere in the middle of all this is a sociological theory called "Spiral Dynamics" that consists of societal groups and behaviors labeled by colors that have absolutely nothing to do with one's aura. It is an intriguing theory, based on the work of Don Beck and Clare Graves that shows Boomeritis (and probably autoerotic asphyxiation) bursting forth like a pus-filled boil somewhere in the Spiral Dynamic Meme labeled Green.

While we can designate it as a pathology or weirdass mood swing, Boomeritis is also the name of a novel by Wilber about a student whose quest for higher consciousness leads him to the warm, fuzzy land of self-absorption and narcissism.

The above video is fascinating as it portrays Boomeritis as one of the pitfalls on the road to those two overused, least understood states of consciousness, enlightenment and liberation. More on those in later posts. And while a lot of people find Cohen to be rude, abrupt and impatient, he probably describes the "disease" of Boomeritis a hell of lot better than anyone, with the possible exception of Wilber.

BHAGAWAN NITYANANDA VIDEO

2007-03-29T01:39:00.000-04:00

This is a rare video of the great Indian Saint Bhagawan Nityananda.

ASHES AND PUJA

2007-03-07T19:21:00.000-05:00

I received Patience's ashes yesterday. I was told that I would get them in a wooden box and I pictured something along the lines of a cigar box.

I was pleasantly surprised that I got them in this beautiful wooden container, appropriately made in India, that appears to have a cherry or walnut finish. I don't really know though as I'm no expert on wood. I was amazed how simple and distinguished it looked.

Inside the box her ashes are contained in a plastic bag. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with them. For the time being I plan on placing them in the window she liked to look out so she could make sure the world would not spin out of orbit. She took that job very seriously and I can personally attest that she always did her job very well.

On top of the box I have placed my favorite picture of her taken when she was about seven years old. You can see the picture in my previous post, and you might notice that her eyes are very expressive. They seem to be saying, "If I were any bigger you would be lunch..." Like I said: piss and vinegar moxie.

The box and picture are resting on my meditation asana and behind them I have placed a shawl given to me by Linda, my friend from the Philippines, when she returned from a trip to India.

It still feels like she's here though. I don't intend to wrestle with her spirit. She can stay as long as she likes. I only hope she'll come with me when I leave.

PATIENCE, 1989-2007

2007-02-27T14:46:00.000-05:00

I haven’t posted anything all month because I’ve been enduring my own level of crisis. I became ill with the flu and was down for about 10 days. When I got better I was suddenly thrust into a terrible state of mind I cannot explain. It seemed to take the form of an impasse regarding my upcoming move. Then it leveled off into a chronic depression the likes of which I hadn’t had in several years. I think now it was a feeling of things to come in my immediate future. I called Linda, my friend in the Philippines, who encouraged me to rededicate my self to my spiritual practices, which had been lax, and to listen to the shakti.

I no sooner got underway with that part of my life when my cat Patience stopped eating. I panicked. I thought “I need to have a heart-to-heart with the vet about the inevitable.” At that time the vet found that she was fighting off an infection which we treated with an antibiotic. I was relieved because I was not ready to let go of my companion of 14 years, although I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later.

After two days of treating the infection I noticed that Patience was even refusing tuna water. Actually, refusal isn’t the best way to put it. She was trying to eat and couldn’t. Friday morning, February 23, I dropped her off at the vet thinking that there would be a medication readjustment. I called a couple of hours later to find that Patience had a raging, aggressive malignant tumor on the scruff of her neck. As I understood it, the tumor was acting so fast that Patience could not be expected to live longer than a week at the most.

I felt like I had been hit with a ton of bricks. I was not ready for this. I knew the moment was coming soon but I had no idea it was going to happen so quickly. After a lot of scrambling with my employer I was able to get a couple of hours off so I could do the, up until then, unthinkable.

That afternoon I attended the Heart of Yoga Meditation class at Yoga East. This class has always been special to me as we study the Shiva Sutas, The Greatness of Saturn and The Yoga Sutras of Pantanjali. It's taught by Laura Spaulding one of the yoga teachers and the CEO of Yoga East. As I showed up for class, Laura asked how I was doing. I found it impossible to simply say, "Oh, I'm fine..." and not talk about what I was going through. She was very empathetic as she has been through this a couple times. I asked if I could ask the class for prayers and support just before the meditation. Laura was more than accomadating and told me "That's what we're here for. We're a community that supports each other."

When the time came around for me to ask for support I started spontaneously telling stories about Patience. There was the time I asked her to pray that I get a job (I've been employed ever since that day), and how that turned into a daily ritual of me asking her to pray for me before I left for work. And asking her to help me find lost items, which always turned up as long as I was willing to ask.

I felt like someone sharing stories of a loved one at their funeral. I appreciated it beyond words because I realized it was probably going to be the only time I would get to share my feelings about the bond I felt with my cat. Just before the start of meditation, Laura asked us all to chant the Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra, the Great Mantra of Liberation, three times as a group.

I had Patience for one more night. She didn’t eat much. She was in a pretty good mood but had a couple of small bowel movements that were both pitch black. She was obviously bleeding internally. She also looked like she was fighting to keep from coughing up something. I suspect it might have been blood. That night she slept next to the heater, a real comfort zone for her. I slept with my front room light on. I didn’t want to be in the dark. I wanted to sleep with one of my pictures of Gurumayi, but I put it on a small table next to my bed and with a lit candle in front of it.

Patience and I both had a good night.

The next day Patience was chipper and looking forward to her morning treat of tuna water. I was happy to oblige although I knew it would be the last treat she would have. She was in a pretty fiesty mood at the vet's. Hissing, growling, spitting, calling the vet names; all the requisite piss and vinegar moxie everyone loved her for. She had a wonderful spirit. I was glad to see she still possessed it because had I had her for even another day she would have been in agony.

She let go very quickly. I was amazed how fast she went. She must have been tired of trying to impose her will on a body that was just falling apart. She was 18 years old, roughly the equivilent of 90 human years. She had survived diabetes, arthritis, asthma and kidney and thyroid problems. But cancer is another beast and I knew it was time for her to let go. I'm glad to say we cheated the tumor. Patience went painlessly and peacefully.

Patience got her name from the workers at the Westport Animal Hospital. She was picked up as a pregnant stray when she was about four years old. When they got her cleaned up and fed, she made a point of letting all the workers know what the rules we’re going to be. Everyone loved her attitude. When she gave birth they said she was so loving, nurturing and serene with her kittens they decided to name her “Patience.” Patience was eventually adopted by a dear friend of mine who was suffering from liver cancer and the transplant that was part of the treatment. Before my friend passed away she asked me to take care of her cat.

As I mentioned earlier, Patience has been my constant companion for over 14 years. I loved her dearly and was loved in return. I've been dealing with the grief of losing a big part of my life. I'm not married. I don't have a partner or children. Besides companionship, Patience could very well be the closest I will ever get to being a parent.

As an inspiration Patience calls many things to mind, not unlike Christopher Smart's wonderful ode to his cat Jeoffrey in his poem "Jubilate Agno". But early in our time together, I began to notice the emotional healing she was bringing into my life. I composed a poem that I have posted below dedicated to her. Now it is dedicated to her memory and to her new life in Kitty Loka, where she is happily munching tuna, lying in the sun and chanting the King of the Kitty Mantras, "Om Meow Shivaya."

I love you, Patience. I will see you at the bridge.

Patience

My cat is talking
She leans against the glass
Making short staccato sounds
And wants to bring me a bird
That one
Sitting on the wire

My cat is twenty pounds
Of pure woman
Shedding so much kitty hair
I could start a domestic fur outlet

She sees herself with a long golden mane
Blood of the kill on her whiskers
Licking her paws over the carcass
Like a proud warlord

On the surface of her eyes
Are mountainous ridges
That catch the late afternoon sun
Where buried deep within
Hidden valleys and crevices
Are vaults of akashic scripture

When I light candles
She stares
Watching a scroll unfold
In each flame

When I leave for work
I ask for her prayers
The intercession of her guardians
And power animals

She barks at me
When I come home
Until I hold her
Cradled like an infant
Scratching her head
Jaws and chin
Gratitude for her grace

She talks to me in my dreams
Riding a brilliant stallion on the beach
Her pupils wild with joy
Taking me to the bridge
Where long forgotten memories
Of drowning children
The grief of their brother
And tears
Hot and black
Are finally released

"For nothing is sweeter than her peace when at rest..."

--- Christopher Smart
"Jubilate Agno"
1763

Paul McDonald © 1997

MAKE YOURSELF GREATER

2007-01-26T21:38:00.000-05:00

About a hundred years ago in India, a math teacher named Ram Tirth became frustrated at the attitude of his students. They were constantly arguing among themselves and trying to prove each other wrong in order to become "the smartest." One day before class while they were all quarrelling over the assignment they had, Ram Tirth came in and said, "I have a another assignment for all of you." For a moment it was quiet while he drew a straight line about two feet long on the blackboard. He then told them "Make this line shorter." The class erupted with yells of "That's Easy!" and "No problem!" as several of the boys began fighting over the eraser. However, before they reached the board Ram Tirth added, "But make it shorter without touching it." Suddenly the noise stopped, and the students looked, dumbfounded at the board.

Ram Tirth had several lessons he was trying to teach his students. He wanted them to expand their awareness and in doing so, cultivate vision. But more importantly he wanted his students to arrive at an answer without constantly criticizing their peers. His philosophy was, "Instead of trying to diminish each other, make yourself greater."

When I first heard this story I wondered what current examples of this attitude might be found in western society. One I can think of right off the bat would be Bono, the lead singer of the band U2. Whenever I see him on television I'm always fascinated that he never criticizes world leaders, but points to their strengths as a way of finding common ground. It was such an attitude that convinced Jesse Helms and President Bush to increase Aids relief to Africa. I'm sure there are others out there besides Bono. The problem is, they get very little press.

The noisy classroom is a lot like American Society. Often politicians and pundits remind me of professional wrestlers hurling insults before a bout. It may not be very entertaining to find common ground but it makes a firmer foundation for the future. I wish it were a more prevalent attitude.

Oh, by the way, in case you're wondering how Ram Tirth made the line shorter without touching it, he simply drew a longer line underneath it.

This piece was originally broadcast as a commentary on WFPL in Louisville, Kentucky on 11/10/05. It was recently broadcast on 1/26/07 on WSHU in Fairfield, Connecticut. The story of Ram Tirth was taken from Gurumayi's message for the years 2004-2006, "Experience the Power Within. Kundalini Shakti."

THE GREAT WORK BEGINS

2007-01-09T19:49:00.000-05:00

At the end of Angels in America: Perestroika,

The Prophet Prior says:

The world only spins forward.
We will be citizens.
The time has come.
Bye now.
You are fabulous creatures, each and every one.
And I bless you: More Life!

The Great Work Begins.

And that, in essence, is the point in my life I’ve reached.

I’ve lived in Louisville, Kentucky for over 22 years. Some things have worked out well while other things have not gone the way I thought they would. Frankly, I thought if you just put it out there in a kind of relaxed, “Ask Ye Shall Receive” sort of way, your destiny would come looking for you. For all I know, it may have and I just haven't recognized it.

I came here in 1985 and after five years and countless piss-poor jobs, along with a relationship that was only a way to try and prove to everyone but myself that I might actually be an adult (and to have sex on a regular basis), I got clean and sober. I quit smoking marijuana, taking pills and drinking. I didn’t go to rehab; I went straight for meetings, sponsors, phone numbers and the 12 steps. I found a group of people near my age who were going through the same thing, who were just as broken as I was and were trying to put it all back together or trying to find the path to get them where they needed to go. What I didn’t count on finding was one of the things I had been looking for all my life: Community. As a matter of fact I never even knew the people who lived on my street until I started going to AA meetings. That was in 1990.

I soon found that I had very little in common with the people I knew when I was drinking. I had no idea how much I disliked their company and needed to distance myself. On top of that, I wasn’t sober more than two weeks before I realized how much I couldn’t stand the lady I was in the relationship with. Besides, she dumped me in the first place, which was probably one of the greatest favors anyone has ever done for me. It pointed me in the right direction and for that I will always be grateful.

The nineties was an interesting decade. During those ten years (and extending into the 21st century):

I would fall in love with a woman who was dying of cancer (someone I had known for years) who eventually died when she was only 40;
Discover (or actually re-discover) poetry, publish a chapbook of poetry and a full length book as well;
Encounter Allen Ginsberg on three separate occasions, one of them being when he unexpectedly picked up his phone in his office;
Actually play the part of a poet in an independent film;
Give readings at several venues in New York, including NYU and The Julliard School;
Write and broadcast commentary and essays for the local NPR station and have some broadcast at several stations across the USA;
Hold down a regular REAL JOB for the past 14 years that will actually pay retirement benefits;
Have as of April, 2007, 17 years of sobriety along with 15 years of private therapy;
Complete the lessons in A Course In Miracles in a little over three years;
Find my Guru when I wasn’t looking for her thanks to a woman who was trying to get away from hers;
Been an avid and grateful devotee of Siddha Yoga and Gurumayi since 1994;
Taken care of my cat Patience, who was given to me by my friend who died. She has been my constant companion since 1992 and who now, at the age of 18, is plagued with diabetes, arthritis, kidney and thyroid problems. (Patience was euthanized on February 24, 2007. See this blog entry.)

Much, much more, has happened since then but that’s all I’m willing to put down into this blog for now. Suffice to say that I’m on the threshold of a major change that will probably coincide with my 50th birthday. I plan to move overseas sometime around July, August or September, possibly relocate to Manila, Philippines or some other area in South East Asia. And from there.....

I have the opportunity to start over. The community I once knew fell away. Doors have closed. Friendships have withered. I’ve been here so long the streetlights have cobwebs that I always see, even when I close my eyes.

I’m sick of hearing or considering reasons why I can’t or shouldn’t do it. There comes a time when you just have to DO IT because it’s a move. Its in front of you. It’s forward. It's time to jump off the cliff.

Right now is a time of gathering resources, overcoming obstacles, walking through fire and implementing all that I've learned so far.

I’ve mentioned this in other blog entries but now I want to take the time to set it all in cyber-stone, publish it for the public and make a commitment to my future.

So, in the words of Prior The Prophet, I now can truly say:

The world only spins forward. The time has come.
And I bless you: More Life!

The Great Work Begins.

PEACE ON EARTH

2006-12-25T17:06:00.000-05:00

Praying for Peace on Earth is pretty much the norm during the holiday season. Prayers for Peace are sent out so routinely that you could even consider it cliché. Of course, its better than praying for War on Earth, but I've always heard that that you should watch what you pray for because you just might get it.

A couple of years ago I ruminated about what might happen if we did have peace on earth. It's really an audacious idea because our society, our world for that matter, is so geared for war that its practically impossible to believe that one day we may actually see every warrior on this planet beating his sword into a plowshare.

There are a lot of people in this world who need war because that's how they make their living. General George Patton said that battle was the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. In the book, "The Art of War" Sun Tzu says that conflict is necessary for a society to advance. Richard Nixon's philosophy, like most leaders and most people for that matter, was that there will always be war no matter how much you pray for peace.

That is a cold and brutal truth. War is familiar. We know what we're getting into. We know we can unite as a nation against a common enemy. And if the enemy has a face, -- such as another nation as opposed to hunger, poverty or terrorism -- so much the better.
Peace, on the other hand, is not that familiar. Like John Lennon's song, peace asks you to step into the unknown and blaze new territory.

"Imagine there's no country
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too..."*

Is it actually possible to let go of two of the greatest motivators for war and seek out a new vision for the future? If you entertain and contemplate that thought know this: Lennon's concept is one of the purest examples of that metaphysical phenomenon called faith that you will ever find. And at the same time, it's a terrifying thought.

I don't think I will live to see the actual end of war but I do have the hope that one day there will be a generation that will be willing to step into the unknown and blaze a new trail for humanity.

Until that day I want to wish everyone a Peaceful and Brave New Year.

MERCURY RETROGRADE

2006-11-16T15:25:00.000-05:00

Those of you who are astrologically astute probably know that for the next few days (at least until November 18 and not totally ending until somewhere around December 5, 2006) we are going to be smack in the middle of one of the more annoying planetary aspects the zodiac sees fit to inflict on us. I'm talking about Mercury Retrograde, an occurrence that takes place at least three times a year where the planet Mercury, due to an optical illusion, appears to be traveling backwards. This is annoying not because the planet seems to be defying physics, but because it's known as a time of delay, frustration and general weirdness. A lot of road rage supposedly happens during Mercury retrograde, as well as computers crashing, schedules somehow going apeshit, long lines at the ticket counter and discovering that your mail has been delivered to someone with the same name who lives in Australia.

Astrologers usually advise that during Mercury Retrograde you should never sign contracts or make any substantial life changes, as those plans will probably hit an unforeseen obstacle or circumstance. So be careful buying a house, automobile or making any kind of commitments. Of course, if you have to undergo major surgery I guess you just have to brave the elements.

As someone who simply cannot find that so-called Western Civilized Resolve to NOT believe in Astrology, I must admit that I'm a little perplexed about Mercury Retrograde. For one thing, all planets except the Sun and Moon, - which aren't really planets – go retrograde at one time or another and influence us with all kinds of interesting moods and situations. But what kind of moods and situations depend on which sign the particular retrograding planet is traveling through. And how it relates to you personally has to do with all the various intricacies of your astrological chart.

And speaking of intricacies, I don't even know if retrograde side effects necessarily apply to me because I was BORN during a period of Mercury retrograde. My mother can attest to this fact as I was born later than I was expected although I put her through two days of labor pains. Mom likes to say that I overslept and while I'm in no position to dispute that, I can say that from an astrological standpoint, I was certainly true to form. I ran this question by a friend of mine who was also born during Mercury Retrograde and she had no idea if it affected her or not since she was a breech birth. It seems that one variable cancels out another variable and enhances yet another.

Nevertheless I still feel compelled to believe in astrology because there just might be something to it. I had an astrologer cast my chart awhile back and she told me that as far as Western Astrology goes, I'm a Virgo with Taurus Rising and my Moon in Capricorn, all of which are Earth Signs, which means, I guess, that I would be great at landscaping. "Never mind if you can't stand yard-work," she said, "this is about self-discovery." She then went on to tell me that in India they arrange marriages by astrological charts and that she had just started a dating service using this logic. I should have seen that one coming.

Well, I'm sorry to say that, personally and without going into specifics, this period of Mercury Retrograde has indeed lived up to its stellar infamy. As a matter of fact, I've been bitch-slapped in more ways than I care to think about. It got so bad that if I wasn't hiding under my covers I wouldn't go out without wearing goggles and an asbestos jumpsuit. I don't care if I look ridiculous, it puts me on guard and I'm braced for the worst. But if I'm ever advised that it's an excellent time to play the lottery or that I going to meet the woman of my dreams, I get EXTREMELY suspicious because I've learned from cold, bitter experience that it's best to keep the credit card tucked away and not try to force your destiny.

JE NE SAIS PAS

2006-10-30T22:58:00.000-05:00

I don't know who I am
I don't know what I want
I don't know why I'm here
I don't know who got here first
I don't know what it all has to do with me
I don't know why I don't make my bed
I don't know why I keep losing my socks
I don't know why my mom keeps calling me
I don't know why I keep rolling that damn rock up the hill
I don't know if I get enough sleep
I don't know what it means when I fly in my dreams
I don't know the appropriate life skills
I don't know how it all works
I don't know if I have any regrets
I don't know how to not sweat the small shit
I don't know how to hold my own with other guys
I don't know how to do the relationship thing
I don't know how to laughI don't know how to cry
I don't know why the harder I try the harder it gets
I don't know why my cat prefers the carpet to the litter box
I don't know if tomorrow ever comes of if it belongs to me
I don't know if UFO's exist
I don't know if professional wrestlers are faking it or not
I don't know if Eddie Haskell is really Alice Cooper
I don't know who wrote the book of love or if I even care
I don't know if "Louie, Louie" is the Great Western Mantra
I don't know if Elvis is dead or if Jim Morrison is alive and running guns in Honduras
I don't know if you've heard the one about the Zen vacuum cleaner; it has no attachments
I don't know why we die
I don't know what time is
I don't know if God plays dice
I don't know if reincarnation really matters
I don't know if meditation is the highest form of prayer
I don't know if prayer is the highest form of song
I don't know why Bob Dylan always sounds like its killing him to sing
I don't know if a woman named "J" wrote the Bible
I don't know why there are homeless children
I don't know why most men are proud of the fact that their underpants are torn and frayed
I don't know how to get the smell of kittywiz out of my carpet
I don't know why some people insist that the Holocaust never happened
I don't know why evil men prosper and the good die young
I don't know if God is a hairy thunderer or a cosmic elf named "Muffy"
I don't know if we'll ever develop cold fusion
I don't know if Shakespeare was gay
I don't know if Beethoven was black
I don't know J.R."Bob" Dobbs is the Messiah
I don't know why O.J. walked
I don't know why Jesus wept
I don't know if I have anything to prove
I don't know if I have anything to say
I don't know why these things happen
I don't know what the hell is going on

Paul McDonald © 1997-2001

SADHANA HAPPENS

2006-10-18T18:05:00.000-04:00

Every so often the universe gives you some subtle and some not so subtle hints as to what particular practices you should engage. The Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra was presenting itself to me in very unmistakable ways such as the day my mp3 player abruptly booted itself when I was listening to a podcast only to reset itself on Ravi Shankar’s recording of the Mahaa Mrityunjaya. The mantra reads thusly:

Om Tryambakam Yajamahe
Sugandhim Pustivardhanam
Urvarukamiva Bandhanan
Mrtyormuksheeya Maamritat

And translates to:

Om. We worship The Three-Eyed Lord Shiva who is naturally fragrant, immensely merciful & and who is the Protector of the devotees. Worshipping him may we be liberated from death for the sake of immortality just as the ripe cucumber easily separates itself from the binding stalk i.e. By your Grace, Let me be in the state of salvation (Moksha) and be saved from the clutches of fearful death.

(Western spelling and translation taken from www.indoindians.com/religion/maha.htm )

This mantra was first introduced to me by a member of the Jyotish Astrology Forum on Tribe.net. She chanted it for me in combination with the Gayatri Mantra and a mantra for Hanuman.

Mantras have become extremely important to me ever since my astrologer told me I was going through a very challenging transit of the planet Saturn (Astama Sani) and advised a specific mantra for me that I chanted 23,000 times (at least) over a three-month period. It was during this time I was told that the Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra could also be chanted to alleviate the harshness of the Saturn Transit.

It is traditionally chanted to avoid untimely death but if you google the term you can find it can be chanted with a number of noble and benefic intentions.

Ever since I saw a crow fly over the morning of September 2, 2006 (what I consider my diva-diksha day - The day I met Gurumayi Chidvilasananda), I knew something had been completed and now something was beginning. It was later confirmed to me that the worst of the Saturn Transit had past and that it would end entirely by July 2007.

I’m not sure why (it doesn’t matter really) but I’m being told to chant this mantra, so I’ve made a commitment to chant this at least 108 times a day at least until the transit is entirely over.

SELF PORTRAIT

2006-09-09T19:14:00.000-04:00

Just returned from the Siddha Yoga Ashram in Oakland California. During my time away I celebrated my 49th birthday and made a "pilgrimage" to the City Lights Bookstore in San Francisco. The morning of September 2nd I was sitting at a bus stop in Oakland waiting for the bus to take me to the ashram to chant the Guru Gita. It was about 6 am and the sun was not up, but in the sky a crow was flying making his "caw! caw!" sound. It brought to mind the cycle of death and rebirth. It was at that moment I knew something had been completed and now it was time for something to begin.

THE GOSPEL OF JUDAS

2006-05-20T21:30:00.000-04:00

The recently published Gospel of Judas is believed to have been composed sometime in the second century AD and stored in a cave in Egypt where it was discovered in 1978. After it's discovery it was stolen, rediscovered, and then passed through the hands of several owners, scholars and entrepreneurs; even languishing for several years in a safe deposit box in Hicksville, New York. It finally made its way to Switzerland where it was purchased by the Maecenas Foundation, restored and then published.

The Gospel of Judas stands in marked contrast to the accepted Gospels in the New Testament where Judas is portrayed as an antagonist. He is portrayed here in a positive, even heroic light. Judas Iscariot so impresses Christ that he takes Judas aside to tell him to separate himself from the others in order to learn the mysteries of the Kingdom. As Jesus says, "It is possible for you to reach it but you will grieve a great deal.” There is a lot of dialogue between Jesus, Judas and the Disciples with Jesus showing favor to the one that history presumes betrayed him. At one point, Jesus tells Judas,

...You will exceed them. for you will sacrifice the man who clothes me....your star has shone brightly and your heart has [become strong]..."

Remember that phrase, "for you will sacrifice the man who clothes me," because it is the phrase historians believe is Christ instructing his disciple Judas to betray him so that he may be crucified.

Like any deteriorating papyrus worth its 1700-year-old salt, this publication has almost as many annotations as Finnegan's Wake. For that we should all be grateful because, even though it's beautifully written in places, it isn't the easiest text to digest. A lot of words and complete sentences are missing so it helps tremendously to understand that when Judas says Jesus comes from the Immortal Realm of Barbelo, we know that he means essentially, "The Son of God." Thank God we're not presumed to be academics.

The Gospel of Judas will not change many minds about Judas' traditional role in history, at least not anytime soon. But in this day and age of the Da Vinci Code and the Gospels of Thomas and Philip, it opens the door for legitimate debate about the origins of Christianity.

DIFFERENT JUDASES I HAVE KNOWN

2006-05-20T15:34:00.000-04:00

When "The Gospel of Judas" was released this past Easter I heard an NPR Commentator rhapsodize about the different Judases he had known through his childhood. Having been raised in a strict Southern Baptist home it brought back a lot of memories I'd like to share.

Aside from growing up hearing that the man who betrayed our Lord and Savior was a dim-witted thug I didn't have much exposure to Judas until I was about 8 years old. That's when a movie about the life of Christ came out called "The Greatest Story Ever Told." It starred just about every unemployed Hollywood actor and their mother including David McCallum who I knew from TV's "The Man from UNCLE." McCallum portrayed Judas as a frightened wimp with about as much intelligence as your standard box of rocks. If McCallum was going for a career move it didn't work.

Then in the early 70's when they were producing "Jesus Christ Superstar," Andrew Lloyd Weber and Tim Rice decided that Judas could use a little juice, so in addition to having a lot more character depth, he delivered a top-forty hit single. I used to fantasize about "Jesus Christ Superstar" being the spring musical at my high school so I could play Judas and live out my rock star fantasies. It's probably best that we did "Annie Get Your Gun."

But my all time favorite Judas is Harvey Keitel's portrayal in "The Last Temptation of Christ." In this film Judas is strong, perceptive and appears to have a special relationship with Christ. Toward the end of the film, when Jesus has given in to the temptation of being a man instead of messiah, Judas, who knew they both played a pivotal role in the history of mankind, accuses Christ of being a traitor by abandoning his mission.

As you might imagine, "Superstar" and "Last Temptation" caused a lot of controversy when they came out just as there is now controversy with "The Gospel of Judas" and "The Da Vinci Code." It would appear that Christ and Judas needed each other to fulfill a certain destiny for mankind. But I'm enjoying watching everyone trying to get their two cents in about this destiny so much that I'm not even going to try to speculate what it is.

NUESTRO HIMNO

2006-05-05T16:47:00.000-04:00

In 1968 Jose Feliciano performed the National Anthem at the World Series and was booed off the field. The audience could not tolerate hearing “The Star Spangled Banner” played on an acoustic guitar with a decidedly Latin beat. It was a revealing moment that surprised Feliciano, who later said this was his way of giving thanks for the opportunity to live in a great country.

I’m always puzzled why people can get so upset when “The Star Spangled Banner” is interpreted any way except in its traditional form. With the possible exception of Roseanne Barr, every time an artist has chosen to take The National Anthem outside of its box and make it his or her own, they breathe new life into an otherwise dull and overdone moment. That is what any artist, John Phillip Sousa, Jose Feliciano or Jimi Hendrix, is supposed to do.

There is a new version of the “Star Spangled Banner” playing on the radio titled “Nuestro Himno” that’s being linked to the Immigration Rights controversy. This version is in Spanish and some of the lyrics have been changed to be more relevant to the present. Adam Kidron, president of the entertainment company that released this version said that in addition to expressing gratitude and patriotism, this version is about “the aspiration to have a relationship with the United States.”

As I listened to “Nuestro Himno” I found it to be stately, appropriate and no less patriotic than the time in 1980 when an American hostage in Iran scribbled the words “Viva La Rojas, Blanca y Azul” on the wall of his cell.

Why shouldn’t our national anthem, like our nation, be allowed to grow and breathe? Why shouldn’t successive generations be allowed to infuse it with their unique energy? Take the politics out of it, that’s not what it’s really about. “Nuestro Himno,” like the “Star Spangled Banner” is about our country expressed as a starry dream still unfolding. Let’s give it a chance to be heard.

Pit Bull recording "Nuestro Himno"
click here to download an mp3 of Nuestro Himno

This essay was broadcast on WFPL on May 5, 2006

SADE SATI, ASHTAMA SANI AND THE GREATNESS OF SATURN

2006-04-09T23:05:00.000-04:00

I, along with a lot of other people who attend the "Heart of Yoga Meditation" class at Yoga East just finished reading “The Greatness of Saturn” which peaked my interest in Sade Sati, otherwise known as a 7½ year “Saturn Fucks With Your Life” transit that everyone goes through sooner or later.

Vedic Astrologer Chakrapani Ullal, (formerly an astrological advisor for Swami Muktananda) had previously had done my natal Vedic chart so I arranged a phone appointment with him. Turns out I was actually born into one of these periods and went through a second one when I was 28. I also have Saturn in one of the absolutely worst places it could be in anyone’s chart (Scorpio – the 8th house), which usually means that the person born under it will have, among other things, a troubled childhood. Of course, there was nothing I could do about the first period except survive, which I managed to do, but I must have learned something in the second period (Saturn is, above all, a teacher; harsh, but nevertheless a bestower of deep truth) because toward the end of the second period I had quit drugs and alcohol and began writing.

I was about to let out a sigh of relief when Chakrapani said, “But you’re going through a worse experience now. It’s called Ashtama Sani and it’s very bad. You undergo a great deal of emotional disturbance and lose most if not all of your friends. Saturn wants you to feel alone. That’s the lesson you have to learn…” It’s been going on a year and will not end until July of 2007.

I was not ready to hear this. Chakrapani told me I could “pacify Saturn” by giving food to beggars on Saturday. I was too depressed to even think about volunteering at a soup kitchen so I asked about mantras. He gave me a couple that I chant with the intention to assimilate the lesson(s) as painlessly and quickly as possible. But, for Christ’s sake, the last thing you want to hear when you’re weaning off antidepressants is “you’re going to be an emotional wreck and LOSE ALL YOUR FRIENDS!!”

I then did some research. I called Laura Spaulding, the president of Yoga East, and told her about my dilema and she said – wisely I might add – that this is why we do sadhana (spiritual discipline). Daily meditation in the tradition of Siddha Yoga has been a practice of mine for several months now and I've also started chanting the Kundalini Stavah in the morning or midday, along with chanting some of the Saturn Mantras in the evening. I also discovered that being born with Saturn in your 8th house is a sign of a serious spiritual seeker. A lot of evolved souls incarnate under this sign so that they can learn lessons they feel they need. Not only that but the second part of their lives is when all the good karma and begins to kick in. You’re also blessed with a Kundalini Awakening that evolves at a speed you can handle rather than one big blast of a laser python crawling up your back and chewing out the top of your head.

So I’m in the middle of a bigass “letting go/have no agenda/make no assumptions” period, which, when I contemplate it, can be rather fortunate. And when all is said and done, I do have a Guru who loves me and will care for me if I just keep making the effort. Despite all the grief I have to admit that I’ve begun to perceive a lot of grace in my life lately.

POETRY HAPPENS

2006-04-07T14:53:00.000-04:00

A couple of years ago I read a magazine article by someone who felt that poetry was dead and no one really cared.

It is a sentiment I hear on occasion, and every time I hear it I have to restrain myself to keep from laughing. Maybe poetry doesn't necessarily happen in a particular form that someone thinks it should, but poetry is an art form that defies convention.

Case in point: October 7, 1955. A date, depending on who you talk to, that is either historical or infamous. This was the night of a poetry reading at the Six Gallery in San Francisco. Among the poets reading were Gary Snyder, Michael McClure and Allen Ginsberg. Also present was an inebriated Jack Kerouac, who made sure everyone had wine and shouted out the word "Go!" after every line recited. The centerpiece of the evening was Allen Ginsberg's first public reading of his poem "Howl", which shocked everyone with its fury and candor. Lawrence Ferlinghetti, publisher of City Lights Books, would later be jailed for publishing Ginsberg's poem, which is now routinely taught in college literature courses.

That evening was a link in a long chain of events that eventually mushroomed into a full-blown counter culture that literally changed the world. While I'm sure this may not have been on the agenda for the evening, it illustrates just how powerful and combustible poetry can be. The readers at the Six Gallery did not start anything new. They drew upon the traditions of elders such as Walt Whitman, William Carlos Williams and Charles Olsen. They inspired another generation of poets, writers and musicians such as Bob Dylan, Gil Scott Heron and Leonard Cohen who in turn inspired Bruce Springsteen to point the way to “Thunder Road”, Kurt Cobain to tell us about feeling stupid and contagious and Three 6 Mafia to articulate just how hard it is out here for a pimp.

Poetry happens. It's just a plain fact of life. It might not appear in a form you're accustomed to but it is just as alive, essential and wild as it always has been.

EQUINOX (POEM WRITTEN WHILE RECOVERING FROM A GASTRIC BLEED)

2006-03-20T17:48:00.000-05:00

spring is here

yipee

11 days away from the month
with the greatest number of suicides

barring nuclear winter
birth WILL take place

shake hands with yr angel
before you wrestle
till yr 3rd eye bleeds

spring is here
shed yr skin
writhe like dogs

spring is here

fertility
without
epidural

spring is here

easter
crucifixion
resurrection

writhe
like
dogs

Paul McDonald © 2001

THREE GENERATIONS IN MANILA

2006-03-17T14:52:00.001-05:00

It is a rare parent who does not pass on the psychic scars of his past and my father is no diffent than most parents. I made that discovery one day when he shared just a few memories of his childhood with me. After that I found it difficult to blame him for the scars of my childhood.

My dad never knew his real father. He divorced my grandmother when my dad was an infant. My dad’s clearest memory was when he was about three years old and playing with the lights in his father’s truck. His father said, “Don’t do that son, it will run down the batteries…” That, in essence, was the entire childhood interaction between father and son.

I heard a number of stories about my grandfather’s womanizing and the violent alcoholic stepfather who took his place. But the strongest link to my dad’s past is the picture of a gravestone in the American Military Cemetery in Manila that bears his name. Or should I say my grandfather’s name. My dad was named for his father who was killed in WWII. That stark black and white photo is probably the most powerful illustration of the pain my father has carried all his life.

When the opportunity arose for me to go to the Philippines recently I realized that in the sixty-plus years since my grandfather had been buried there, no one had ever visited his grave. Since this was the man whose choices indirectly forged my childhood, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. But aside from my experience were those of a son who always wished he could have had at least a ten-minute conversation with his father.

I suggested my dad write him a letter telling him the things he wished he could have told him in person. I can tell you there was no bitterness in the letter; nothing but love from a son who looked forward to meeting his father in heaven some day.

I delivered the letter and had my picture taken with it next to the gravesite. It was later placed in a vault at the cemetery. It had been a long time, but three generations came together in Manila and with some understanding and forgiveness, the healing now begins.

This piece was broadcast on WFPL in Louisville, Kentucky on April 14, 2005 and later liscensed for broadcast by Public Interactive on June 6, 2006.

SEASONAL AFFECTIVE DISORDER

2005-12-11T23:59:00.000-05:00

There's a certain scene in a movie where Jack Nicholson has just been thrown out of his psychiatrist's office. Before he leaves he looks around the lobby and says to no one in particular, "What if this is as good as it gets?"

The first time I saw that scene I smiled because I had an inkling of how the movie might turn out. But every winter, as the days get shorter and the temperature gets colder I remember that question. I must admit that I stopped smiling long ago.

I've struggled with depression most of my life. It wasn't until about 12 years ago that it was diagnosed and I was able to take measures to deal with it. Specifically psychotherapy, support groups and little wonders like Prozac. But depression seems to have nestled into my DNA like an unwelcome tenant who continues to ignore the eviction notice. Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD as a lame pun intended acronym, tends to descend on my worldly outlook like ten huge wet blankets. Combine the lack of sunlight, the cold along with Jack Nicholson's voice reverberating in my mind and you have a recipe for a very unpleasant existence.

The condition and the term were coined by Maryland physician Dr. Norman Rosenthal in his book, "Winter Blues." Along with the standard treatments for depression he prescribed a regimen of light exposure called phototherapy. I checked the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders to see if they had any references to SAD. While I didn't find any with that acronym it did acknowledge that seasonal changes can have a profound effect on triggering depression.

My doctor advised me to get some full spectrum lighting for my apartment. Whether it's helping or not the lighting is much easier on my eyes. Meditation and Hatha Yoga have become priorities as I now have a regular practice of both. Add to this some targeted serotonin reuptake inhibitors and I think I'll make it to February. Then I intend to take two weeks to visit the South Pacific. If I'm lying on the beach and I dare to think, "What if this is as good as it gets?" I'm going to take the risk to answer, "No way, Jose…"

CLASSMATES.COM

2005-09-08T22:20:00.000-04:00

they just had my 30 year
high school reunion

a lot of people with gastric bypass and
reconstructive surgery
walking with canes
looking gaunt
the skin hanging on their skinny frames

several on their second or third marriage
to a high school crush they met
at the 20 year reunion
or divorced because
they made that mistake
at the 10th

some people didn’t show because
no one paid attention to them last time
i didn’t go because
i had no trophy ammunition

judging by some of the music on the radio
i might as well still be
in high school

freebird
smoke on the water
anything by led zeppelin
like beat up buicks with
300,000 mile rebuilt engines
that just won’t die

keith richards looks exactly
like my grandmother before she died
gilligan just kicked
(goodbye little buddy)
and if i were a dog
i would have just turned
336

my arms and shoulders hurt
the disks in my neck
well on the way to herniation

the dvds i rent
are old dick cavett shows
i wasn’t allowed to watch
when i was in high school

during my short tenure on this planet
the berlin wall rose and fell
the soviet union imploded
strom thurmond finally took the hint
and left the party

i’m not a baby boomer
and nowhere near
gen x

i’ve had the privilege
of two centuries and two millenniums

and all i can do is whine about it.

Paul McDonald © 2005