"Fishin' With Duane" as told by Butch Trucks

Trees

To be a giant and keep quiet about it,

to stay in one's own place;

to stand for the constant presence of process

and to always seem the same;

to be steady as a rock and always trembling,

having the hard appearance of death

with the soft fluent nature of growth,

One's Being deceptively armored,

One's Becoming deceptively vulnerable;

To be so tough, and to take the light so well,

Freely providing forbidden knowledge

Of so many things of heaven and earth

For which we should otherwise have no word -----

Poems or people are rarely so lovely,

And even when they have great qualities

They tend to tell you rather than exemplify

What they believe themselves to be about,

While from the moving silence of trees,

Whether in storm or calm, in leaf and naked,

Night and day, we draw conclusions of our own,

Sustaining and unnoticed as our breath

And perilous also--though there has never been

A critical tree---about the nature of things.

Howard Nemerov

Twigs (excerpt)

Neither music,
fame, nor wealth,
not even poetry itself,
could provide consolation
for life’s brevity,
or the fact that King Lear
is a mere eighty pages long and comes to an end…

And so
it has taken me
all of sixty years
to understand
that water is the finest drink,
and bread the most delicious food,
and that art is worthless
unless it plants
a measure of splendor in people’s hearts.

–Taha Muhammad Ali (From So What:  New and Selected Poems, translated by Peter Cole, Yahya Hijazi, and Gabriel Levin)

The Wisdom of Insecurity: A Message for an Age of Anxiety--Alan Watts

““But in practice we are all bewitched by words. We confuse them with the real world, and try to live in the real world as if it were the world of words. As a consequence, we are dismayed and dumbfounded when they do not fit. The more we try to live in the world of words, the more we feel isolated and alone, the more all the joy and liveliness of things is exchanged for mere certainty and security. On the other hand, the more we are forced to admit that we actually live in the real world, the more we feel ignorant, uncertain, and insecure about everything.”

“But there can be no sanity unless the difference between these two worlds is recognized. The scope and purposes of science are woefully misunderstood when the universe which it describes is confused with the universe in which man lives. Science is talking about a symbol of the real universe. It is a convenient time saver for making practical arrangements. But when money and wealth, reality and science are confused, the symbol becomes a burden.”

“Similarly, the universe described in formal, dogmatic religion is nothing more than a symbol of the real world, being likewise constructed out of verbal and conventional distinctions. To separate “this person” from the rest of the universe is to make a conventional separation. To want “this person” to be eternal is to want the words to be the reality, and to insist that a convention endure for ever and ever. We hunger for the perpetuity of something which never existed. Science has “destroyed” the religious symbol of the world because, when symbols are confused with reality, different ways of symbolizing reality will seem contradictory.”

“The scientific way of symbolizing the world is more suited to utilitarian purposes than the religious way, but this does not mean that it has any more “truth.” Is it truer to classify rabbits according to their meat or according to their fur? It depends on what you want to do with them. The clash between science and religion has not shown that religion is false and science is true. It has shown that all systems of definition are relative to various purposes, and that none of them actually “grasp” reality. And because religion was being misused as a means for actually grasping and possessing the mystery of life, a certain measure of “debunking” was highly necessary.””

Alan Watts - The Wisdom of Insecurity: A Message for an Age of Anxiety (via kenobi-wan-obi)(via catherinewillis)

 Source: kenobi-wan-obi

In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself, in a dark wood, where the direct way was lost. It is a hard thing to speak of, how wild, harsh and impenetrable that wood was, so that thinking of it recreates the fear. It is scarcely less bitter than death: but, in order to tell of the good that I found there, I must tell of the other things I saw there.

I cannot rightly say how I entered it. I was so full of sleep, at that point where I abandoned the true way. But when I reached the foot of a hill, where the valley, that had pierced my heart with fear, came to an end, I looked up and saw its shoulders brightened with the rays of that sun that leads men rightly on every road. Then the fear, that had settled in the lake of my heart, through the night that I had spent so miserably, became a little calmer. And as a man, who, with panting breath, has escaped from the deep sea to the shore, turns back towards the perilous waters and stares, so my mind, still fugitive, turned back to see that pass again, that no living person ever left.

Dante Alighieri

Inferno Canto I:1-60 The Dark Wood and the Hill 

What it is Like to Go to War

What Its like to Go to War--Bill Moyers with Karl Marlantes

At 40 minutes during this engrossing interview with Bill Moyers Karl Marlantes (November 20, 2012), the author of the Vietnam novel Matterhorn and more recently the non fiction account of "What It is Like to Go to War" speaks of the crushing effect of combat on the minds of soldiers during World War II.

And I think about, there's sort of several ways that the mind can go. In World War II, there was only-- several ways out. The war had to be over or you had to be wounded bad enough that they never sent you back or you could die. And about a quarter of the casualties were psychiatric. A quarter.
What that's telling me is that the mind says, "I've got to get out of here. This is just not good for me. This is not good for me. How am I going to do it? I'm going to go crazy. That's how I'm going to do it." And how did they solve that? They said, "We’re going to give them all a length of service, so that they know when it's over." Vietnam, you know, the Army had 12 months, the Marines had 13 months. The psychiatric casualty rate dropped to something like two percent.

This strategy reminds me of the countdown traffic lights that eliminate the uncertainty of the duration of waiting at a traffic signal.  

Countdown Traffic Lights...the countdown traffic light is convenient since it also illustrates just how short the duration of a red light actually is. Waiting 20 seconds can last forever if you don’t actually know that it is 20 seconds. In this case uncertainty is a stressful experience that may only be eliminated by embracing the low-risk of jaywalking.

However, by showing the duration of a red light, the countdown traffic light effectively eliminates uncertainty thereby reducing cognitive stress since we are no longer charged with closely monitoring the signal while pondering the decision to stay or cross.

Waiting for the red light to turn green patiently reduces enormous stress on the part of driver (and pedestrian alike).  On the other hand, a countdown green light has the opposite effect at least with regard to safety as motorists and pedestrians will speed up in order to "make the light" often causing more accidents then uncertainty might have predicted.

Made me wonder:  Are we born with a "length of service" that provides the same effect of reducing uncertainty?  Sure, there is a lottery as to which day will be the last but we can depend upon averages to eliminate that issue.   Are we less stressed knowing that all of this will come to an end some day and do not have to choose to go insane to be removed from the situation?

IT IS NOT you who call. It is not your voice calling from within your ephemeral breast. It is not only the white, yellow, and black generations of man calling in your heart. The entire Earth, with her trees and her waters, with her animals, with her men and her gods, calls from within your breast.

Nikos Kazantzakis "Asktiki"

The Cry Is Not Yours--Nikos Kazantzakis

THE CRY IS not yours. It is not you talking, but innumerable ancestors talking with your mouth. It is not you who desire, but innumerable generations of descendants longing with your heart.

--Nikos Kazantzakis "Askitki"

THE GOOD LIFE

You stand at the window.
There is a glass cloud in the shape of a heart.
The wind's sighs are like caves in your speech.
You are the ghost in the tree outside.

The street is quiet.
The weather, like tomorrow, like your life,
is partially here, partially up in the air.
There is nothing you can do.

The good life gives no warning.
It weathers the climates of despair
and appears, on foot, unrecognized, offering nothing,
and you are there.

 - Mark Strand

Just this. Just this, this room where we are. Pay attention to that. Pay attention to who's there. Pay attention to what isn't known there. Pay attention to what is known there. Pay attention to what everyone is thinking or feeling; what you're doing there. Pay attention. Pay attention.

 - W. S. Merwin

A little rain, a little blood. Black fingernails in August; and going berserk, going bananas. As if entrapped in a tropical heatwave, with dozens of whirlwinds swirling in one's mind, one thinks of a way out, or a way in: out of the scorching bosom of a volcano, and in – into the centre of a raging hurricane. And tracing the labyrinthine ways of your mind, the haphazard vagaries of your thoughts at ease, the odds and ends of your mental surplus you carelessly throw at the world, one wants to be at a loss, in a maze; amazed, and amazingly unabashed.

  - Adam Zagajewski

Some thing I want to say:

This Chinese character, a knife hovering over the heart and pronounced    REN    means patience.   Or it implies patience or what patience might imply.   The Chinese written language so poetic allows for the fact that it may mean much more or something else simultaneously.   A knife hovering over the heart that cuts deeply.  

Constraint?  Threat!  Annihilation--imminent and dangerous.  Or not?  A prolonged and unrequited anxiety.  Unfulfilled yearning.  Clearly, I would suggest, not a healthy prescription for the poor heart.  Certainly not for the pure heart.  Or, ought the heart to be severed?  To be cut in two?  Would that then  kill the heart?  Or might  the heart   exist in two?  Patience may imply the willingness to exist with the heart in two places.  Not unlike a parent   whose heart  lies outside her body for the rest of her life yet beats palpably beneath her breast.   To be patient might imply to be willing and able to exist with the heart in two places.  One in expectation, and the other in fulfillment?  To live with total acceptance and surrender to the heart below the knife?   To wake each day split in two the same way as the samurai warrior who wakes each day to his own death before putting on his sandals?

Now that I have had my say

 ….you will remember nothing:

Or do you?

The Choice

I met a young writer yesterday who proclaimed boldly the desire to make a living from her work.  Already four unpublished novels she aims to tailor her writing to what she perceives to be the market.  I don't know how any of this works, it is clear.  But I suspect strongly that the motivation for money, even just a little enough to get by, misdirects the effort.  

The Choice

The intellect of man is forced to choose
perfection of the life, or of the work,
And if it take the second must refuse
A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark.
When all that story's finished, what's the news?
In luck or out the toil has left its mark:
That old perplexity an empty purse,
Or the day's vanity, the night's remorse. 

William Butler Yeats

Be Kind

George Saunders, Syracuse University commencement speech 2013.

Down through the ages, a traditional form has evolved for this type of speech, which is: Some old fart, his best years behind him, who, over the course of his life, has made a series of dreadful mistakes (that would be me), gives heartfelt advice to a group of shining, energetic young people, with all of their best years ahead of them (that would be you).
And I intend to respect that tradition.
Now, one useful thing you can do with an old person, in addition to borrowing money from them, or asking them to do one of their old-time “dances,” so you can watch, while laughing, is ask: “Looking back, what do you regret?”  And they’ll tell you.  Sometimes, as you know, they’ll tell you even if you haven’t asked.  Sometimes, even when you’ve specifically requested they not tell you, they’ll tell you.
So: What do I regret?  Being poor from time to time?  Not really.  Working terrible jobs, like “knuckle-puller in a slaughterhouse?”  (And don’t even ASK what that entails.)  No.  I don’t regret that.  Skinny-dipping in a river in Sumatra, a little buzzed, and looking up and seeing like 300 monkeys sitting on a pipeline, pooping down into the river, the river in which I was swimming, with my mouth open, naked?  And getting deathly ill afterwards, and staying sick for the next seven months?  Not so much.  Do I regret the occasional humiliation?  Like once, playing hockey in front of a big crowd, including this girl I really liked, I somehow managed, while falling and emitting this weird whooping noise, to score on my own goalie, while also sending my stick flying into the crowd, nearly hitting that girl?  No.  I don’t even regret that.
But here’s something I do regret:
In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class.  In the interest of confidentiality, her Convocation Speech name will be “ELLEN.”  ELLEN was small, shy.  She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that, at the time, only old ladies wore.  When nervous, which was pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair into her mouth and chewing on it.
So she came to our school and our neighborhood, and was mostly ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair taste good?” – that sort of thing).  I could see this hurt her.  I still remember the way she’d look after such an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if, having just been reminded of her place in things, she was trying, as much as possible, to disappear.  After awhile she’d drift away, hair-strand still in her mouth.  At home, I imagined, after school, her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?” and she’d say, “Oh, fine.”  And her mother would say, “Making any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”
Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as if afraid to leave it.
And then – they moved.  That was it.  No tragedy, no big final hazing.
One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.
End of story.
Now, why do I regret that?  Why, forty-two years later, am I still thinking about it?  Relative to most of the other kids, I was actually pretty nice to her.  I never said an unkind word to her.  In fact, I sometimes even (mildly) defended her.
But still.  It bothers me.

So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny, and I don’t quite know what to do with it:
What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness. 
Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded…sensibly.  Reservedly.  Mildly.
Or, to look at it from the other end of the telescope:  Who, in your life, do you remember most fondly, with the most undeniable feelings of warmth?
Those who were kindest to you, I bet.
It’s a little facile, maybe, and certainly hard to implement, but I’d say, as a goal in life, you could do worse than: Try to be kinder.
Now, the million-dollar question:  What’s our problem?  Why aren’t we kinder?
Here’s what I think:
Each of us is born with a series of built-in confusions that are probably somehow Darwinian.  These are: (1) we’re central to the universe (that is, our personal story is the main and most interesting story, the only story, really); (2) we’re separate from the universe (there’s US and then, out there, all that other junk – dogs and swing-sets, and the State of Nebraska and low-hanging clouds and, you know, other people), and (3) we’re permanent (death is real, o.k., sure – for you, but not for me).
Now, we don’t really believe these things – intellectually we know better – but we believe them viscerally, and live by them, and they cause us to prioritize our own needs over the needs of others, even though what we really want, in our hearts, is to be less selfish, more aware of what’s actually happening in the present moment, more open, and more loving.
So, the second million-dollar question:  How might we DO this?  How might we become more loving, more open, less selfish, more present, less delusional, etc., etc?
Well, yes, good question.
Unfortunately, I only have three minutes left.
So let me just say this.  There are ways.  You already know that because, in your life, there have been High Kindness periods and Low Kindness periods, and you know what inclined you toward the former and away from the latter.  Education is good; immersing ourselves in a work of art: good; prayer is good; meditation’s good; a frank talk with a dear friend;  establishing ourselves in some kind of spiritual tradition – recognizing that there have been countless really smart people before us who have asked these same questions and left behind answers for us.
Because kindness, it turns out, is hard – it starts out all rainbows and puppy dogs, and expands to include…well, everything.
One thing in our favor:  some of this “becoming kinder” happens naturally, with age.  It might be a simple matter of attrition:  as we get older, we come to see how useless it is to be selfish – how illogical, really.  We come to love other people and are thereby counter-instructed in our own centrality.  We get our butts kicked by real life, and people come to our defense, and help us, and we learn that we’re not separate, and don’t want to be.  We see people near and dear to us dropping away, and are gradually convinced that maybe we too will drop away (someday, a long time from now).  Most people, as they age, become less selfish and more loving.  I think this is true.  The great Syracuse poet, Hayden Carruth, said, in a poem written near the end of his life, that he was “mostly Love, now.”
And so, a prediction, and my heartfelt wish for you: as you get older, your self will diminish and you will grow in love.  YOU will gradually be replaced by LOVE.   If you have kids, that will be a huge moment in your process of self-diminishment.  You really won’t care what happens to YOU, as long as they benefit.  That’s one reason your parents are so proud and happy today.  One of their fondest dreams has come true: you have accomplished something difficult and tangible that has enlarged you as a person and will make your life better, from here on in, forever.
Congratulations, by the way.
When young, we’re anxious – understandably – to find out if we’ve got what it takes.  Can we succeed?  Can we build a viable life for ourselves?  But you – in particular you, of this generation – may have noticed a certain cyclical quality to ambition.  You do well in high-school, in hopes of getting into a good college, so you can do well in the good college, in the hopes of getting a good job, so you can do well in the good job so you can….
And this is actually O.K.  If we’re going to become kinder, that process has to include taking ourselves seriously – as doers, as accomplishers, as dreamers.  We have to do that, to be our best selves.
Still, accomplishment is unreliable.  “Succeeding,” whatever that might mean to you, is hard, and the need to do so constantly renews itself (success is like a mountain that keeps growing ahead of you as you hike it), and there’s the very real danger that “succeeding” will take up your whole life, while the big questions go untended.
So, quick, end-of-speech advice: Since, according to me, your life is going to be a gradual process of becoming kinder and more loving: Hurry up.  Speed it along.  Start right now.  There’s a confusion in each of us, a sickness, really: selfishness.  But there’s also a cure.  So be a good and proactive and even somewhat desperate patient on your own behalf – seek out the most efficacious anti-selfishness medicines, energetically, for the rest of your life.
Do all the other things, the ambitious things – travel, get rich, get famous, innovate, lead, fall in love, make and lose fortunes, swim naked in wild jungle rivers (after first having it tested for monkey poop) – but as you do, to the extent that you can, err in the direction of kindness.  Do those things that incline you toward the big questions, and avoid the things that would reduce you and make you trivial.  That luminous part of you that exists beyond personality – your soul, if you will – is as bright and shining as any that has ever been.  Bright as Shakespeare’s, bright as Gandhi’s, bright as Mother Theresa’s.  Clear away everything that keeps you separate from this secret luminous place.  Believe it exists, come to know it better, nurture it, share its fruits tirelessly.
And someday, in 80 years, when you’re 100, and I’m 134, and we’re both so kind and loving we’re nearly unbearable, drop me a line, let me know how your life has been.  I hope you will say: It has been sowonderful.
Congratulations, Class of 2013.
I wish you great happiness, all the luck in the world, and a beautiful summer.

Civilization

Collusionist by Beachprophet on SoundCloud 

Civilization began the first time an angry person cast a word instead of a rock.
Sigmund Freud

If there’s no joy sans love and laughter,

As Mimnermus holds, then live for love and laughter.

Long life!

Horace: The Epistles Book I: Epistle VI

"Submissive to the sea and wind,
resistful of all else, sand
is the beginning and the end
of our dominion."

—  Mary Barnard, from "Shoreline”

“But if these years have taught me anything it is this: you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in.”

Junot Diaz, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

I sit on the lawn overlooking Waterfall Bay in Hong Kong, wind chimes sounding inside the sporadic whoosh of the warm wet wind blowing off the fecund tropical trees here in Hong Kong, my feet curled atop the stubby grass, my third cup of coffee in my hand, the ever friendly and attentive Sal, my friend Steve's chocolate Lab circling me the same way my thoughts circle now around this place, my place, where I am.

Don’t Go Back To Sleep

For years, copying other people, I tried to know myself.
From within, I couldn’t decide what to do.
Unable to see, I heard my name being called.
Then I walked outside.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.

—Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks from The Essential Rumi.

       Bronx boy
wondering
       why he is here.

Don DeLillo’s 7-word autobiography, alongside those of other cultural icons. (via explore-blog)

Source: explore-blog
July 18, 2013 / 131 notes

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The only true voyage, the only bath in the Fountain of Youth, would be not to visit strange lands but to possess other eyes, to see the universe through the eyes of another, of a hundred others, to see the hundred universes that each of them sees, that each of them is; and this we do, with great artists; with artists like these we do really fly from star to star.

Marcel Proust, courtesy of Whiskey River.

July 18, 2013 / 84 notes

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Marcel Proust

Here is an illuminating interview with James George, former high commissioner to India and former ambassador to Iran. The Dalai Lama calls him “my old friend.” Chogyam Trungpa referred to him as “a wise and benevolent man, an ideal statesman.”
He has been a gentle teacher and a friend who has inspired many to engage in a spiritual practice in the midst of life–one that can bridge the external world with the inner world.

July 11, 2013 / 42 notes

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James George Spiritual Practice

It is useful to consider the body as the anchor for the senses and the mind; they are all interrelated. Feel your entire physical body. Allow your breathing to become relaxed and quiet. When your body and breath become very still, you may feel a very light sensation, almost like flying, which carries with it a fresh, alive quality. Open all your cells, even the molecules that make up your body, unfolding them like petals. Hold nothing back: open more than your heart; open your entire body, every atom of it. Then a beautiful experience can arise that has a quality you can come back to again and again, a quality that will heal and sustain you.

Tarthang Tulku, Openness Mind

July 11, 2013 / 122 notes

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Tarthang Tulku Wisdom Traditions

Benoit Courti. Thank you, la-journee.

Source: la-journee
July 11, 2013 / 73 notes

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Benoit Courti

Fernando Lemos, 1949. Thank you, la-journee.

Source: la-journee
July 11, 2013 / 205 notes

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Fernando Lemos highlight

We must suppose that we go deep within ourselves, deeper and deeper into our most hidden self. There in our innermost being, in the very core of ourselves, we will find a place where there is peace, stillness, and above all, love.

After having found the place, we must imagine that we are seated there, immersed into, surrounded by the Love of God. We are in deepest peace … All of us is there, physical body and all; nothing is outside, not even a fingertip, not even the tiniest hair. Our whole being is connected with the Love of God.

Nothing will remain.

—Irina Tweedie, Daughter of Fire: A Diary of a Spiritual Training with a Sufi Master (California: The Golden Sufi Center, 2006)
Painting: Odilon Redon, Le Silence, 1900
From parabola-magazine.

Source: parabola-magazine
July 11, 2013 / 47 notes

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Irina Tweedie Odilon Redon Wisdom Traditions

All the people in the Kuo-ch'ing monastery
They say, "Han-shan is an idiot."
"Am I really an idiot?" I reflect.
But my reflections fail to solve the question:
for I myself do not know who the self is,
And how can others know who I am?

 - Han Shan / Cold Mountain

The Century Of The Self (FULL: Episodes 1-4)   

The most selfish generation?  Balls. We are the constructs of a mindful manipulation and need to break free if only once or twice a week....

We are rich: we have nothing to lose.

We are old: we have nowhere to rush.

We shall fluff the pillows of the past,

poke the embers of the days to come,

talk about what means the most,

as the indolent daylight fades.

We shall lay to rest our undying dead:

I shall bury you, you will bury me.

 - Vera Pavlova

 translated by Steven Seymour

Herbst (by ekaterina-koroleva:)

he seemed to me again like a king,

Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld

DH Lawrence

Welcome however it may unfurl, OYear of the Snake.  

Bring your best, do your worst, 

life goes on as a Horse follows on trot 

ain't going to look that Horse in the mouth,

ready, instead, to jump up that gift horse with a saddle 

and ride