Month: February 2018

Meditation

My mental meditation is similar to my spiritual. For mental, I make coffee and sit to read; for spiritual, I light a candle and sit to breathe.

For mental, I watch the words and count the pages; for spiritual, I watch the gates of my nostrils and count the breaths.

For mental, I arrive at a place, inspired and thinking, like my mind takes a step up, into a plateau on a higher intellectual level, where I am free to move about with increased brain function, pulling memories from this and that book, making them debate one another, picking up the winner and putting it down in my own words, writing more and more notes in the book’s margins, until there is too much and I must move onto my own blank pages that I fill with what seems to fill the gaps between the books I have read so far, though my fillings may, unbeknownst to me, live in a book I have not yet read.

For spiritual, I arrive at a similar place, after having watched my breath for some time, I can see the candle’s dance play through my eyelids, I make this my drishti and watch until my senses let go, and now travel to a plateau through my third eye where I can play without a sense of space or time.

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Poetry

Poetry is best read with courage and a bit of coffee. Not only must it be studied and require a certain amount of intellectual work form the reader (hence, the coffee). But it must also be emotionally invested in, and allowed to play in one’s own past experiences, and so the courage. It is not like an entertaining novel, easily lighted through before bed; nor is it like a thesis, requiring only the powers of the mind.

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A general claim

I have dribbled on enough about certain particulars so that I may now make one or two general claims without the reader thinking I am a generalist. I dare say, life is …

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Shavasana

After yoga, in shavasana, my mind is free to move about its memories. I sit at my desk in the office and hold an orange. I walk down the stairs to the basement of my childhood home and step out the glass door to the backyard. Everything is so clear, as if I were really there, and my eyes might open to find my body in shavasana just as easily as they would open to find any of these other realities.

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Games

I play games with my mind. Young and western, a student of philosophy in particular, my physical self is pushed forward by my mental. Running on the treadmill, I chase after a goal: a certain distance in a certain time. Until I realize I can certainly achieve it; in fact, I am almost there, and my body is not tired yet.

So I reset the goal, and reset my mind to push my body to chase after it. My body knows no better; it forgets completely the former goal, though admittedly more tired than the start, it chases after the new goal with the same ardor as the original. But now my mind has caught on to what may be an infinite regression of goals, so O focus it on a drishti: a paint speck on the wall, and just watch it and listen to my breath, and avoid looking at the numbers for distance and time on the treadmill.

For my whole young life, I asked why. I would stop in my tracks and ask why and not keep on going until I was satisfied with the answer. So you can see why it was a problem when at some point in college I asked my philosophy professor why and he told me for the first time that there may not be a why and that was the first answer that stopped me in my tracks instead of starting me going again.

And ever since then I’ve been playing these mind games, inventing up answers and getting along that way until my mind figures out the trick and wants to ask why. Only I find fewer and fewer who can provide an answer of any decency. Most of the time they have not asked enough why’s themselves. And so I am stuck answering my own why’s but most of the time I don’t have any reasonable answer so I just invent up a new game to get me along for a while.

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With

She looks at me as if to say, “Why aren’t you here with me?”

I want to reply, “If only you could see what I’m seeing.”

But I only smile and say, “I love you.”

She’s taken aback, visibly wondering what in the world I’m talking about.

I only smile, confident.

And seeing me confident, she smiles.

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Create

I need a little of the sickness, sadness and depression to create; otherwise I just float along happy and smiling.

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Getting along

I think about those who are just getting along, and I wonder who lives more in the present: those who have secured a future, or those who haven’t?

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First and last

I want to experience it 
like it's my first and last; 
first, with all the curiosity 
of a newborn baby, 
and last, with all the gratitude 
of an old dying man.
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Pain

When you feel the pain look at its face and see what is it, how does it burn, and what is a burn, and why do we call burn by the name pain; of course, the name itself, literally, is irrelevant, but the dualistic connotation is what brings with the concept a certain negative feeling toward the sensation.

But now that I look at it square above the nose and in between the eyes, I realize it is just a tingling like any other, and look past it to see what I am really experiencing—something like electricity that I can’t quite describe

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Doer

My friend who has done so much says to me, “You have not seen enough.”

Before I can respond, our ascetic friend interjects to ask the doer, “Have you considered there are things which you may have overlooked?”

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Karma

If it’s all slowed down, you must take the day to turn it around. And this is the most difficult part, to be slothy or downtrodden or depressed and not say, “Oh, why me?” but instead fight the viscous sludge and stand up and run around and smile and create and love and put all this into positive motion without any attachment or expectation of result or reciprocation, and keep on putting positivity into the world, until you’re not even realizing that it is the world at your back and pushing you along.

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Myself

I consider that 
it is only myself 
that is hindering myself; 
so my latter self says 
to my former self: 
come on, let's get going.
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Action

When things take on a certain simplicity as far as what is important, I can commit to action; but this assumes that that for which we take action must be important, and of course the standard for importance is also in question.

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Documenting

I’m still at a point, both as a writer and in life, where I’m just documenting; I haven’t seen enough to make any claims yet.

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Relationship

I, for maybe the first time, am experiencing what it is for a relationship to actually develop, as opposed to up and leaving the whole route at any sharp turn and picking up again on a new road with a new person.

I am seeing and feeling what it is for a relationship to have a life of its own and grow to become even a third separate entity from her and I, like a spirit or soul with its own personality and tastes and talents—we are more than ourselves when we are together, each of us growing to accommodate and nurture not only our selves, but also each other, as well as the third newborn relationship itself.

At junctures and bumpy patches, I stay in it and watch it swell as emotion is added and carefully point all this energy in a loving and positive direction that is a circle that flows between us, from my soul, through the third, to her and back, through the third again, to me. This, as opposed to up and moving on at the sign of first swelling; rather than maturity and molding and feeding what we have, instead breaking off, myself alone, to chase after novelty and a new sensation. But this is different.

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Vacillate

Schopenhauer says we vacillate between distress and boredom. I think of this when deciding whether to move to Monterrey Bay and live a quite life by the ocean, hiking occasionally and thinking and reading, but also risking boredom and lack of inspiration. Or, to stay in San Francisco among so many people and new ideas and work and energy, but risking distress and the occasional anxiety. Of course, it would seem there is a balance between the two, which is why we drive back and forth on the pacific coast highway.

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Smoke

El and I smoke in the hotel bathroom. We dash ash on the sill and blow smoke out the open window and laugh.

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Fickle veil

The concept of not having something seems to me so fickle; so too with the concept of something having not yet occurred (future), or having already occurred (past); time and space are very thin veils between what there is here and now.

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Period

The period is my favorite punctuation mark lately. I like to end things resolutely, rather than leave it open like it could begin again or not. It allows me to start a new sentence with confidence.

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Phone

I want to take a picture of my phone in my hands. But I can’t. Because my phone is my camera. So I can’t. Unless I get another phone.

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Older

I’ve been trying more often lately to stop time; I’m getting scared of getting older.

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Lines

She said she likes to be drunk and let the lines flow. Watching the way she danced and thinking about her past, she had all the qualities of a beautiful woman with a fun and free spirit and I wondered about the men that had wanted her before me.

Laying in bed that night she says she has always liked men like me who had lines that she could play within. For a while, she said, she thought she didn’t need any lines at all, but then realized with complete freedom and no boundaries she might accidentally cut her arms and let all the blood flow out or run into traffic whether it was moving or not or fall off a cliff no matter if it was tall enough to die from the fall.

Alone, she had to worry about these things. With a lined man, he held out his arms for her to lean against and bounce between, but never having to worry much about boundaries so that she was free just to flow and dance about.

In the same way, I, the lined man, am free to smile and laugh when I’m with her. Her falling in love in high culture, and I falling in love back, in need of a little levity and fairytale to inspire my philosophy and science.

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Sick

I like to be sick and lay in bed all day and escape the world and obligations of a healthy person.

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Space

After you have focused on the breath, moving in and out of your nostrils. You start to focus on seeing the black of your closed eyelids. Now look, not through your eyeballs, and see without seeing the space that isn’t spatial, which seems to be behind your eyebrows and inside your frontal lobe.

Your conditioned mind will try to assign it a color, and you watch this take place physically as the “space” turns into all sorts of colors and shapes, until you are finally able to let go of your need of seeing a physical thing and it undresses from its colorful and shapeful cloak.

You are no longer looking at something else that seems to have a contained space inside your frontal lobe but instead it opens up and spreads in all directions so that immediately you are with it and in it and there is no distinction between you and this “space” that is everything and nothing and you’ve lost all memory of sitting there on your cushion and just balance up and out of it, until a door slams shut or a bright light flashes or something else brings you back to the physical world in your seated body.

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Dreams

If I read a novel with romance and conflict I have western dreams about sex and violence; if I meditate and lay in shavasana before bed, I have Eastern dreams about nothing.

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Sick

Being sick makes things simple. You become like an animal again and worry only about being healthy and nothing else.

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My philosophy of time

The philosophy which will improve my life, which will give me the courage to exhaust myself with every most minute unit of time, is this: this time, for the next however long of a moment, will pass no matter what, and I, as a dynamic spatiotemporal creature, have the power to do anything within my power, and the only sure way to find out what I should be doing, is to do. Whether to think, act, create, love, or be; I will, because I can, and therefore I must.

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Another

How we will do things 
with another 
that we would never do 
on our own, 
like running along in the forest 
and getting into the ice cold river 
when we get there.
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Rest

How to enjoy the time that is 
without worrying about what will be, 
when the time that is, is only so, 
relative to what will be.
 
I lay here 
on a beautiful 
Saturday afternoon
smelling eucalyptus 
and seeing light come in 
through the shades. 

I want this to last forever 
but think about Monday. 

I wonder about 
when to go and 
when to stay. 

I think it’s about time I rest;
and that’s the scariest thought 
I’ve ever had.
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Morning

She leaves.

I eat.
I watch a movie.
I wonder.

What to do now?
What could be better? 
How can I ever go higher?

After laying there
perfectly lazy
all morning 
with her.

I couldn't care
about my work
or to wake up
and make coffee.
Smelling eucalyptus
and seeing light come in 
through the shades.

How ever
to go higher.
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Coming of age

There's a period of life, 
in between coming of age, 
and getting old;
when young enough 
to see, hear, and feel;
and old enough
to cherish and understand;
and if you blink, 
you'll miss it;
with healthy body 
and wise mind,
you can keep 
your eyes open.
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Moved

I didn't just get moved into this;
I got up above and picked it. 

But I wonder if my having gotten 
up above in the first place, 
was moved so by something else.

I want to say it's all me
but I'm starting to believe 
it's everything else
of which I'm thankful 
to be part.
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Novelty

I need the newness. 

I can't stand 
to settle down 
and sit still. 

I need the first night she sleeps over,
and the adventure to a new part of the world, 
and a skill not yet mastered. 

Thank god there is enough, 
so I'll never have to face my fear 
of there being nothing more.
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Momentum

Move with 
the momentum; 
and if there is none, 
create a mass, too large, 
to be ignored by gravity, 
and start it to roll, 
and pick up momentum, 
leveraging the powers 
already at play, 
all around.
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Om

We om together in Grace Cathedral. I move my pitch higher to match the mass. The high marble ceilings echo … oooooooooommmmm.

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Jelly mold

I consider the emotions of mold in a jar of jelly. At first non-existent, there is just jelly in the jar, and the jar in the fridge. Then born, the mold, crying into a cold world. Its young years are slow and painful but joyful just to be alive. Struggling, to grow in less than ideal conditions.

Then, a miracle happens: the jelly jar is taken out of the fridge and thrown away in the trash can. Misery for the jelly but, ah, what bliss for the mold! A whole new world like heaven with all the ease of growth in the warmer trash can. And in the landfill, the jar broken, the mold breaks free to spread and grow and lives happily ever after.

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6th roofl

On the 6th floor, 
which happens 
to be the roof,
in the open air,
on a sunny day,
somewhere 
in San Francisco, 
I scratch my head and sigh; 
what of the world haven’t I seen? 
And when will I get there?

 

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There

We needn’t have it all 
so much and so fast.

You can slow down
the things that matter
without losing 
their attention. 

There is more there 
so it doesn’t thin 
when spread out.
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Italy

To get into a situation like in Southern Italy on an eternally sunny day so that you could just read and write and play and listen to music in the most lazy yet intellectual mood.

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Salsa

Ae salsa danced in the club at two in the morning. I wasn’t any good but drank enough so that at least the confidence to move made it alright. A nice latino gentleman showed me the cadence for my steps, stepping to one side and putting one foot behind the other and then doing the same to the other side all while moving my hips much more than I was used to from any other style of dance—not to say that my experience was extensive.

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Maximize

If you are really going to maximize a day, you cannot just head off at hurtling speed in any direction. It is just like a lifetime; there is a balance between present and future, between pain and pleasure.

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Andy

I know a guy Andy who really doesn’t care. Even on days when he’s really looking swell, I tell him, but he doesn’t care enough to repeat the look. Even if the whole world told him, the next day he’d wear the same clothes he would have worn anyway.

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See

At once to think it is all here in front of me and I need only look into it deeper in order to see the rest; but then also at the same once to think I am only seeing one here in front of my eyes and there are so many more and I haven’t the time to see them all.

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Day

Hiked in Pacifica yesterday then went to a super nice french bistro and had lamb then went to a latin club and salsa danced at 2am and now sitting on my rooftop reading and meditating and tanning.

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Pacifica

I wake up and text Alex to see where we’re going. He texts back, “Pacifica.” I dress and pack a bag. We drive along the pacific coast highway. I play music on Alex’s stereo. The blues in the sky are beautiful.

I catch again the sense of moving forward without any effort and enjoying the passing scenery. The ocean and a concept of never-endingness to the right and mountains standing in wait to the left. Making progress toward an unattainable (and thankfully so) point in the distance where the road hugs into a singularity with the horizon.

During the climb we talk. Mostly I look at my feet and focus on my breathing. At the top, I hallucinate. The ocean and sky blues melt together. Sitting, holding my knees, with my eyes closed. My meditation is easier than usual—not for being at the top of the mountain but for having climbed it. My body is exhausted and so is happy not to be noticed by my mind which focuses instead on the blood orange backs of my eyelids.

The hike down is shorter, as usual. We drive the same beautiful highway route back home.

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Oliver

Blake was surprised by Oliver’s response.

“Don’t you want to have friends?” Blake asked.

“Unless you are a young beautiful woman,” Oliver started coldly, “I really want nothing to do with you; unless you are a young handsome man also after women, then I would enjoy to learn your skills and be your comrade in the chase.”

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Seeing

What is it about a view that makes me feel, is it the memories of my other senses? That I have climbed a mountain with my feet and smelled the trees that stand on it, so that when I see the scene now it is my eyes reminding my feet and nose. Or is it just the colors and shapes for my eyes—I doubt it is this objective and aesthetic latter, but is instead the former: the whole body and mind remembering via the eyes.

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Good day

It's on a good day, 
the whole world seems like art,
 and I want to photograph everything.

It's on a bad day, 
I constantly say, what else? 
And miss all of it in front of my face.
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Western clock

I have a little more
free time than I need; 
but if I had to pay for it, 
or saw what I was missing, 
then I wouldn't have enough.
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