Ryan and Ruairi's Blog

Bridges

2012-02-14T09:29:00.003-05:00

True science and true poetry overlap in a curious way: the absence of spin. Both begin with a stripping away of narrative, of judgment, of comparison. What is there? What is right there? Give me raw data, raw experience, raw seeing.

Why is it powerful? Because a narrative builds bridges over the things we don't want to see so we can get where we want to go, but the scientist and the poet want to look precisely in those places where we think there is nothing, to see what's there. Just to see it. And when the scientists and the poets start looking there deliberately, trying to find the worth there, trying to find the secret curiosities that have eluded them, well, they've started building a narrative again, haven't they? No, they take it all in, they don't classify this as dark and that as light, nor this as pertinent or that as impertinent. It's all data and it's all here.

And the curious thing about it is that when they've looked in this way, that's when real poetry and real science happen.

We yearn so heavily to grow, to deepen, to heal. But so often we cannot see our narrative. We've already solidified our problem, our weakness, our failing (or our success) into something. We don't even know that we're telling ourselves a story. How, then, can we solve it? How can a scientist fix a problem if she hasn't even clearly seen the problem for what it is? We don't even know what we want to heal from. We want to be a better person, but we are lying to ourselves about who we are in the first place.

So before we try to change, before we try to grow, we listen. We start to hear the stories we tell ourselves. Without judgment. Without expectation. As though every thought in our head were a new one, one put there by someone else. As though every feeling were some novel sensation to our body. We open to what we are calling ourselves. Because if we lack that honesty, that openness, we can't hope to look over the bridge and see what we've been hiding from ourselves this whole time. This is terrifying. This could kill us, it feels like. But down there, under those bridges, that's where all the fragments of our broken and discarded selves have washed up.

Gratitude

2012-02-12T23:04:00.002-05:00

I was peeing, and I heard a car pass by. I heard the sound drift and grow smaller, and I felt myself go with it into the dark and the quiet. I took some toilet paper, and wiped the bowl, and the rustle of the paper against the porcelain sounded closer to me than the rustle of sheets on a Saturday morning.

Toilet paper on a toilet bowl? That's my poetry now? Well, it is. Because after I washed my hands, and began to floss, I thought of that bed. I thought of the room that the bed is in. And I remembered that it's warm. And I remembered that I have no right to it -- that there is no reason for me to have had a bed that was warm, and a room that was warm for it to be in. And yet I've had one such room or another, and they've sustained me, for 25 years.

I could be grateful to my parents, and I am. But in that thought of gratitude, I found myself grateful for something much more. I don't like to talk or write about God because that's a word that I don't think I understand, and that I don't feel is a worthy label for me to pass around. Maybe for now I can speak of love -- that my heart was filled with love. But the kind of love that folds over on itself, because it loves that love so totally, so baselessly, like something lost and drowning in water.

Why should I have any of it? Why should I have warmth? Food that doesn't hurt me? Air that doesn't harm me? Opportunity, speech, an able body? None of it is a given, yes, but I've met with all of these things in one form or another for the greater part of my life. But love -- why could it arise in me? Why can I feel it? I have a thousand precious things in my life, a million, but then, here, too, I have love. I have the thing that the others all point to, and yet aren't; I have the thing that even in their absence, sustains. Isn't it a mistake? Is it a joke?

My inclination is to deny it, to say no, to defer it, to point out the million reasons why I am unworthy of it, to point to the billions who are worthy of it. But I can't. I don't know why this has come to sit in my little chest. I don't know why I'm to be a steward of it, or how long it will last, or if I'll fuck it up. But having seen it, a glimmer of it, a shade of it; I can't deny it. I can't ask for someone else to hold it. Because that's not how this works. It sounds so dumb to me -- but it feels real, like it's standing on bedrock: if I deny it in me, I deny it in them. And I see it in them. Every fucking day I see it in them. I see it in all of them, some days more than others, but every fucking day.

If I tell it no, if I impede it, then it's not it. The moment I turn from it, I've denied their capacity to recognize it in themselves. All the people I respect speak of "being" rather than "doing" or "having." I can't pick up those terms yet. I'm finding myself stumbling with any terms at all at the moment.

I don't know what this is going to look like. This is all very surprising.

But I am grateful.

Only the Front Seats

2012-01-21T12:24:00.003-05:00

Living in the suburbs, I've been seeing a lot of cars full of families -- a dad, a mom, and some kids in the back. It's felt threatening to see, like their existence is a reminder that I could be driving a car like that someday, and that turns my stomach. I feel such a sense of alienation, like I couldn't possibly belong in a car that had a woman and her children in it, even if I were her husband and their father. I feel like there would be a translucent green forcefield that separated the driver's seat from the rest of the car, and that I shouldn't cross it with my body or words.

But then when I think about driving with just a lady, who is my wife, that feels very nice. It makes me think I would like to get married. It's a feeling I've been getting more often lately, especially when I am lying in bed, looking at the curtains framing the window in front of me. The idea of lying there with someone else feels wonderful to me these days.

I think that down the road, I will feel fine with driving little folks around; I think I know how to avoid allowing the green forcefield to gain a hold. But I guess there are a lot of steps that would have to fall into place before any of the things I've mentioned here could happen.

Apollo Strikes Again!

2012-01-14T08:31:00.002-05:00

I was brushing my teeth last night when I heard a THUMP outside of the bathroom. I stuck my head out, and Apollo was sitting about 5 feet away from the door, down the hall, calmly, not looking like he'd moved in quite some time.

I finished brushing my teeth, and pushed the door closed behind me. I went to go pee, and after just a second or two of doing so, Apollo burst in! He flung the door totally open, and looked utterly shocked to see what I was doing. Just like the last time, he backed away in horror. (If you're wondering how I know that it was horror, hmm. I'm afraid I don't have any pictures of him looking terrified, but if you saw his eyes, you'd know what was going on in that little head of his.)

I do not understand this cat's simultaneous fascination and horror of seeing people pee. What is he expecting otherwise? And what does he think I'm doing that is so terrible?

The plot thickens.

Just Back Away

2012-01-04T06:17:00.003-05:00

I got up to pee this morning. No one else was up so I didn't close the door all the way. I'd just begun to urinate when Apollo thrust open the door, leaving it totally open. He clearly wanted to be pet, but he looked really taken aback by what was happening. He looked at me peeing, and looked at the toilet, and stopped in his tracks.

Then, without turning around, he backed up, out the door. Then he wheeled around and sat on the other side of the doorjamb, looking away from me.

What a weird cat! He's got a sense of shame of seeing someone pee?

Heart Fire

2012-01-02T11:14:00.004-05:00

On an average day, my heart is diffuse. Not much to see there, and if I care to look, there'll be some kind of fog, with maybe some old charcoal in there, smudged and long burnt out. Occasionally, though, something would press against the big nugget in there, and the ashy exterior cracks and breaks, and something maroon and syrupy seeps through -- and whatever's inside there does not like the oxygen that's coming in. It feels like death, and disease, and horror. So I'm paralyzed in a panic, and the little dude living in there sends me lots of pictures and feelings about how I could stop this, how I could stop the seeping, what it needs in order to return to a state of stasis.

I've not been too enthused in the recent months about returning to stasis. I've been letting it bleed. I've been letting the oxygen in. It's been terrifying and I've felt invaded and bare and like I've been doing everything wrong. I've felt ashamed when people see the state I'm in. But I've refused to back down, to the best of my understanding and ability. I've let the oxygen penetrate. (Though I could say that I've not been interested in returning to stasis for years, it's just that in the last few months I've understood how to do it.)

Three days ago, I was at a party. Lots of young folks that I didn't know, and a few friends I did. I don't know what it was, but something caught fire in my heart. Heat and movement under that layer of coal. It felt terrifying, it felt uncontrollable -- it felt liberating. Light and heat were there, moving, driving, pulsing, living. Burning, too, but with joy.

I feel somewhat manic, like the flames are fluttering in there. But they're moving me -- the lights are on.

I feel great fear of meditation -- "Don't leave me in this! I don't want to feel the movement!" But I go to sit, and it's ordinary. Everything as it is. Just fluttering, sputtering, moving.

New Year's Eve, I went to the meditation group I go to, and we sat and practiced generating feelings of love and compassion. I'd never sat like that, though. We were a radio tower there, together. As I brought to mind people whose suffering I wished to breathe in -- friends, family, loved ones, and people braving war and protests -- it was communion. Their bodies were inside of mine, I felt what was in them, I breathed it in, and my body gave them back what would ease their pain, loneliness, fear, heat, cold, looseness, tightness. It was almost automatic -- no thought or consideration on my part, just the intention, and then vivid, living feelings in my body. And in a few cases, heart communion -- our hearts touched, and they shone gold. Sounds dumb, doesn't it? But it was nice. Very nice.

Yesterday I did a 5K run, and helped a great deal with whatever tasks needed doing. My heart is still racing. The sense of mania continues, though it has abated somewhat. But what joy! I felt such deep, deep joy, even as the pillars in my heart seem wobbly and weak. But there was something else there -- the light, the heat, the movement, the joy. There's life there. There's life here. I can't believe it, truly. It's incredible, and lovely, and intimate, and close.

This isn't a permanent kind of state -- what is? I'll be curious to see how it unfolds; the weakness here, too, needs oxygen, needs space, not tightness. I'm just surprised, very surprised, to be on this side of it. It'd just been charcoal and syrup for a long time -- so for the fire to be lit, wow. I forgot what it was like.

I doubt anyone today will notice what I'm calling the mania, but folks do seem to notice the light. Neat. Very neat.

Turn Signal

2011-12-24T23:28:00.000-05:00

Aunt Mary Jo ordinarily goes away each Christmas, but she didn't this year, so I picked her up today and will again tomorrow. We were quiet as we came up to her trailer, and I turned on my turn signal to make the last turn there. The sound of the turn signal was really powerful -- a sense of warmth, homecoming, and expansiveness around it. That sounds dumb to use those words for a turn signal, but the reason I do, I guess, is because that was such a powerful feeling when I was a child: my mom driving me home from someplace on a cold winter night, and I'm tired out, already beginning to fall asleep a bit. That turn signal sound would make something stir in me. It just sounded like there were pillows filling all the space inside the car. Nice and soft.

Well, Who Can We Kill, Then?

2011-12-23T08:57:00.003-05:00

You know in the James Bond movies, when the Soviet soldiers were all dressed up in the very same outfit, and they're all shooting at James Bond, and none of them can hit him? And he shoots right back and they all fall? You know in WWII movies, when the Germans or the Japanese shoot at the Americans, and none of them can hit the protagonist, and he shoots right back and they all explode or go down? The filmmaker didn't want you to think about who those people were, if they had families or what have you. And I would imagine that people watching those movies at the time really didn't think about it -- you didn't need to question who those soldiers were. They ought to have died.

I think, though, that that is a sentiment that's lost some traction. Our cinematic milieu has brought in tons of movies that challenge the idea that our enemies were automatically worthy of death. So rather than seeing Mr. Bond bypass obstacles, we have an increased capacity to understand that we just watched a person die.

I think that's why zombie movies have grown in popularity these days. Of course, there's just the fundamental horror element to it -- the adrenaline rush of feeling that we are alone, and must fight to hold onto what little humanity we have left. That's very nourishing to our sense of self, something that we constantly yearn for. If I am the last person alive, well, then damn -- I must be worth a lot!

But that's something you see across the horror genre. We can watch madmen stalk around and kill innocent or sinful young men and women, but that's a very different experience than the fight between a person and a zombie. We might feel some guilt, some empathy, a sense of voyeuristic shame at watching people die in most horror movies. Yeah, we get that adrenaline hit and that reified sense of self, but on some level of our being, we know it's wrong.

And that's where zombies come in. They look like people, but they aren't. Something human about them has been excised -- yeah, they can lumber or sprint around, but they have become less even than animals. They lack any consciousness beyond that needed to kill and consume. And so it is very, very OK for them to be killed. Indeed, they must be killed, en masse. With shotguns. And flamethrowers. They don't feel pain; they're empty shells, less even than animals.

Zombies have replaced our Soviets and Germans. (Inglourious Basterds is a noteworthy case, and maybe I'll get to talking about that. Though I wrote about it some years ago, I don't think I was right on all counts at the time.) They're the only human bodies we can acceptably burn and tear to pieces, because the humanity is gone from them.

But it only occurred to me this morning that there is something else we get out of it. It's not just that they are human bodies. They also capture something imperative about us as a culture -- the sense of dead aggression that they embody.

I feel like I've seen many people, just going around in my day to day life, who have those two qualities -- a sense, on the one hand, of incredible, barely contained anger, and on the other, a lack of awareness, a sense of being cut off, not just from pleasure or beauty themselves, but from everything. I mean, you see it in some people with extreme political views, sure, but I see it even in a lot of teenagers and people that spend a lot of time in front of a computer. There is a weight on them, a heaviness, that walls them off and simultaneously stokes this fire of rage in their body. The language I've used here sounds pretty strong and poetic, but I'm trying to point just to something that I get a sense from the way they hold themselves, and the intensity of their reactions and what have you. It might not manifest in any violent behavior or anything. But it's nevertheless something that I see people carrying around.

And I would imagine that it is very important to these people to watch zombie movies. Most of these people still have their sense of compassion and justice as strong as anyone. So where can their rage safely be directed? Toward itself. And toward others who are filled with rage. Watching zombies -- manifestations of violence -- be subjected to violence allows this.

But rage and retribution don't seem to work that way. If the seed is already inside of you, planting more of the same seed won't get rid of that original seed. That's where meditation's worth can show up, if it's done in an educated way. But, goodness. I can remember feeling my own heart rage and deadness, and I don't know that mine ever approached that which I see in some folks these days. May their fires go out.

Winter Seeds

2011-12-14T21:49:00.003-05:00

I don't know if it's winter yet. Sometimes there's that ringing chill in the air, and I think it's come -- but it's true that fall can still have that icy briskness that gets in your lungs. I think there's still often a humidity, a certain flavor to the wind that makes me feel like winter hasn't yet come, though the cold might prompt me to think otherwise.

I think what's throwing me off is the silence. The stillness of being outside on a winter's night is shocking to me. It wakes me up, wakes something in me up, that doesn't get touched very often otherwise. I'm seeing it strong.

But as I look back on the last year, I see that that silence has been building regardless of the season. It's not confined only to the solitude that I seem to experience when I go for walks on winter nights. Even walking under the stars this summer, or with the autumnal smells, it's been there. I think it's just growing in me. This little seed of winter.

It is a frightening thing, I think. It's exciting during December -- you know that when you're heading out to your car, you'll be next walking into the warmth of a holiday party, or something like that. There will be red and green and white and blue all about, and the smells of wonderful food. The cold tastes sweet because it just makes the warmth all the stronger.

But in January and February, people become cold. The night feels lonely; you're not headed to someplace special. You have to fight through the chill, instead of letting it in.

I feel I'm growing less and less afraid of it. The prospect of feeling alone is frightening to me at the time, often. How could I survive it? The biting wind will cut right through my chest, and I won't be able to pretend at that point: my isolation will be totally exposed, my throat will shrivel and I'll choke, won't be able to say a thing.

But that doesn't happen anymore. The fear still arises, yes, but when I'm there -- no, I'm not alone. The feeling of loneliness, perhaps, but the sky! The stars! The air isn't empty: it is full, deliciously full, laden with the richness and electricity of snow and wind-beaten tree trunks. The acrid taste of desiccated leaves can cut into my nostrils, but there's room for it. There's moisture in me.

A Conversation Between a Mother and Her Son

2011-12-14T21:44:00.003-05:00

December 4th, 2011

"You should be proud of me--"

"I am proud of you, Ryan."

"No, you should be proud of me for this: I needed to pee, but I had my shoes on, and I thought, 'I'd better not walk into the bathroom with my shoes on, it'll get all dirty! I'll just pee into the toilet from across the threshold.' This thought entered my head, and it seemed really logical to me, but I exercised my judgment, and I said, 'No. It would be better for me to just go in there and pee. My mom would be happier.' So I did!"

"You're right, you had good judgment in that split-second decision there."

"See, that's why you should be proud. OK, well, I'm headed out, I'll see you later tonight!"

"Farewell, my idiot son!"

"Wait, no, you're proud, remember?"

"Yes, I'm very proud of my idiot son!"

"Mom"entos

2011-11-29T16:03:00.002-05:00

Yesterday evening, I was listening to the second movement of Beethoven's 7th symphony. My mom asked me what it was, and came into my room. We listened to it again, and were just blown away together. Tears came to her eyes.
A few weeks ago, I asked my mom to listen to Vivaldi's concerto for two violins in A minor (RV 522, apparently). She sat on my bed and listened to the whole concerto with me.
A couple evenings ago, my mom called on her way home from work. "Did you see this sunset?" I told her I had, and I ran up to my parents' room, where you can see it really well. It was just an incredible shock of colors.
About two weeks ago, I had The Gnome from Pictures at an Exhibition in my head. I remembered my mom singing along when I was all locked up at the part where it descends: "Wafflez -- something -- pouncing on everything he sees..." I reminded her of it, and she remembered that the "something" was jumping. I couldn't believe that she remembered -- it was an isolated thing, we were just sitting out in the van while my brother was playing laser tag with his friends at Ultrazone in Neshaminy. But she remembered that somehow. Before I had to leave, I put on The Great Gates of Kiev. She said something like, "I can't listen to this and not cry," and indeed she was.
My mom got home from work early, and I just got back from school a few minutes ago. I was excited that she was back, so I ran up into the bathroom and the door was open. She was washing her hands and looking in the mirror. I ran in saying something like, "Whadderyou doing here?" but she just flicked water in my face and yelled, "Get outta my bathroom!" I couldn't stop cracking up.

2011-11-23T15:11:00.001-05:00

Pouty Grim Reaper. (He is upset because I gloated that he hasn't killed me yet.)

BWV 1064

2011-11-13T09:41:00.002-05:00

It's so straightforward, no real surprises, not a lot of creative rhythmic stuff going on, just some nice virtuosoing. But damn! I almost started crying listening to it: it's just joyful, it's just dancing, it's just playful, it's just showing off what violins are able to do when they've got a nice foundation to go and do all kinds of beautiful flourishes on. It's so simple, my goodness.

(I'm talking about the Allegros, in case that's not clear.)

It's really hard to gush about Baroque music without feeling like a pretentious prick. Damn though! Nothing should make my insides feel this good!

Poem for today

2011-11-09T11:21:00.003-05:00

Shaking, shivering,
my body is filling with life.

2011-10-06T22:32:00.003-04:00

I'm finding that walking under the moon and stars brings me a greater sense of intimacy and companionship than I experience with any people I know. I think I'd be concerned about it if it weren't for the fact that it fills me with a deep love and appreciation for the people in my life. I think that I can give to other people the same quality of listening that the stars give to me.

Goodness!

2011-09-20T20:19:00.002-04:00

I am feeling so overwhelmed recently. There is just too much goodness and wonder around me. I see people do acts of incredible generosity for people they've never met, I see questions rankling in people like "How can I be of true help to the people around me?", I see the sky vibrant and full in all of its shapes and colors, I see the decision to preserve natural beauty put above the desire to build McMansions.

There was a time in my life when I would respond to these things with, "Well, that lady might be nice to this stranger in the check-out line, but she's probably horrible to her family," and "Their supposedly selfless concern is actually a desire to not see the pain around them," and "The sky may be lovely, but I'm down here," and "But they've destroyed so much habitat and far more people are making the opposite decision elsewhere."

But I can't do that anymore. I just can't do that. There is no longer space in me for that. I have somehow found myself in the place where I cannot deny goodness in any form. I can't overlook it, or marginalize it, or disregard it. I have to celebrate it -- not necessarily in an active way, but just in the mirror of my heart. Some wonderful light in my heart turns on when I see siblings caring for each other, even if they punch each other the rest of the time. Something deep and wonderful stirs in me when I see officials decide to change an unjust law, even if they have collectively made other unjust decisions.

I'm learning to see goodness and love, and I'm seeing that they can't be touched by darkness or criticism. Shadow can't obscure light, it can't limit or change light -- light is simply light, and there is no struggle or opposition with the dark. If it is real light, if it is honest, then there, right there, is genuine virtue, no matter how small, no matter how much crap may be around it. It is enough.

I can't find the words for it. My heart is just so full, and my gratitude is just too much. To be able to witness this is just unreal.

We create good not by annihilating what is distasteful, but by nurturing what is wholesome and compassionate and true. May we all help each other to witness our own goodness, and the goodness of each other.

2011-09-19T16:08:00.004-04:00

When I was depressed, I'd look at the sky or the sunset on the trees and think, "Why can't I feel this?" I knew that tremendous beauty was before me, but it couldn't get inside.

After meditating for a few years, it started getting in. I'd go for walks at night and just to see the stars above me moved something inside me.

Recently it's been different. When I see a hillside covered in trees, or clouds between the skyscrapers, or the moon as I drive home, it's like looking in a mirror after having neglected to do so for years. "This is what I am?! This is what I look like? This is what I'm made of?" It's just a sense that the openness and fullness before me isn't before me, but rather just a continuation of me. That sounds pretty lofty, but I don't mean it that way. It's just a knowledge that what I am -- and what everyone is -- is nothing more than this great spaciousness, that can hold so much because it isn't separate.

This doesn't make much sense, but I just feel so happy. I feel so thrilled to see this, to know this so deeply in my body. It's just so awesome!

The Suburbs

2011-08-09T09:44:00.002-04:00

Each house is a massive, lifeless, robotic rhinoceros, its thin layers of fresh or peeling paint barely hiding the heavy armor that made bolting it to the earth so desirable. Its joints have been welded in place, its hooves bolted to the ground, its eyes shuttered to hide the massive plasma TV screens from late-night passers-by.

But before dawn, I see that I was wrong. They're just cows. Big, sleepy cows, dozing under the first rays of morning. Tractor trailers driving up Old York Road give voice to their occasional snores.

Great, big, tired cows.

Bach

2011-07-27T21:30:00.002-04:00

Bach's been hitting me deeper lately. I'm finding I'm hearing it in new ways.

His second orchestral suite has always seemed rather heavy to me, and dark. It has a very ruminating kind of feel to it. But tonight it struck me with a purely contemplative feel -- I think that the orchestrations I've heard of it lend it its epic heaviness, and that a smaller ensemble could lend it a merely reflective air. It would still likely have a bit of weight to it -- I can't help but feel the unassailable march of time throughout it -- but perhaps not the darkness. Perhaps it's just important.

The prelude of his fifth cello suite seems like it could turn into a very nice dance theme. Just needs a drum machine.

Is BWV 1052 his 3rd violin concerto? Regardless, it wasn't on my radar ever, really, save that I'm convinced that Muse stole the beginning of the third movement for Exo-Politics. But the first movement is just nuts. The tension he builds, and just the raw power in the violin. It seizes me!

Knowing vs. Acting

2011-06-19T21:12:00.000-04:00

Detailed study is required to adequately assess problems. But it is easy to fall into the trap of searching for deeper and greater detail, with the hope that the solution will suddenly become clear and unavoidable. Knowing everything about a problem, however, and acting to address it, often seem to be totally different processes altogether.

Driving

2011-06-18T09:19:00.002-04:00

I’m getting ready for a 3-hour drive. The thought of driving on the highway this morning fills me with a feeling of affection. The fields and the trees as I pass by; the sky constantly arresting my eyes with its fullness; my car, holding me as I hold it. Notwithstanding my impatience, these car rides strike me as very cleansing, in that I have the opportunity to touch something a little more basic to who I am. I am movement and passage, and stillness within it.

After the feeling of affection visited me, it occurred to me that my trip will not be a thing of pure peace. Indeed, it cannot be. My car is a factory of heat, noxious fumes, and greenhouse gases. That which I feel is helping make me whole is in fact bringing violence upon the earth – one of the greatest objects of my affection.

This struck me as such a fundamental principle in my life: that those relationships that fill me with peace so often bring harm as well. Isn’t it somewhat of an abusive relationship, then, for me to gain satisfaction from my car as I wound the body that I drive it upon? Doesn’t my driving endorse the principle of car ownership, spurring further development of roads and the like, scarring the landscapes I find so unmarred?

And doesn’t this principle carry into my relationships with humans?

It would seem to be written into the fabric of nature that we bring harm to other entities in this world, knowingly or unknowingly. Because of the principle of movement – because all things are in motion, because all relationships, from atoms to molecules to cells to bacteria to plants to animals to people to worlds to galaxies are unstable, are in flux, are in exchange – because of that, we lose things. We get injured. We die. We step on things we didn’t want to. There is no circumventing it.

And yet, I know that for myself, at the core of my mind is the yearning to do as little harm as possible, and to bring as much benefit as I can muster. It cuts me to hurt others, it soothes me to bring ease. And taking me out of the situation, I just want them to be happy. I want them to be whole, amidst the piercing winds of impermanence.

To throw my hands up and say, "We're all going to be hurt anyway" wounds me deeply. How much violence has been wrought under such a principle? It is a large burden, but one that I brightly bear: to constantly strive to do all I can to be of aid, and to minimize the harm that I cause.

I will drive my car this morning, and render some wounds. I will feel regret for it.

I will feel gratitude as well, for the beauty and the fullness offered to me. And I’ll continue to find ways to live harmlessly in my relationships.

Voice

2011-04-24T20:01:00.002-04:00

I went quiet in college. There was a lot to listen to, a lot to take in, and listening to myself would drown out the voices around me. So I said little. I did what I thought would be right, and involved myself. But my words were few.

It was necessary at the time. Words didn’t come easily; they were always a struggle, and for that reason, they surely weren’t mine. Voice, I think, is what you send forth from yourself – it is you, packaged, and released into the world, to be ingested by others. At the time, I could bring words out, I craft words that I didn’t disagree too much with, but still, they weren’t mine. I had no voice.

Having difficulty with words was convenient, because I didn’t really want a voice. I’d grown weary with hearing my own, and indeed, the mind giving rise to my thoughts was one that I had little desire to embrace. Better to listen to it, to study it, to give it space, than to take so heavy a weight on my back. After all, there are far richer voices to hear in the world. I find that the more I listen to my own internal rambling, the less I can hear the stars and the moon, and be humbled by them.

I’m not sure where I find myself now. Though I’ve been realizing a misrepresentation on my part. Where I’d believed I was giving myself space, where I’d believed I was listening, there, I was in fact denying. I was pulling away, rather than listening. I did not want my mind, and I pushed it away. It wasn’t my intention to do that, but I’m realizing that that is just what I’d been doing.

Working has helped me see that, as has living in community. I am seeing that rather than my action being unconstrained, it is quite the opposite. Silence is a luxury that I do not have. So I need to learn to speak again.

I don’t know what that will look like. The prospect frightens me. To be in the world, and act upon it – every step risks failure. Yet to withdraw is the same. Best would be to just walk, unafraid of victory or defeat – a worthy aim, and indeed my goal. But one step at a time.

What do I mean by voice? When the young man I wrote about some months ago called to his little brother to not walk into the street, he used his voice. He could have said nothing, he could have adopted apathy, he could have “manned up” and not cared about the rules. But he didn’t. He risked, and he cared, and he probably felt embarrassed when his voice cracked. But he spoke.

When the others have made their decision, and it seems wrong to me, I quiet my voice. Were I to speak, I could say that I understand their decision, but that it doesn’t sit well with me. But too often, I say nothing, consoling myself with the idea that I don’t know what is best. Surely, I could use my voice to communicate both things.

And the fact of the matter is, something is coming out of me now. I use many words, gestures, and actions in my life. I just don’t especially like them, or identify with them. They feel uncomfortable to me, unwieldy. But I use them, because they’re safe.

I think I’m growing weary of being safe.

I’m sure that none of this makes sense. I would love to spend time trying to articulate it for people; perhaps it would help me find some voice. But listening, I think, is crucial to voice: just as one cannot respond to another without having deeply heard them, one cannot speak from within without having listened deeply. Challenging myself to approach that deep listening is certainly part of my wish. It will be more important than speaking. I know that much of what is within me terrifies me: I cannot bear to tolerate many desires and feelings. But I think I’m ready to rededicate myself to that end. It just seems that there are too many people in this world who have no idea how to listen. If I could turn out to be one of them, I think that would be helpful. People spend so much energy to drown it all out – they drink to drown out their weariness, they fuck to drown out their loneliness and numbness, they plug in to drown out their boredom. It’s perfectly understandable. But if there is a way to actually end weariness, loneliness, numbness, and boredom, rather than just ignoring it for a bit, then I think it would be good to be able to point to it.

Gosh. Voice really doesn’t come easily. But we’ll see where this leads.

The greatest difficulty, which I didn't realize until I was about to share this, is my shame. It is silly to post things like this, right? It's wrong to take oneself seriously, right? I think that is right, to a great degree. But if one cannot at times communicate directly, if one cannot at times be serious -- if one avoids being direct simply because one is afraid of being heard, or being judged, then isn't that a great problem? Isn't that just the affliction that binds us? How many people remain quiet, because they think no one would be able to listen? So, better for me to be a bit dumb now, but forthright, so that I can be in the future.

The News - March 7

2011-03-07T18:11:00.001-05:00

1. It breaks my heart that Muse has more fans than Queen. (Not that I don't love Muse's music.)

2. Unless the US Postal Service is now employing Jaguars in its fleet, I saw a British-made Jaguar on the streets of Baltimore.

3. If there were a Facebook group called "Gluten," I would flame it every day.

Language Blows

2011-02-26T10:13:00.002-05:00

I often feel uncomfortable around the prospect of poetry. I just don't feel I have the voice for it. There's nowhere for it to arise from.

But then I'll be walking alone at night, and I'll look up at the stars, and I'll be full. The silence, the cold, the soft shimmering light will reflect in my heart. And I'll feel like I need to proclaim it, to acknowledge it, because I don't know how there could be beauty like that in the world. And for it to then be right there, in my little chest, too? And that I could be able to witness it, feel it? How could I hold that in? It's so much more vast than me, so much more than a fellow like me could bear.

But that's the thing: it's so much more vast than any words I know could reach, or point to. What arises in my body upon witness of such loveliness is beyond language or expression. Yet that is the mystery of hearts, that they yearn so for other hearts to reflect them.

I can't help but rub my head about this. People often tell me how refined my speech is, and how it makes me seem pretentious. I agree with them, it does feel pretentious to me, but I don't have another language at this point. Or at least, to speak with another language wouldn't fit with my experience. I don't know that I could honestly express the thoughts and feelings that arise in my mind and body without speaking in the way I do. But even that is inadequate. In the last number of years, experiences and feelings have been arising that I simply lack words for. Or grammar for. I would probably benefit from practice with different kinds of people. Maybe I could learn their language, and I theirs.

But more often silence seems to fit best. Silence holds the stars, and in the end, it's the only thing that has enough space for a heart like mine.

2011-02-02T21:53:00.002-05:00

We long for other people. We want them to know us. The average person in the average interaction can't see how great we are, how deeply we feel, how our perspective on things has a richness that is rare to encounter in the world. We get glimmers throughout our lives when others seem to see us -- and we can't bear to let that go. If it's a romantic interest, we try to hold on. Try to keep their attention on us, and bring it in even deeper.

But then they fail, as everyone seems to, mysteriously enough. We realize that this whole time they were just trying to use us to prop themselves up. And that disgusts us. How could anyone use us like that? Don't they understand what a rare treasure they had, and here they are, allowing it to slip through their fingers?

It amazes me how well we believe we can understand the actions of others, but how poorly we can see our own deficiencies. How we are often engaged in the very behaviors that we loathe in others. But that's how self works. The only place it draws any power from is its invisibility, our inability to perceive it. So we can mirror the actions of another person precisely, and denounce them while propping ourselves up.

Compost

2011-01-27T17:13:00.005-05:00

Sometimes I see things that make my heart sing. Like seeing people take on acts of kindness when they have no stake in the matter.

But then I'll see something that shakes me deeply. Something vicious, something cruel. Typically a movie (I just watched The Social Network), but sometimes just learning about history. And it'll hit something in me, it'll shock me in a way I'm not used to being shocked. I'll just feel such revulsion, and a real consciousness of my own failings, my own selfishness. Places where I've been dishonest.

At those times, I feel a strong impulse to reform myself. To be a better person, to excise those bad things from myself.

But I know it isn't right. It's its own kind of selfishness, it's a deluded impulse -- if a well-meaning one. It's a refusal to acknowledge part of my experience, a desire to cover over something I don't like. "I don't like this, and I see it in myself, so it should be gone."

But that's not how human beings work. We can't will away our impulses. We can only work with them once they've manifested. And it is, of course, imperative to properly work with them. But if we are denying them, if we are trying to recategorize them, if we are trying to say, "No, I don't do this, I don't feel this, these things aren't a part of my experience," then they'll remain invisible to us. We won't be able to witness them, and, most importantly, grow from them. Witnessing our faults, acknowledging them, accepting them, and allowing them to pass -- it's composting to create the fertilizer for a new way of being.

I haven't spoken on the level that I wish I could regarding this. I lack the language skills for it now. But I guess I wrote it more for myself, anyhow.

I don't know why it is that my mind seizes so strongly on such issues. I know most folks find such thinking distracting from their lives. Still, I can't shake the sense that this is something imperative. That it's something worthy of reflection. I do think we need to live a virtuous life. Not everyone needs to reflect like I do in order to do it. I think it's my own weakness that requires me to reflect on it. Part of my healing, my rectification for such a pain-producing life.

**One thing to add. I do think a person should strive after virtue. But they just need to do it with the right intent, the right idea. We should do good because it makes people happy, not because we want to hide our badness from ourselves.

Good Seeds

2011-01-06T20:38:00.002-05:00

At the meetings where I work, the men talk about living with addiction. As one gentleman put it this evening, it's the most insidious disease. If you let your guard down for just a moment, you might not realize where you are till you're on the streets addicted again. "And rest assured," he said, "it will find the cracks in your life, and it will exploit them."

I've never done any drugs. I've never drank alcohol. But what they're going through feels so close to my own experience. Knowing that my own mind is what threatens to destroy me the most thoroughly.

I think it's true for everyone. We just don't want to admit it.

Some of the men there will do drugs again. Even the ones who have so much wisdom about how it works. The ones who speak so powerfully and insightfully. The ones who you could never see robbing people. But they did. And they may again.

But the good works they are doing now, they're worth something. When virtue is in front of me, I can't help but stand in awe. Because it's clear to me that it's so much more than just who they are. I don't find it helpful to talk about God or spirits or the divine, but it strikes at something very deep in me to witness people striving to do good. Especially when they are driven by such powerful forces to do bad.

These men are sowing some very good seeds, and I am grateful to be able to witness and praise it. I wish they didn't have to reap the bad fruit, but that's not in my hands or theirs.

2010-11-28T10:40:00.002-05:00

When I remember that I have this blog, I sometimes feel ashamed. I glance from time to time through posts I made while I was an adolescent, and it's astonishing to me. I was insane, then, as most teenagers are; it's frightening to acknowledge a continuity, as I don't know how many of those words I would endorse now.

And yet, now that I'm out of college, and my mind has some space to recover, I'm seeing more relevance. As out-of-control as my ego may have been then, the currents that drove it still run strong in my functioning. It's incredible how fierce was the lack that I felt then, how unquenchable the desire. And how visceral it was. It's astonishing how much I ruminated on killing myself to escape the thoughts and feelings.

But I can see the curtain, now, or at least, I'm aware of its existence. I don't know to what degree I have or haven't pulled it aside, but I can see it operating in my life.

That curtain of self hides everything so clearly. When something -- a thought, a feeling -- is labeled "I," one cannot question it. One can't even see it. With the label "I" on it, one has already taken it for full truth, in thought and in feeling, and one will have responded to it without any consideration.

I'm seeing what's behind the curtain more now, but with each realization, I see more clearly how much I had missed previously. Surely still I remain ignorant of so much.

But, to come back to this blog, again, I see so many currents of the past still running through my mind today. As the novelty of my new living situation wears off, I become aware of the same thirst, the same lack that threatened my contentment. But I see it now. And I don't have to fight with it, nor do I have to try to satiate or please it.

I struggled so hard to heal my heart. What I didn't realize was that the hurt, itself, was what was already doing the healing, and that my struggle was making it all the worse.

The Virtue of Brothers

2010-09-29T18:27:00.003-04:00

I'm now volunteering for a group that provides housing for homeless men in Baltimore. The guys always warn me about what a rough neighborhood we're in, and that I should always be cautious about where I put myself.

As I was walking home, I took a shortcut down a not-so-nice road not far from the office. It was pretty empty, but I saw three kids approaching me. One was eleven or twelve, another was seven or eight, and the last was five or six. The littlest one was ahead of the others. The oldest kept hollering at the youngest to slow down, commanding him not to cross the street.

This was an experience that blew me away and filled my heart with wonder. This voice, cracking with pubescence, ringing out in this desolate street to protect his little brother. How many young men refuse to take responsibility for their own actions, let alone take on responsibility for ones who can't protect themselves? How many assume a stance of apathy toward their families?

I was very grateful and humbled to be able to witness such an act, to see the beauty of such an intact relationship. I found myself wishing profusely that the young man maintain such caring, and not succumb to the cool nonchalance that so many others do. I hope that I can emulate his values.

2010-07-29T09:39:00.002-04:00

It is amazing to me how little I can see of my own mind. I was just listening to a song on my headphones, and I could hear many more sounds than I can when I listen to it on speakers. As I listened, I felt cool, soothing movement in my chest; a place where I most often feel a dull, impenetrable heaviness. The movement moved with the music.

Digital reproductions of sounds played from years ago, when exposed to my ears in a certain medium, yield profound emotional and (contentiously) physiological ones. Is this absurd?

No. I have had a number of experiences in which my mind was lucid enough to witness how every thought, every mental movement in my mind, was yielding corresponding physical sensations throughout the body. I am certain that this is happens all the time, whether one is conscious of it or not. But that idea is useless unless it is witnessed. Even I forget when I cannot see it at times, and generate tension for myself by getting tied up in it.

A dinghy in the fog, the unfathomable ocean below me, filled with monsters and mermaids. I think that I guide the boat -- after all, I can row and propel myself according to my fancy. But though these oars stir the water, the swells and currents below press me along more than I can see. In the fog, I think I can make out island paradises, and hideous crags; but I am seeing only fog.

2010-05-18T13:38:00.002-04:00

Unpacking is like Vipassana. You become aware of so much that you'd forgotten, that you thought wasn't with you anymore, and it appears before you so casually that it seems laughable, but, like a thunderbolt out of the blue, or a death notice slipped in with the junk mail, you are suddenly and utterly knocked off your feet, with nothing to hold onto. You can only keep going.

2010-05-10T10:39:00.002-04:00

That young men and women graduate from college eager to find a large paycheck is a failure of our educational system. It shows that they did not learn that there is need in the world. Perhaps they heard about it, perhaps they were members of a club that was doing something about it, but they did not come to truly understand what "need" means. An education should make the reality of injustice and suffering into an inescapable thirst for rectification. An education should turn the needs of the world into the needs of our deepest selves.

Big and Small

2010-04-15T13:21:00.003-04:00

How important are the small things?

I'm inclined to say not so important. What's the difference between whether there's a period at the end of my bibliograpical entry or not? That's probably not a question that I'll have the moment before I leave this world. In the grand scheme, it's pretty paltry.

Even relationally, things can be so small. Arguments that were vast and life-changing a few years ago can seem so tiny and inconsequential now.

It's tempting to take this and to say, "You know, small things don't matter at all. I shouldn't worry about them." I think it's very true that we shouldn't worry about them, but I don't think that means we can dismiss them. Small things are still very important. I think that they are most important because it can be so difficult to tell what is a small thing and what is not. Seemingly little details can have vast consequences.

I think that this point sits on top of a vast mystery; we don't know what the consequences of anything will be. We can (and should) plan as much as we can, but we should also recognize that in all likelihood, things won't play out at all how we intended. It's just such a powerful mystery, and one that I want to immerse myself in fully.

2010-04-07T09:38:00.002-04:00

I'm listening to Beethoven's ninth symphony this morning, and, gracious, I feel like I could cry. How could I possibly hold all of that beauty? What a blessing it is to be able to witness joy, and to see that it is so much more vast than you, to have it break down the walls enveloping your heart and flow in you.

We try so hard to hold ourselves together, but the walls we build for support end up enclosing us.

2010-03-07T18:55:00.002-05:00

I think that for much of my time, I don't actively feel a lot of love for people. I might still think that I love them, and I might behave to some degree like I do, but I still don't feel it. It's not coming from my heart.

But then, from time to time, I'll just suddenly blink and realize, Wait. I love these people. I'll just see how much I've loved them all along, how fortunate I am to have them. In India, I often felt this way as I reflected on my family, and I often realize this after coming out of a meditation retreat. I feel it for the people who work at UCARE during our weekly staff meetings. I feel it for my advisor at school. I feel it for my mom, for my brother, for my dad, for Wafflez (RIP). Just this boundless, uplifting feeling in my chest that I am grateful for them.

Amazing.

2010-03-03T11:17:00.002-05:00

I am so crazy about Casal's version of the gigue in Bach's first cello suite. It's so playful, so full of life and dance. It bumps, it hops, it giggles and grins, but it yearns, too, it sweeps and draws in. Mmm! Today's a rainy day here, but it's warm with the foretelling of spring. The gigue is a good anthem for the coming spring.

2009-12-29T18:59:00.002-05:00

I watched Inglourious Basterds. I'm often amazed by the power that some movies exert. I find myself so deeply jolted, in a way that lasts for hours after watching it. Children of Men did it to me, as well, though in a slightly different way.

Inglourious Basterds shocked me so deeply with its evil. I found many of Tarantino's moral messages perplexing. He consistently depicted the Germans as unerringly polite, cultured, honorable, loyal, and good-natured. He seemed to intentionally exaggerate their dignity, so that he could hammer in the idea that their collective crimes negated any human dignity that they could have hoped to preserve. Tarantino's position disgusted me. And I was amazed by how disgusted I was. Certainly, I have no sympathy for the Nazis, and agree that they should be severely punished, but I think that vengeance -- all the more so when it is violent -- is never justified. I can understand Tarantino's abhorrence of the Nazis, but I feel like he chose them opportunistically. I wonder if he chose to rip their bodies to shreds because it is OK to despise Nazis, and not the other way around.

I think movies like this, and zombie movies, and detective novels are popular today because people crave something to hate someone, something that they can feel is OK to hate. Post-modernism has taken away all of the acceptable enemies; who, then, can we define ourselves against? Whose body is it acceptable to witness bleed? We want to be shocked, we want to feel the adrenaline rush, and most importantly, we want to feel that we are good and right and just because we know that they are evil and wrong and unjust, and we are definitely not them. Only zombies, Nazis, and mutated Persians would seem to be acceptable to hate anymore. Tarantino's hyper-civilization of the Germans makes for a special case: they seem human, but they're not, because of the atrocities they have committed against the Jews and the world. It's a rare thing where it is acceptable to relish the death of another human, and Tarantino tried to do it.

I disagree with him, though. And I am disgusted with what was produced. For a long time after watching the movie, my mind reeled in shock, fiercely fighting the presumption that crimes can cause the forfeiture of human rights. I couldn't believe the childish hatred Tarantino embodied in the movie. But I noticed, after some time, that I was doing the same thing. I was turning Tarantino into an enemy, and building up the idea that I knew what was morally right. My mind had gotten so carried away by it all, getting lost in fantasy and the like. I'm glad I woke up to it.

I don't know what to make of the movie, though. On the one hand, it's helpful to contemplate moral issues like that. On the other, I deeply hope that no one agrees with Tarantino's premise, though I'm sure many Americans do. And that I find to be most horrifying of all.

For My Class Blog

2009-11-20T13:07:00.000-05:00

I was sitting in Sociology of Religion today, and Chris was giving his presentation on women converting to conservative traditions, such as Orthodox Judaism, conservative Protestantism, and (some forms of) Islam. A lot of it struck me as similar to what I was researching: monasticism in the US. The key word in these conversions, he said, was "disenchantment," particularly with modernity. That's the key word in monasticism, too.

And I was thinking about how it's a pretty key word in my life, too. These women turn away from perceived depravity (Chris often highlighted a dissatisfaction with modern approaches to female sexuality) and embrace something that they see as authentic, true, and whole. Given what I've learned about religions, I have a hard time taking those kinds of claims at face value. But I remember a quote Nathan once referred to us from Reverend Rice, something along the lines of "Something doesn't have to have happened in order to be true." It seems to me that it's a shift of priority of values. Us folks in the academic establishment hold having an accurate picture of what has happened in the world to be of more worth than what inspires us to act in the world and make decisions. And it should do that; we need people to incessantly probe and find what is true, even to the extent that nothing can be found to be true. We need to incessantly test and doubt in order to bring to light what is inaccurate and false, even if that means totally undermining our foundations.

But I think that there's a fundamental problem with it, as well. If one only denies, and never avers, never says, “Well, I don’t know, but let’s give this a shot,” then that, itself, is a profound injustice. To sit on a peak and criticize everything below without contributing anything substantive is, in many ways, equivalent to doing nothing at all. It steps outside (as if one could) and presumes that other people will do the work that needs to be done. Honestly, what is the worth of having an accurate picture of the world in one’s head if nothing ever becomes of it? What’s it matter if someone knows the deepest, most profound truth, if it does not in some way help others? What is the worth of pieces of paper when rape, murder, starvation, addiction endure? I don’t know if I’m making much sense, my stomach is really bothering me right now.

So, sitting in class, I was thinking about my own faith. I was attracted to Buddhism, like many other Americans (as I’ve learned due to my allegiances to the academic establishment!), because it affirms certain principles while not presuming to hold the undeniable truth. “Don’t cause harm, don’t take what’s not given, don’t commit sexual misconduct, don’t drink or do drugs, don’t be deceptive. These things are not evil in their deepest reality, but they harm others and they harm you, so avoid them like the plague, unless they can do some good.” Looking at this, even before getting to the other important aspects of Buddhism, I could question it deeply: How do I decide which precepts to follow? How do I avoid “shopping for religion?” Isn’t it a modern principle that divorces the breaking of precepts from their karmic implications? (That’s not directed so much at myself as at other folks; I do believe in the [conventional] reality of karma.) Isn’t it such a Tibetan approach to Buddhism that I’m taking?

And what’s the point of all of that questioning? Will it really get me anywhere? Perhaps, but perhaps not. What a maddening idea it is that I will die someday. What if I do not have the opportunity to perfectly settle everything before I start practice? Surely, you can’t. Moreover, practice, itself, is supposed to show what is true; you can’t have the ideas correct before you start.

And so I do meditate, and I do other practices, and yet I still doubt myself. I hear about middle-class white kids perverting profound Buddhist teachings in order to justify their social justice efforts, I hear about folks finding in Buddhism a safe place to express their desire for ceremonial ritual, I hear people say that monastics are people who are disenchanted with their lives, with the implication that all they need is a little more serotonin in their lives. And I wonder, is that me, too? Are they seeing me more accurately than I see myself?

They could very well be right. They could be portraying an accurate picture of things. But they might also be missing things. And, more importantly, I just think they’re full of bullshit. People can criticize and find all of what’s wrong, but what if they are missing the beauty, as well? Yes, a lot of Buddhists shy away from the teachings about the nonexistence of the self, but what if they’re finding other things in it? Gracious, I have no idea what to even think. I mean, I, myself, have found myself mentally criticizing other Buddhists for an incomplete portrait of it. And, as I write this, and feel very tired and ill, I wonder if, when I come back to this tomorrow, I will think, “Wow, I was just pissed off, and reifying my sense of self around selflessness.” And of course, even to identify with that is a total contradiction, because it is that self which in the first place is finding the problems.

I am critical of a lot of religious practices, but there is something about many of the more conservative branches that I profoundly respect: they move forward in the face of doubt. They act and do what they understand to be right. That’s something beautiful and worthwhile, even if I think a lot of them could take a lesson from the more liberal ones regarding self-reflection. The answer’s somewhere in the middle, I suppose.

2009-11-04T21:43:00.003-05:00

I like A New Religious America. The historical info is helpful, and the wide variety of examples is really valuable. Eck's a good writer, as well.

I remember talking to an old and dear friend of mine about the influence of religion in government. He strongly felt that there needn't be a separation between religion and state. If the religion is being properly embodied, there should be no conflict. People would do what is in the best interest of everyone, and be guided by a strong sense of morality.

Eck's examples of tolerance in early America based on Christian values reflects this, I think. They weren't acting in a secular manner: they were being good Christians by limiting the exclusive power of religion. It's an interesting claim, and one that seems correct to me.

I'm uncertain about where I stand in regard to how involved religion should be with the state. I do deeply wish that politicians were dedicated to an egoless, other-concerned, moral service; I think it'd transform our society for the better. But religion doesn't always seem to mean that. Indeed, religion seldom seems to mean that. There's a lot of ego in reducing the ego.

I'm not done the reading for the Hindu chapter yet, but I was contemplating Eck's claim that Hinduism is inherently pluralistic. Sounds right given what I learned in World Religions, but it seems clear to me that the Authentic Practice / and Understanding of a Particular Religion doesn't always match up with what the people themselves embody. I think of the BJP, for example. Definitely exclusivist, and growing in power. I guess you could question if they are proper stewards of Hinduism, but, eh, I don't feel like getting into that debate. I'm exhausted.

2009-09-10T19:24:00.003-04:00

I just saw some Google ads for spiritual healing. "Learn the secret to unlocking the mind's natural healing power!"

I had turned to Buddhism because it seemed like my last hope, the last place I could trust to "cure me," to take the agony of life away. It seemed like the only trustworthy one, and I wondered if, perhaps, the secret was hidden there.

It's such a compelling thought, really. "What if someone has it? What if someone found the secret to happiness, to freedom? Where is he or she? Can they teach me?" But the thought is before all that... It's something deeper, more primal. Just the thought that out there somewhere is deliverance, is freedom. It's so powerful, so energizing; you could follow it to the edge of the world, if it stayed fresh.

Buddhism can't "cure me." It has made my life far better, doubtlessly, and perhaps by following the prescriptions, I will find relief. But what a bizarre path it is...

2009-09-09T22:06:00.001-04:00

It'd be weird to be Virginia Poe, and have the salient historical fact of your life be your sickness and death.

2009-07-26T23:09:00.003-04:00

One night, we went to a place near Pennypack. It was winter, I think, but the weather wasn't bad. We found a hunter's platform, a ditch with deer corpses, a crumbling stone building with farm equipment. It felt so dead. Was there dead winter overgrowth? I can't remember... I feel like there was.

In my mind's eye, it seems so far away. So false: who went there? Was that me?

I feel as though I can't speak. Yet there's something that wants to be spoken. I feel a strong urge to be around another person this evening, but it is late, and there's nothing I could say to anyone. I just want to be near someone.

One day, I got angry at my mom over something. Perhaps she spoke shortly to me or something. It was in the afternoon... Oh, God, I felt so ashamed, so angry, I swore I'd never come back. I walked for a few hours. I felt ashamed for leaving, and I felt ashamed for worrying my mother, too.

And as I look back now, I feel so deeply sorry for my family. I was in so much pain, how could they know what to do with me? I was so full of hatred, so full of the agony of emotion, what could they possibly do for me? How could they not be somewhat afraid of me, even though they wished I didn't have to feel that way... My poor mother, how could she tolerate seeing both her husband and her son reeling like that? What did I do to our home?

Four little creatures, intersecting in a house. All know a lot about each other, yet remain so confused.

I'm so sorry. They would say it's not my fault, but still, I caused them pain, and I wish I didn't.

My father told me on Saturday that he felt so ashamed, so sorry, because he felt responsible for the agony I felt. He said that before he had kids, he prayed to God that he would not pass on the pain he experienced.

What a thing to wish. What a thing to have to wish... What a mysterious world this is...

What puzzling years these have been. So confusing. So... so strange. Tears come to my eyes when I think of the last few years. Gosh... The pain has been less acute in the last four years or so (four years already?), but the weight I carry... The struggle has still been endless.

Am I ready for a shift? In the last few months, the reality of a different life has only just dawned upon me. I know that it is not something I, myself, can generate. It will come when I am ready. But perhaps it may be soon.

I leave in a few days for Texas. I'll be doing a meditation retreat. I am curious to see what comes up.

Is love an activity of the mind, or is love when I feel those golden drops melting my chest? Is joy a freedom that is independent, or is it the heavy storm clouds under my scalp turning to a refreshing mist?

Mike H., Dan A., Jesse A. and I went to Roychester and threw around a baseball, and hit the ball with a bat. Heavy storm clouds gathered all around, and lightning was in so many clouds. Sometimes it was a bolt, sometimes it was an ambiguous sparkle, sometimes it was a red that lit the whole field.

Thank you for listening, I just needed to write.

2009-07-17T17:56:00.002-04:00

Good Quotes Lately

"I'm so proud of you, doing everything you've done, with all the fatigue, all the pain, going to college, even though it's kind of a pussy major..."
--My Dad

"I cooked for everyone!"
"What was in it?"
"Hmm... How do you say it? Squirrel? I made squirrel for them..."
"Squirrel?"
"No! Not squirrel! It's in the ocean..."
"Oh, squid!
"Oh, yes! Haha, not squirrel, I'm not Chinese!"
--Rev. Hwang and I

2009-07-12T15:10:00.001-04:00

I was lying on my back on a picnic table when a bluebird alighted on my foot!

I was startled, and I shifted my foot. The bird flew away. I laughed for a good minute straight after I saw what had happened.

2009-06-26T23:33:00.002-04:00

I spent many of my teenage years assuming that I would not live much longer. "Tomorrow" was a dim concept, not one that I paid much heed. My reality, it seemed, was the present pain I felt. It was simultaneously inescapable and incomprehensible. What was it? Where was it? How did I know I was in pain? How could it seem so simultaneously static and fluid?

What a prospect, then, to think of the future. I could live for another sixty years. One day, I may be able to walk only by painfully hobbling about, and my bladder could gain a great deal of freedom from my will. I could attend my parents' funerals.

It seems so dim, so unreal. But so did 17, 20, 22. So did India, so did meditation, so did college.

I feel old. Though it doesn't feel the same as it used to, I can still see that pain. That incomprehensible, unnameable, elusively omnipresent writhing.

The future, life, death: it all seems so fresh, so promising. Intellectually it does, anyhow. There's still a plastic bag over my head preventing awareness of the richness soaking through this giant sausage called Ryan. But, when I'm lucky, I lie on the floor, and though the body seems transparent, I infer the heaviness, the darkness, the veil that pervades this little fellow. Good lord, the freshness in that!

2009-04-12T22:05:00.000-04:00

Why does the picture here strike me as so fascinatingly ridiculous, beautiful, and touching?

2009-03-25T09:30:00.002-04:00

"Do you have eyes but fail to see? Do you have ears but fail to hear? Don't you remember?" So said Jesus.

Walking back to my room this morning, I looked up at the sky. No words can capture the vastness, the stark and spontaneous beauty! Indeed, I sense these words cheapening the whole experience. But yet, it never fails to astonish me when I can stop and see the sky, really see it, really reflect it, really participate in its skyness.

And the sky is always skying. Always. But I am not. So though I may see the sky above, I really don't.

All the world, I assume, functions this way. All of experience, every phenomenon is a participant in this perfection. How could it be otherwise? All sensory experience, hell, all experience in general, is exactly as it is, performing its function spontaneously, naturally, freely. Even when some phenomenon seems to be unbalanced, out-of-place, planned and bulky; is it not unbalanced, out-of-place and planned just as it is? Only my will for things to be otherwise strips the universe and all that lies in it of its inherent perfection. That suchness, that wholeness, that vastness is perceivable through any phenomenon.

Yet, still, I fail to see it.

2009-02-26T21:43:00.002-05:00

One day, I'm going to long to be able to hear my mother's voice again.

2009-01-03T18:53:00.002-05:00

India, then a week-long meditation retreat. I'm tired, and feeling more open.

The functioning of the mind can work like trickles of water. The more a path is used, the easier it is for more water to flow that way.

What color the water is doesn't matter; it could be tinted with red or yellow, it could have certain tastes in it; that's irrelevant. The important thing is which particular direction it is headed.

I feel lonely tonight, which surprises me. This desire for closeness, for intimacy, for someone to be with... It's something I've often rejected. It felt too unbearable when I was younger.

But now, when I don't resist it, I see the sweetness in it. There's a lovely quiet to it, a softness. Nothing unbearable about the sensation itself. And as I feel that water flowing through me, rather than trying to change it, I feel it changing, itself.

Loneliness becomes openness; isolation becomes a feeling of wholeness. It was difficult in the beginning to give love and space when I could focus only on the anger I felt, but I'm glad I've been dedicating myself to that openness. Seems like the rivers in my body and heart have been following much more favorable paths.

Self-trust still doesn't come easily. It's a waterway I'll have to continue to dredge.

2008-08-25T09:50:00.002-04:00

1. I've never fought a 20-ton giant monster with a thousand shearing arms and legs and great big scary teeth. However, I would imagine that, were I to fight one, and I just had a rifle to kill it, my first instinct would be to run away while shooting at it. Maybe if I were a little braver, I'd run toward it and shoot at it, screaming at the top of my lungs. In either case, the bullets would probably bounce right off and I'd get eaten.

The most effective way for me to kill it with the tools that I had would be to keep my cool, take aim, and shoot it in the eye or something. This would also be better because I wouldn't even have to change my shirt from breaking out into a sweat. (Running makes me sweat a lot.)

I say this to make a point: when difficulties arise, we generally panic and try to get rid of the undesirable circumstances as soon as possible. Unfortunately, this often leads us to take the easiest or quickest path, and not always the one that solves the problem.

Our thinking generally is, "Well, if I take the quickest path, I won't suffer for as long! It's hard to make a clear, balanced choice while suffering." This is very true, and that's what I was thinking about this morning: we need to become OK with suffering first in order to become free from suffering. (When I say "suffering," I mean any painful circumstances, whether it's being hungry, getting shot at, getting hurt, or feeling bored.) When we resist suffering, and are unwilling to pause and look at it, we freak out and will likely take a path to alleviating the suffering that is not the best one in the long run.

We have pretty bad habits to begin with: as soon as pain arises, we're already reacting to it. The first step, as far as I can tell, is to recognize the pain. When we can pause and recognize that pain is present, that lets us also be present. When we are lost in thought and emotion in attempts to get rid of the pain, we are resisting the pain and not recognizing it.

Once we have recognized it, we can look at it. What does it really feel like? What is it causing me to do? Are my reactions actually helping me to address this pain? I should point out that these are not intellectual questions; we must answer them in the experience itself. I have to really get down into our bodies to answer the questions.

By doing this, we can then look more clearly at suffering, and recognize it for what it is. Once we can see it clearly, we can then take the appropriate steps to addressing it that are balanced and positive in the long run.

2. I think that devotion to public service can actually reduce compulsions and promote a sense of contentment and balance. When the first thought in our mind is about ourselves, our body's compulsions will be very strong. We won't space between ourselves and the impulse. If, however, we think of the bodies of others before our own, the voices inside of us will be proportionately quieter; we'll have more freedom to take what we want to take, do to what we want to do, and to eat what we want to eat, rather than feeling a deep desire from within compelling us to eat that last doughnut.

2008-07-30T08:39:00.002-04:00

Been quite a time.

From July 8th to July 27th, I was in Mississippi, interning with a group called Southern Echo, Inc. They're a grassroots social justice organization, and their staff has decades of experience. The president, Hollis Watkins, is incredible. He's like a cross between Jesus, Gandhi, and Superman. But their approach is just astonishing: they have managed to create a process that helps broken communities come together to work for their common good. It often happens that when communities come together in such a way, they accomplish a few good things before getting taken over by powerful egos. Southern Echo helps the communities to avoid this.

The coolest part of it, though, is that it's not about Southern Echo at all. It's about the communities. Racism is still a huge problem in America, systemically speaking. A shift in consciousness as a whole will be required to overcome it, and Southern Echo realizes this. So instead of them going into a community and lifting them out of it, they share their experience and help the communities to lift themselves out, and become self-sufficient. Those communities, in turn, can then help other communities. It's a beautiful thing.

The approach that they take to helping communities parallels almost exactly the practice of vipassana meditation, one of the meditations that the Buddha taught and the core of Buddhist insight. Meditation is a process; there's no time when you're "done." The process of doing is the reward. In meditation, we continually shed light upon what arises; we endlessly investigate the present moment. And we do not judge what we find; we let the light of our awareness deal with it. When we find rewards -- sudden releases of pain that turn into something energizing; senses of bliss; deep insight into our minds and the minds of others -- we don't take them and stop meditating. We keep investigating, we continue to watch their effects with detachment. And when we find pains and resistances -- physical aches; long-repressed emotions; memories that we wish we couldn't remember -- we investigate them, too, shining the light of our awareness upon them, and watching them pass from us. We don't take pain as a sign that we are doing something wrong, but instead see that it is a place where we still require practice. We don’t let feelings of frustration, exhaustion, or disenchantment make us stop. We investigate them, too, and watch them pass from us.

One of the most important parts of meditation is the attitude that we adopt towards it. It must be effortless and sustained. If you strive at it for a short period of time, you will utterly burn yourself out. If you resist what comes up, and if you try to muscle your way through it, you won’t be able to sustain your attention for any time at all. The attitude is relaxed, loving, and welcoming. It fuels itself.

Southern Echo’s tradition of organizing works on the same principles. The community must endlessly investigate itself, seeing what issues arise. They cannot conclude, “We accomplished our goal! We’re done!” because a new problem will surely arise. This is the problem with mobilizing as opposed to organizing: if you get everyone together to overcome one issue, the group then dissolves afterwards when they lack an issue to fight for. An organized community is versatile, where a mobilization can only combat one issue.

When problems arise, people have a tendency to complain and conclude that they can’t do anything; or they get frustrated and disillusioned. These all give them excuses to not fight: “It’s just too big, I can’t take it on.” True enough, but when we don’t take it on, it goes along nonetheless. The same problem is there in meditation: if you conclude that suffering cannot be overcome, and resign yourself to it, you will be absolutely correct in your presumption.

If people throw themselves at the problem, they will be quickly frustrated. “People just don’t care!” “The problem is too big!” There has to be a sustained effort kept up, one that is not taxing on people. Otherwise, the ingrained problems in the communities will remain. Gotta keep shining that light.

Furthermore, all their efforts are based on a deep understanding of the material. They ensure that the entire community is educated on how things work. There’s no, “They aren’t educated; they won’t get it.” Everyone has to be in this together.

We know that when we meditate, we are strengthening ourselves and ensuring that we will act more responsibly, compassionately, and virtuously. As a result, those around us will benefit from our practice, because we won’t be such assholes anymore. :) Community organizing improves the conditions of a community, so that there is less suffering generated. When conditions are less trying, there is less pain and greater development. The individuals help the community, and the community helps the individuals.

I cannot believe my fortune in meeting these people.

My meditation has been helping me immensely lately. After meeting with a very skilled teacher who speaks English natively, I was able to have a lot of my misunderstandings about meditation cleared up. Since then, I’ve had a lot more energy, and life in general has been much sweeter.

This month, I have a lot of little assignments to take care of, but also a lot of time to relax and play. Then I fly to India.

2008-07-03T22:25:00.002-04:00

"'Tis thou thyself that makest Time.
And like a clock thy senses run:
Do thou but quiet their unrest—
The clock is stopped and Time is gone.

'Time flieth fast' we say, but who
Hath seen the fleeting of Time's wings?
Time standeth moveless in a view
That visioneth the Whole of Things.

...

Man, if thou findest Time on earth drag on too slow.
Turn unto God — live in the Everlasting Now."

This is from Angelus Silesius, a German Christian mystic living in the 17th century. I saw this poem on a calendar, and was stunned.

What he is pointing to is not a linguistic intricacy, nor is it an abstract concept. He is pointing directly to the heart of reality.

The only problem with pointing toward heart of reality is that no matter how much you point, or how skillfully you point, it's still something that has to be seen.

This is just earth-shatteringly beautiful to me.

"I disbelieve in Death. Hourly I die — what then?
To new and better Life hourly I rise again."

He truly understands. My goodness...

"I know not what to do! All things are one to me:
Place, Unplace, Day, Night, Joy, Pain, Time, Eternity."

I knew that there were enlightened people elsewhere. Gracious. I feel like I'm melting... I'm so lucky to be able to meet these people...

2008-06-27T21:40:00.001-04:00

Reality shows may be the greatest thing that has ever happened to television. With some luck, they'll encourage people to spend less time in front of the TV.

2008-06-25T20:00:00.003-04:00

Science class teaches you (or, it should teach you) that the world is an infinite, indiscriminate swirl. Labels don't stick well, and when they do, we can find no true beginning or end to anything.

Everything, everyone is a little swirl within that swirl. I wish to have no resistance; to be at home in the endless exchange.

But I am learning that my mind and body are full of resistance. So much resistance. Reflexively, it seems that the problem is that which provoked the pain. But the real problem is my resistance. No resistance, no pain.

That doesn't mean surrender. It just means having an open hand, and allowing the swirl to swirl where it swirls.

Is this Daoism? I'd like to learn more about Daoism.

2008-06-18T21:51:00.002-04:00

I hold the world
And it holds me

I let go of the world
It lets me go

There's a reason we have flying dreams
We were born with wings

Can't Spell "Rambling" Without "Bling"

2008-05-26T16:03:00.002-04:00

#1. I think that we often regard the present moment as the mere glue between the past and the future. It's the boring part between the interesting things that happened before and the interesting things yet to come. But that's quite incorrect. The past and future don't exist, nor have they ever existed. The present is the only reality.

#2. I remember, when I was struggling very deeply with depression, I felt like I couldn't see the sky, I couldn't see nature. I could go outside, and I could look at all the trees and such, and I could see that they were lovely, but I couldn't feel it; I couldn't see it. I think that in a sense, when we truly see beauty, we reflect it. It conjures up the beauty within us. (The same goes for anything around us.) When we see a beautiful blue sky, the thing that we enjoy is not necessarily the sky itself, but the feeling that it inspires within us.

Indeed, I still feel that way sometimes. But I feel like I've learned, to a great degree, how to see it. I remember I always used to think, "I'm outside right now, but I'm still carrying the inside with me." I was outside -- I was free -- but I was still trapped with that same feeling that I thought came from being stuck indoors.

There's a story in Zen Buddhism about one of the masters in the tradition. The leader of the monastery, looking to elect the next leader, asked his disciples to compose a poem revealing their wisdom. One of them wrote a poem along the lines of, "Our body is the place of awakening, And our mind is a clear mirror. We must continually polish the mirror, Never letting dust gather." He pointed toward this notion: that perfection is reflecting the beautiful reality in this world*. Keeping one's mind free and open, we are free and open.

Gracious. I've been so antsy lately. I didn't take very good care of myself during the semester. When I look outside, I long for the feeling of freedom that the air and the sunshine seem to possess. But when I go out there, I am still lost in my torrent of thoughts and feelings. The failure is not on the part of nature; it's my failure to escape the torrent! And the only way for the torrent to slow is for me to go right into it; to feel what I am avoiding feeling, and to let arise the thoughts that I am avoiding. I guess I'm avoiding them because I know they'll be painful. Better to be in clear pain for a moment, though, than to be divorced and generally unsettled. Pain always passes, but only when I let it go.

*An illiterate laborer at the monastery had a monk read the poems to him, and he had that monk write one for him and put it up there: "Awakening has no tree, the heart is no mirror; there's nothing at all: Where can dust gather?" He became the successor: there's no need to make oneself free and open; we already are!

2008-05-18T21:38:00.004-04:00

This semester, I took The African American Religious Experience, Islam, and The Christian Tradition. I saw so much. The more I study religion, the less I am able to define it. But one quality that I see in it is the development of spirituality.

I would define spirituality as contentment. It's free happiness, free openness and acceptance and love, independent of external factors. A spiritual person's happiness is not reliant upon surrounding conditions; indeed, those whose spirituality is most admired are often celebrated for the horrible conditions in which they find themselves.

To this effect, I don't believe that spirituality belongs exclusively to religion. Psychology could be considered a method of cultivating spirituality. (I would argue that much of religion is a method of altering one's psychology.) But I think that religion can offer the best method of cultivating it.

I should put stress on the word "can" in that last sentence. I think that religion can also be a powerful agent for keeping people as far from authentic spirituality as possible. It's a question of how it's being used, and its place.

Having seen what I have of some of these religions, I don't believe that any one religion could be more effective than another. I have little doubt that at the heart of every religion is the same fundamental drive for increased happiness and decreased suffering, experienced experientially and authentically in daily life. But that can get covered up pretty easily.

It's there to see, though, if you look.

I guess one of the most important parts, then, is understanding how to look, and what to look for.

Hmm... When it comes time for me to direct, to push, and to impel, I feel afraid. "You can't say that. You can't do that. You're not even right." And there's this weakness in my chest. Is it right? I don't yet know.

Am I missing something?

A Nutty Question

2008-05-13T20:40:00.005-04:00

"Hey buddy got a nutty question fer ya. You wanna coupla speakers fer yer house?"

"No thanks."

"Worth like three thousand, we gotta get rid of 'em, they're huge."

"Sorry, no thanks."

Working as receptionist at the Won Institute of Graduate Studies for 6 weeks, going to intern for a civil rights group in Mississippi for 4 weeks, dunno about next few weeks, then I go to India for 3 months.

When you play an instrument, you don't manipulate an instrument. You produce music.

What is faith?

What is tiredness?

2008-04-29T14:34:00.002-04:00

I just wrote a paper on how asceticism could offer a viable solution to the problem of the devaluation of black women in hip hop.

It's titled, "Hip Hop Nuns?: Asceticism as a Solution."

Clearly, it's been a long semester... I can't believe I'm handing this in.

I came across this by chance today...

2008-03-11T22:59:00.002-04:00

Every year at this time, the Ba'al Shem Tov held a competition to see who would blow the shofar for him on Rosh HaShannah. Now if you wanted to blow the shofar for the Ba'al Shem Tov, not only did you have to blow the shofar like a virtuoso -- like our own Scott Singer does -- but you also had to learn an elaborate system of kavanot -- secret prayers that were said just before you blew the shofar, to direct the shofar blasts -- to see that they had the proper effect in the supernal realms. All the prospective shofar blowers practiced these Kavanot for months. They were difficult and complex. And there was one fellow who wanted to blow the shofar for the Ba'al Shem Tov so badly, that he had been practicing these Kavanot for years. But when his time came to audition before the Ba'al Shem, he realized that nothing he had done had prepared him adequately for the experience of standing before this great and holy man, and he appled. He choked. His mind froze completely. He couldn't remember one of the kavanot he had practiced for all those years. He couldn't even remember what he was supposed to be doing at all. He just stood before the Ba'al Shem in utter silence, and then, when he realized how egregiously -- how utterly -- he had failed this great test. His heart just broke in two and he began to weep, sobbing loudly, his shoulders heaving and his whole body wracking as he wept.

"All right, you're hired," the Ba'al Shem said.

"But I don't understand," the man said. "I failed the test completely. I couldn't even remember one Kavanah."

So the Ba'al Shem explained with the following Mashal, the following parable: In the palace of the king, there are many secret chambers, and there are secret keys for each chamber. But one key unlocks them all, and that key is the axe.

The king is ribono shel olam, the Ba'al Shem explained. The palace is the House of God. The secret chambers are the sefirot, the ascending spiritual realms that bring us closer and closer to God when we perform mitzvot such as blowing the shofar with the proper intention, and the secret keys are the kavanot. And the axe -- the key that opens every chamber and brings us directly into the presence of the King wherever he may be -- the axe is the broken heart, as it says in the book of psalms -- karov adonai lishburey lev. -- God is close to the broken hearted.

It's an incredible sermon. Check out the rest of it here.

Is there a smiley for praying?

2008-02-24T12:48:00.005-05:00

I think that if a new prophet comes along, he'll use AIM. It'd probably look something like this:

proffet98: YOU WILL BE HAPPY IF YOU DO WHAT GOD SAYS
XxXsinnazXxX: im pretty happy rite now thx
proffet98: BUT WHAT ABOUT AFTER YOU DIE
XxXsinnazXxX: well i guess u haev a point cuz i mean i guess if when i die i wont get to be happy nemore
proffet98: THATS RIGHT
proffet98: THATS WHY IF YOU TAKE A LONG VIEW YOU SEE YOU WILL BE HAPPY IF YOU DO GOOD THINGS WHEN YOURE ALIVE AND YOUVE DECEESED (sp?)
proffet98: ACTUALLY ITS YOUR NATURE TO DO WHAT GOD SAYS AND BE HAPPY B/C OF IT
XxXsinnazXxX: o rly
XxXsinnazXxX: then y do i not want to do it in the 1st plaec
proffet98: SIN MAKES YOU DO THINGS YOU DONT WANT TO DO AND MAKES YOU THINK THEY MAKE YOU HAPPY
proffet98: ITS BECAUSE YOU HAVENT REALIZED WHO YOU REALY ARE
proffet98: *REALLY
XxXsinnazXxX: ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I don't know why I find that as funny as I do. Maybe my mind is slipping away from doing so much reading. (By the way, I don't think I've mentioned on here that I'm a religious studies major now.)

Rev. Sa sent me this e-mail tonight:

2008-01-04T22:44:00.000-05:00

Hi,

How are you today?

I read your [mindfulness] journal just before.
Thank your for your sincere practice.

I thought that If the pain is always in you,
let's find the way to become friend with it.

How?
Let's think about that.
See you tomorrow morning.

May Dharmakaya fourfold grace guide you...

Good night...

From your Buddha mom.

Dark Portents

2008-01-01T14:14:00.000-05:00

I am currently undergoing testing in order to diagnose my intestinal difficulties. (Viz. constipation, gassiness, abdominal pain, occasional cramping.) I had a blood test done not long ago, but, as we speak, the more trying and infinitely more sinister test is being administered.

For the next few days, I must observe a special diet, taking care to eat more fiber. And each time I defecate, I must lay on the surface of the bowl's water a laboratory-issued napkin. Upon it will fall my waste, of which I must then use my laboratory-issued popsicle stick to take a small amount. I then spread the matter onto a laboratory-issued slide. Taking one sample is not enough; I must then rotate the popsicle stick with utmost care, for reasons you must surely understand, take another sample from a different area of the stool, and spread it onto a separate slide.

Three times, I must endure this ordeal. After the third, I will send the samples to my doctor via first-class mail. I have just completed the first round. The experience was as I expected: certainly vexatious -- I watched the tip of that applicator as I would watch an enemy in hand-to-hand combat, and with all the more caution as I took the second sample -- but altogether, something that left me unharmed.

But the implications of this experience cause me a deep and enduring disquiet. What if, in the future, to gauge my character, I am asked such questions as, "Have you ever poked your own poop with a stick?" Gone are the days when I could honestly deny it! And, even more unforgivable, I will no longer be able to say, "Why, of course I have never sent my poop through the mail! Only a barbarian or lunatic would do so!" How deeply violated I have been in the name of medicine...

(Seriously though, I am so proud that I will be able to say that I have mailed my poop.)

2007-10-31T21:56:00.001-04:00

A few things happened today.

I looked up the definition of clinical depression today. It seems like it is more characterized by a deep sadness, lack of energy, interest, etc. I think I am clinically depressed, but I don't think that is the principle ailment I suffer. Rather, there seems to be an emotional pain in my chest. I'm familiar with sadness, and I don't think this is the same thing.

I think this sort of existential, spiritual suffering can be positive. It has always been debilitating, but it drives me toward positive ends.

While working on a project for sculpture class, I was listening to my iPod. Bach's Toccata & Fugue in D Minor came on. When the fugue began... I felt a cool, luminous fluid flowed into my heart, soothing it. Gracious... Words can't describe it.

How fascinating sensation is. If I saw a bright, cool fluid flow over my skin, I could say, "A bright, cool fluid is flowing over my skin." But I cannot see into my body, and we do not know of such fluids existing in the body, so I am expected to view this as metaphorical rather than literal. I don't disagree with that sentiment... I'm too tired to be philosophizing.

2007-10-14T21:58:00.000-04:00

Some things I said today that seem worth remembering (I was talking to my mom):

“Do you remember when I was a little kid, and we’d get home from somewhere in the car, and you and Liam would get out, and I wanted somebody to open the car door for me, but you guys wouldn’t, so I’d cry and scream and throw a tantrum and just go crazy? Then, when nobody came, I’d finally open the car door, go inside the house, and scream and have a tantrum since nobody opened the door for me?”
“Were you in the car seat?”
“No, I just wanted someone else to open the door for me. So I’d scream like that, to get it my way. Today, when I was meditating, my body hurt so much. I asked for something that I could do, but nobody really answered my question. All I really heard was that I could focus on my breath. I wanted somebody to tell me what I was doing wrong, or to tell me that extra thing that I needed to perfect my practice. [Not on a cognitive level, mind you.] When we next began sitting, it all hurt so, so much. I thought about how doctors tell me I have a healthy body, and I recalled especially how Rev. Sa said that she didn’t see my body having painful energy, that, rather, it was my mind. And I just felt hopeless, because Buddhist meditation seemed to be my last hope, and I asked, ‘What else can I do?’ I took a breath in, and watched it with as much of my attention as I could muster. And the pain lost its hold. It was still there, it still hurt a lot. But it lessened. I think I opened the door today. But, God, my body’s been howling at me since then!”

****

“After a few hours today, my back had sharp pains, my neck was killing me, my stomach and chest had a dull ache, my forehead felt like it was on fire, and I felt like I couldn’t draw in a breath, but, man, my hands felt great!”

2007-10-04T19:26:00.000-04:00

After dinner tonight, I felt hungry. I had taken care to chew my food 30 times. My stomach felt full. But I wanted to eat more.

First, I tried to look at my stomach. "See how full you are? See? Don't you understand that you don't want more food?" I recalled something that Bhante H. Gunaratana wrote in Mindfulness in Plain English, something along the lines of, "In mindfulness practice, we see things as they are. We avoid optimism and pessimism; clear sight of the world is all that is necessary. It is its own form of optimism."

So I watched the feeling in my stomach. I saw that it was removed from hunger; though my body wanted to treat it by eating, it did not seem like hunger. It was a deep discomfort to which I was responding with desire.

I decided to put off my homework and practice meditation. My stomach was beginning to feel very full, so I didn't think it would be a good idea to do sitting meditation or to meditate lying down. I stood up in my room for a little while. In a flash, though, I decided to go do walking meditation.

As I walked towards the sports fields behind Ursinus, I drifted in and out of being lost in thought. I noticed something interesting: I had a desire to go to places in the future and in the past. In the mental image that arose of the particular incidents (one the memory of desiring to go to a monastery, and the other was to play a video game that I played when I was younger [I can't remember off-hand what it was... I want to say it was Secret of Mana, but I don't feel like that's right]), there was full absorption in what I was doing. And here, as I walked, watching my mind, I felt something disconnecting me from it. The distinction was something like this: At the moment, I was walking, and there was something between the "I" and the act of "walking". In the mental images, there was simply the act; there was no such barrier. Pure pleasure being taken in what was occurring. More importantly, I know very well that this barrier has been with me for at least several years, and it may have been here longer. I further know that in my memories, that barrier is not there, even if it was actually there when the memory was occurring. This fascinated me, and I wondered about what the barrier might be.

But I knew I would not be able to find out by thinking about it. I decided to simply watch it as best as I could in order to understand. Why philosophize when you can experiment?

As I walked, it was hard to keep watching the barrier. It seemed so formless, so immaterial, so unreal. I couldn't even tell how I knew it was there.

As I watched, it seemed to take the form of a pain in my head, almost in the middle of it, a flat plane perpendicular to the ground.

I arrived at the field. It was empty, and it was very beautiful. The sun was just setting. Far ahead of me, a groundhog and a rabbit gobbled up grass. The groundhog moved ambitiously; I didn't know they could be so agile and lively.

I took off my shoes and socks. I walked very, very slowly. I won't relate what I thought about during the meditation. I mostly just watched the grass brushing my feet, and got distracted from time to time by the groundhog. But it felt rejuvenating.

Eventually, I got so close to the groundhog that it ran away. I advanced a bit further, then walked back to my shoes.

I headed back to my dorm when my brother called. It was nice to talk to him. I love him. :)

He mentioned that I am the most spiritual among "the four of us." (Jon and Tyler are counted there.) Lately, more folks have been commenting on my spirituality. It is confusing to me. I often find myself wishing that I could be more spiritually open, that I could feel closer to that realm. Sometimes, I feel so far removed from it... So pulled away from this world by something I cannot identify; by that barrier, perhaps.

But after my morning prayers, I feel uplifted. When I pray at my meals, I feel the quietness. My fiery mind feels removed and lost in thought, but, when I look, I see that, each day, I really am able to be spiritual. I always just wish that I could share my spirituality, and be confident with it.

I need not do so. I do not know what to do instead, but that desire will never be met.

There is still a fear in me of religion, to be religious. I fear my own judgment, and the judgment of others.

. . .

"We see things as they are."

2007-08-23T18:21:00.000-04:00

Sunjung called me this evening from California. She sounded very sad. I wasn't sure what to say to her. I always think that the reason is that I do not not know what to say to myself when I am sad, but I am no longer sure that that is the case.

This morning, Rev. Sa reviewed my mindfulness journal with me. In it, there was an entry where I wrote about one evening when I went for a walk. I went to the park near my house, and as I was walking, I felt fatigued and worn. At the park, I sat down on the hill. As I sat there, I looked inward and saw how very sad I felt. When I acknowledged the sadness, I felt like my eyes opened. I was suddenly aware of the scene before me: giant trees rose all around me, silhouetted by the street lamps that peeked through their branches. The crescent moon, low in the sky, was a pale orange. I noticed these two things, but I did not notice them in relation to me. I instead felt that I could see them and myself, all together. The moon wasn't hanging forlornly in the sky or anything, nor were the trees bracing themselves against the evening winds. We were all simply there at that moment. It was perfect.

Rev. Sa took the opportunity to talk to me about emotions and judgment: "When you are sad, be sad. You do not need to judge or contrive anything from that, such as, 'I'm unhappy,' or, 'I wish I weren't sad.' Be with the sadness, and watch as it comes, and then flows away." (Her exact words were "as it is born and as it dies.")

Whatever I can say about the excellence of her teaching is insufficient. But I know that this advice might not be appropriate for everyone. I had thought before that, perhaps, all I can do is guide people to look at their own sadness. But I must then be prepared to comfort them through it, and I do not know that I can interact with people in that way yet. I feel so awkward around people; instead of expressing what I would like to express, I usually offer trite judgments.

I would prefer, I think, to just be quiet and be with them.

Mmmm.

2007-08-16T14:31:00.000-04:00

My alarm woke me up at 5AM today. I got up easily, but once up, I couldn't handle the idea of meditating. I went back to bed.

When I woke up two hours later, I felt very ill. I can't describe how; I don't think I knew how. I tried to lay flat and still in bed and see what was wrong in my body, but I couldn't.

I got up, and did not know what to do. I ate breakfast and read the newspaper.

Though my stomach felt very nauseas, I also noticed a feeling in it that directed me to go to Tamanend Park, in Upper Southampton. I got in my car, and drove there, bringing an umbrella as it looked as though it would begin raining at any moment.

I had a rather nostalgic drive there. I hadn't been in that direction since I stopped going to Kendo there.

When I arrived, I did not see anyone, only a car parked in one spot. The place felt empty. The office had a blue sign that said OPEN, COME ON IN. I read the bulletin board, and it said that the Kendo group was having a demonstration on Saturday, Sept. 8th.

I walked back to the paths. In my mind's eye, I remembered running in our hakama, our "swords" unsheathed, along those paths. I remembered tripping and falling flat on my hakama. I remember grinning with Tyler and Dan, feeling like samurai.

I walked around the paths. It is one of the most beautiful parks I've ever seen. It feels small and close, and the organization of the trails is chaotic. Groves of trees spurt out of nowhere, then open into open areas of grass.

I still could not tell how I felt, but I felt comfortable there.

I passed a huge grove of bushes. I couldn't see how tall they were. Their branches stuck straight out to their sides, like giant spears forbidding entry into their hollows. They grew thickly, and, combined with the cloudiness, created a very dark little place. I thought about going in there. I don't know why I didn't.

As I walked around this spot, I looked inside. I saw three deer, two fawns and a mother. I kneeled and looked at them. They walked toward me a little, then stopped, staring at me. About 30 seconds passed, and then I stood up. This scared them away.

I went to the butterfly garden. The flowers were almost iridescent in their brightness. I stared at them for a long time. While I was sitting next to them, a mosquito landed on my right hand. It tried to suck blood from the knuckle of my index finger. When it first stuck it in, it got a drop; I could see the blood in its abdomen. But it sat there, fishing around, for about a minute. It hurt me. At last, however, I watched its abdomen swell enormously as it found more blood. It flew away.

Little honey bees flew around the flowers. The corpse of a spider blew back and forth, hanging from a leaf.

Eventually, it began to rain. I wished it would rain more. I sat and let it fall on me. I suddenly wanted to cry. Usually, when that desire comes, I try not to focus on it, in hopes that the tears would come of their own accord. That has not really worked for me for the last several years, so I tried to focus my attention on my eyes, and what it would feel like to cry, and the warmth of the tears in contrast to the coolness of the raindrops.

My efforts were interrupted when it occurred to me that perhaps this wasn't what I was looking for. I sat there some more.

Eventually, I decided to leave.

I would not want to go there with another person, unless we were to be silent. The place felt so peaceful... But not even peaceful. Really, it felt spiritual; it felt like it was beyond any words I could give it, or any feeling I could try to give to it. I assume that just reflects where I am now in my life: I have felt so indefinable and adrift. I feel that all I can do (while maintaining integrity) is try to accept that. I may be very misled in my approach. I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case at all. But I have seen no other approach that feels authentic.

It felt accepting. I think that was why I was able to let the mosquito take my blood, and why I felt I could sit and stare at flowers for a long time. I just want to accept myself. It really doesn't matter whether other people accept me. (Not at this moment, anyhow.) I want to feel like I am at home in my body, in my mind. Pain and anxiety makes me always wish I were somewhere else. My back hurts; my head hurts; my neck hurts; my emotions hurt. These pains make me choose a direction, any direction, so long as it points away from me. But I can't help but wonder if this very process is that which brings the pain to me. As I have mentioned, I feel compelled to go outward. I want to see what it is that I am running from.

More importantly, there is some faint voice in me that bids me inward. Just the one that wants me to be able to rely on myself, to trust and love myself. It's God, I think. Many people have said that we humans cannot comprehend God with our little minds; I agree with this. But we have big minds under our little ones.

I cannot delve into such matters, my understanding is too shallow. Nevertheless, I look forward to the journey.

Words are so difficult. Sometimes it seems impossible for a person to say what he means: for words are so fluid, their definitions change from person to person; we are all speaking our own language, while assuming we speak the same one. Yet I have complete faith that, when used properly, they do have the effect of expressing something true, and concrete.

I have not yet found that proper use. Perhaps I should refrain from talking about God or anything like that until I reach that point. Mmm, seems needless. It's OK if people think I'm saying something else.

2007-07-25T08:11:00.000-04:00

Here's the dharma talk I gave at the retreat this weekend:

---

Earlier this week, I was helping one of the preministers, Sungsim, practice English. We came across the phrase, “Our life,” I’m afraid I can’t remember the context. It was something along the lines of, “Our life is a succession of endless meetings.” I’d seen this usage before, and I’d always considered it a grammatical error. “It should be ‘our lives’,” I thought. But when Sungsim asked me about it, it suddenly hit me that it wasn’t a grammatical error, but a philosophical one.

One won’t generally hear, in the English language, the phrase, “our life,” but instead, we’ll hear, “our lives.” The reason we make “life” plural is because we are all living our own, individual lives. We each have our own. And thinking these thoughts in my head made me realize how I find that I can’t really believe that.

Though we may not wish to be, we are all incredibly dependent upon others, especially in this society. We depend upon each other for just about every single need that could exist: physical necessities, such as the things needed to maintain one’s body; intellectual necessities, such as the knowledge of how to do certain things, and how to go about fulfilling needs; spiritual necessities, to find anything else we could need. I wouldn’t know how at all to survive on my own without the rest of the world, let alone understand how to be content and thriving. Even if I did, then I’d depend upon the world itself, which I do not mean to separate from the notion of “others”.

It is an incredible tool to practice, when going through one’s day, to stop, look at what your mind is focused upon, and to see just how much has already been given to you. It’s also very enlightening to watch and see what you are giving to the world.

One day, I was reading the scripture when I came across a rather lengthy verse spoken by Master Sotaesan. I will abbreviate it, but it’s still pretty meaty:

“Generally, if we talk about the earth, it is just silent, without language or activity, and so the people of this world presume it is an insentient substance. But in fact there is a real and definite evidence of its being ever bright and numinous. In farming, when we sow seed, the earth perforce must help that seed grow. Furthermore, where red bean seeds are planted, the earth makes sure that red beans will sprout; where soybeans are planted, soybeans must sprout. Where much human labor was performed, there will be a large harvest; where little human labor was performed, there will only be a small harvest; and where human labor was performed incorrectly, losses will occur. Without the slightest confusion, doesn’t the earth respond by clearly distinguishing in accordance with the characteristics of each seed and the input of human labor? Hearing this explanation, one might say, ‘That is because the seeds themselves possess the essential elements of life and sprout thanks to the labor supplied by farmers; the earth is nothing more than the foundation.’ However, how can a seed sprout and grow on its own without receiving the response from earth, and what result would there be had one applied oneself to planting and cultivating in a place that did not receive that response from earth? And not only that, but there is not one of all the myriads of things that rely on earth that does not appear without receiving that response from earth. Therefore, there is not a single thing that the earth does not influence, nor is there any case where it does not exert its authority regarding arising and ceasing, progression and regression. This is not just the case with earth. Heaven and earth are nondual. The sun, the moon, the stars, winds and clouds, rain and dew, and frost and snow are all a single energy and a single principle, so there are none of them that are not numinously efficacious. Thus, all the wholesome and unwholesome deeds that human beings perform will never deceive regardless of how secret they might have been, nor can we resist the resulting retribution and response. All this is the consciousness of heaven and earth and the awesome power of heaven and earth’s clarity. However, the consciousness of heaven and earth is not the same as human consciousness involving joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness. It is a consciousness that conducts itself in no-thought, a consciousness that manifests in signlessness, and a consciousness that is impartial and complete, without any selfish motives. Those who understand this principle will be awed by the clarity of heaven and earth, so that no matter what sensory condition one faces, one will not dare to deceive one’s own conscience and commit transgression. Those who have gone a step further and modeled themselves wholeheartedly on the consciousness of heaven and earth will gain an infinitely pure consciousness and could even command the awesome power of heaven and earth."

When I first read that, I had to pause and think about it for a while. How could the earth have consciousness? I didn’t even understand how this could make sense: Consciousness, I thought, is the principle of having a mind, thinking, and being able to process and understand.

The answer came to me in a sort of image: I remembered the day before, when I had been sitting by a stream, watching the water flow. I had been trying to comprehend the immense implications of what that river meant: I had been trying to watch it as gajillions of little water droplets, flowing all together, having, by chance, gathered in this stream, and now all touching, colliding, traveling, and mixing. Now, I could not possibly comprehend this. I couldn’t guess where to put all of those droplets, how they could interact, how they could stay together and continue along together. But, after reading this scripture, I realized that I could dramatically change my idea of what consciousness was. Although I could not comprehend how all of these supposedly individual water droplets could move together, they still managed to perfectly. I could watch them do it; I could see it with my eyes and my mind. And what is consciousness but this? A flow of thoughts, a flow of feelings, all perfectly connected, all exactly where they are supposed to be. This flow in nature follows the same principle that constitutes the flow that I am. What is my mind, what is my body, but a river, flowing ever onward?

I made this large digression about consciousness to illustrate that the flow that I am is not separate from the flow that any of you are. If tiny water droplets, crashing about chaotically, can all move together, how can we, who depend so heavily upon each other, consider ourselves separate? Nor can we consider ourselves separate from the flow of nature, or this retreat house, or each other’s minds. All of us interact endlessly and perfectly, whether it feels that way or not. We are all one big river, flowing; we are not separate people doing our own thing. Instead, we are all here together. We are living “our life.”

I believe that spiritual practice is an imperative element in this analogy. If I were the water droplets themselves, I don’t think I would see the river as a serene and perfect flow, but instead I’d be chaotically flailing around, getting dashed against rocks, never seeming to find any rest. Thus does the dharma become such a key aspect to us.

As each day passes, I find myself more and more grateful for what I have been given, whether it was given with intention or not. Thus do I wish to thank all of you from the depths of my heart.

2007-07-01T17:18:00.000-04:00

I went camping with Liam and his friends this weekend. I drove up by myself yesterday morning; I had hoped to carpool, but it didn't work out. The days were so bright, so blue, so green, so white... The air was cool, and there was always a light breeze. And the sun kept coming down, even when it went behind a cloud for a little while.

When we got up there, we went swimming in the lake. Jon, Cassie, Nathan and I played in there for a long while. That was wonderful. I'd been wanting to swim for months. My shoulders hurt from the exertion, but what the hell did I care. It was much more important to enjoy myself.

After they got out of the water, I sat on the beach and stared at the sky, and the forest, the water... It was all so beautiful. Looking at the water, it seemed so unreal. I don't think I'd ever looked at water so closely before. The way it reflected, the way it moved, I couldn't believe that this was part of the world. I guess that just shows that I've been somewhere else all this time. :)

At one point, Jon came back in and stood next to me. He just cleared his throat and looked behind me. I had noticed that a little boy had snuck up behind me, but I hadn't paid him any heed until that point. So I put on a dramatic flair and said, "What's up, Jon? Is there someone behind me?" I turned slowly so that the little boy, who had now grabbed onto my neck and shoulders, had time to continue to hide behind me. "Cuz I don't see anyone!" I turned the other way, amidst great giggling. The little boy's brother ran up also and tried to hide.

It ended up being a nice little diversion. The little boys hopped on my back, and I acted as a seahorse to them. Their names were Mikey and Matthew. Mikey was 5, Matthew was 3. They had red hair and pale skin, and were generally adorable. Matthew kept clinging to my arms and my legs; he loved being held and touched. Eventually their mother came over and I introduced myself to her; she told me I could tell them to go away if they were irritating me. They weren't.

Cassie and Jon came over and said they were going to have a hand-stand competition in the deeper water, and that we should judge. I had them shout, "ON YOUR MARK, GET SET, GO!" and then we counted how long they were underwater. Everyone stared at us, and grinned. It was nice. (By the by, the first two contests were ties, and then Cassie one in the third round.)

Eventually, they lost interest in me, and I went back to watching the scene. People came and sat with me from time to time, but I wasn't terribly engaging, so they soon left. From time to time, young women in bikinis would walk by and cast looks my way. If they actually made eye contact, I smiled genially, but most seemed content to just look mysterious. I thought for a while about courting in general; I can see why it gets the attention that it does in our culture. I also felt fine leaving it to other people.

When I finally came out, my feet looked like those of a drowning victim. They were blue and pasty and gross. But they soon cleared up.

We all played Frisbee for a while, but I was exhausted. Around dinnertime, I walked down a trail for a long time with my Carebears backpack full of the stuff for Won Buddhist prayer. I found a spot overlooking the natural dam. The sun coming down on it all was just beautiful. After praying, I ran back, because I was worried that the folks at the camp wouldn't save any food for me. (I ran back mindfully, I swear!)

That night, we roasted marshmallows and such. It was really nice. I had my first s'more in years, and it was delicious.

There was a stargazing... gathering? that evening, and we went. There were lots of clouds, though, and we got there late anyway, so we were unsatiated. We went down to the dam. At one point, we were walking through a heavily wooded place, and the path ahead of us was perfect darkness. I said, "The only thing nicer about walking down a path into darkness is running down it." Tom said, "Let's do it." So we ran down. It was exhilarating; couldn't see a damn thing. Tom and I came out of the woods first, and so we got to watch the moon rise.

The others caught up with us, and we went down to the dam. The mist was coming out on the water. It was quite a sight; words are inadequate. But I felt like I couldn't see a lot of it. My body hurt, and my mind was moving a lot. I'm not good at being aware, of being myself, when I'm in groups of people. I don't know why.

As we walked back to the camp, I talked to Liam about some philosophical stuff, but my heart wasn't in it. I was too tired and in too much pain to truly be open and aware. I'm glad I got to talk to him, though. I miss talking to my brother.

When we got back, it was just too much for me at that point. I went to bed.

I wonder why I have such difficulty sleeping.

When I decided I should get up in the morning, I lay in my sleeping bag for a while, hoping and wondering. I found myself asking, "Why?" and just feeling bad about having to get up. I really wished my body didn't hurt so much. But I knew I had to get up, and that things would be OK as ever.

Getting up and having the warmth leave my body felt good.

We packed up, and I drove home. My head hurt so much. But I made it.

There was so much to learn from every experience that came to me. I find that happening in pretty much every moment of my day these days. But there is too much to interpret. If I were to expound upon it all, I'd have no time at all. I'll just have to keep it all to myself. Hopefully, once I'm a bit wiser, it will come back out at times that would be helpful to people. And to myself.

2007-06-18T19:56:00.000-04:00

Today was my first day of work at the camp. Pangs of worry -- something that had been incredibly absent in my life for a long period of time -- hit me daily for the last few weeks. I tried to comfort myself, and, yesterday, I realized that it would all be fine.

It was almost as bad as I had worried, I think. At lunch, I was so nervous that couldn't eat; I just kept an eye on the kids.

I had a hat, but I forgot to put on sunscreen, and the sun ate me up. I was in horrible pain by the end of the day, mostly just from worry and loss of energy. My head and eyes felt like they were wrapped tightly in heavy plastic.

At one point during the day, the pain and anxiety was especially deep in me. Then I grinned, thinking, "My body can be wracked with pain, and I will be OK." It was a helpful thought, but I still had a very difficult time with the children.

When I got home, I ate my lunch. I had some apple juice from the fridge, and it was the best experience I'd had in recent memory. It was better than 30 orgasms. (Though if I remember correctly, orgasms don't always feel terribly special.)

I wrote out a schedule, so hopefully tomorrow will be better.

I went to the temple and meditated for a little while, and prayed.

When I came back, I mowed the lawn. Then I rode my bike to the bank. I came in moaning. It felt better to moan when I breathed.

I set about cleaning up the mess in my room, and then did my physical therapy exercises for my shoulders. While I was doing it, I looked at my day, and at my life, and thought, "Why is there so much pain?" It was a rhetorical question, but an answer came to me. I don't know if it's right or not. But it was, "What is occurring isn't pain. It's your reaction to the things in your life. All of these things that constantly attack you aren't constantly attacking you: they're just the normal course of the world playing itself out as a result of the way you've lived your life up to this time." With that thought, I smiled. Then I thought, "And look, you're smiling amidst such terrible pain. You could take on even more pain, and since you are willing to face it, you could escape it all." But I thought that might be a little much. But, who knows, maybe it's true.

These last few weeks have had so much in them. They have been so difficult and painful. But I am sensitive and inexperienced; there is so much pain in the world, and it has been very difficult to live even with the pain I've had thus far. But I always think, "Things could get even worse." I remember in high school wanting to stop and rest because there was so much pain. And when I graduated, I did, and the pain became even stronger, and had powerful, lasting effects on me.

Mmm. I do not sound healthy. I seem to be running very quickly, to be working very hard in order to treat myself. Perhaps spiritual practice and responsibilities are valid methods of treatment; I don't know. But I think they usually dissuade people from looking for treatment and cures in Buddhism. I'm not sure. But then what should I do, instead?

I'm not terribly worried about it. I think that what I'm doing now is fine. If it isn't, then I'm sure I'll see some other way that is fine. I'm not terribly attached to anything, so I should stay pretty open. (Though I see myself not being open sometimes, I think I'm getting better with it.)

I have drank about 10 cups of water since I got back from work and have not yet urinated. I must have gotten dehydrated.

I often wonder what causes the tightness in my head, and the headaches. I really don't know.

2007-06-14T23:10:00.000-04:00

"Don't judge."

I do.

"Let go of delusion."

I can't.

"Let your mind be like the empty sky."

I can't.

In the shower tonight, I was cold. My arms clung to my chest, my face. My head hung low. I remembered 8th grade, being "locked-up." What made me do it? Anxiety. Such a mysterious word. It's horrible. It eats people, all the more as they run from it...

I took a breath, let my arms fall at my sides. Looked for the calm in my muscles. Why am I fighting myself? The question wasn't directed at the anxiety, but at the calming. I felt distant from myself by my attempt to move to peace.

I'm running from myself by trying to leave the rigidity in my body... But that wasn't right. I'm not the anxiety. I know.

What am I? I thought of Matt's comment on my MySpace from a long time ago: "Ryan is one of the most human people I've ever met." Not anymore. I've replaced my openness with Buddhism. There's some truth to that. I've lost trust in that openness I used to have... A real loss.

But I had to lose it. It cost too much. My physical life, for one thing; any hope of happiness, for another. And my mother would have broken before I did.

Spiritual practice is a crutch, for now. As I progress, hopefully it will become everything it promises to be. Mmm. I know it will.

I need to learn how to live, now; how to be an adult. Once I have that down, I'll go back to trying to be a human.

Mmm. No. It's already here. In taking that shower, in writing this, it's been here. Even at work, when I'm struggling... when I'm cold... it's still there. I can't always say it, or feel it... But I know it's there. I know that I'm me; I know that I'm human.

Ah.

I'd always wondered about that. If there was some knowledge beyond knowledge, some feeling beyond feeling. Everyone says there is, but repeating what everyone says is the problem.

It is very hard for me to think. It is harder to speak, and write, and type. I don't know why, and it embarrasses me. I often think, Why can't I just be like before? And I don't know why. It may only be because time moves forward. But it may also be that I sat too deeply in the pain. My mind is still too muddled now to know.

Sometimes, when I'm at work, I think of being a monk, and of God. At those times, I feel so light, so free, and it makes me wonder if I'm just becoming delusional from staring at a computer screen for so long.

I still long for God. I wasn't sure if that was all right; often, when I've thought of God, it's been an emotion, a knowledge, and for that reason, it seemed fallible to me. I mean, one can make oneself think anything, and, though it's a bit more complicated, one can make oneself feel anything. Why not just make oneself feel God?

And that makes me ask if that's even anything undesirable to begin with. Aren't I, by the same token, making myself feel isolated and skeptic now? How is that preferable? Because I'm "right"? I would rather be generous, happy, and in love with God than isolated, skeptic, and epistemologically correct. I don't think that it is even epistemologically correct: the only conclusion is that one cannot know by virtue of the senses or logic. To conclude from that notion that there is no God is actually logically incorrect.

Gracious. Buddhism seems absolutely correct. But holding it as some external idea... That doesn't work. It has to be lived, like anything that's genuine.

I have some thinking to do.

2007-06-08T18:00:00.000-04:00

I won't be surprised if, in the future, the American language makes the past tense of "lend" into "lended," rather than "lent."

Last night, driving home from Maryland, was good. Thoughts were swarming to me. Suicide was on my mind a lot, and it seemed so strange to me. It seemed so antediluvian. It's still something I think about from time to time, but it's some abstract idea; it's this voice in my head saying, "God, I should just kill myself," and very little more to it than that. There's so little emotion to it that I'm taken aback by it. It doesn't seem like "me" talking at all.

When I'm at home (or going home, apparently), thoughts of suicide are prevalent. But outside of that realm, it's only something I consider when I'm in a particularly large amount of pain. And in any case, I am not my thoughts. I'm not defined by my thoughts. It does leave me a little confused about what I am, but if I don't think about it, I end up being just fine. :)

While I was driving home, I kept remembering songs from Ogre Battle. It was a Super Nintendo game that had really, really good music. It made me feel nostalgic. I found myself wanting to go back to it. Not necessarily to the music, but to that feeling. That sense of comfort that time seems to give. I know very well that oftentimes, my memory of things feels so much better than what actually occurred. It's fascinating how warm, how comforting old memories feel. I understand why folks like to just recount memories; if you get to feel that sense of happiness and security, I can't blame them. But I know that I didn't feel that happiness and security when I was actually in those situations. I wonder why that occurs. Perhaps your mind just wants you to go back to things you know worked in the past. Or maybe it's just the nature of memory that it contracts it into a very abstract conceptualization; into a caricature of what actually occurred. I wouldn't be surprised. Perhaps there's also the fact that you probably felt things more intensely as a child than as an adult.

I knew that if I listened to the music again now, it'd be very rewarding for a little while, and then it would have nothing for me. Unless I inflate it in my mind, it won't offer much for too long. Maybe once my mind becomes a little gentler with pleasurable experiences, then I'll truly appreciate it.

Man, I sound like such a fanatic. If I were to read all this a year or two ago, I'd think I was crazy, and just plain wrong. It's funny how your mind changes... I think all you can do is try and roll with it.

I'd always hoped, when I was roiling in depression, that when I turned 20 or 21, my brain chemistry would change and things would be easier. Seems like that, in conjunction with a little discipline, has done a lot for me.

I wonder if I'm crazy, though. Part of me still wants to be. While I was running this morning, I realized that ...

I want to go for a walk with my mom now. The thought up there was that I had caused my body to lock up in 8th grade. I was the happiest I'd been in my life, when my body was all crunched up and I was "a retard." I think it was because I got to be with my mom. And I think that all of the illnesses were to be with her. I'm not certain, but I think so.

I'm gonna go for a walk with her. She wants exercise.

2007-06-01T00:02:00.001-04:00

This evening, as I was beginning my journey back to Maryland from my house, I saw that I was on the road of the dental office where my mom worked. I didn’t feel like stopping; I really wanted to get back as soon as possible so I could get to sleep; I stopped, because I thought my mom would appreciate it.

I parked, and went in. My mom tried to chat with me a bit, and I indulged her, but I really wanted to get going. She followed me out, soliciting me along the way for the usual promises, offering me to relinquish some of my responsibilities, etc. They would normally be very tempting offers, but they seemed distant at the time. I was unwilling to compromise. It felt weird; I didn’t feel like “myself,” that is, the “me” with which I’ve been acclimated for the last years of my life.

As I walked out of the office, I had a strong sense that I was going to die. That by getting in the car, I was headed to my death. I looked back at my mom, and thought, “Is this the last I’ll see of her?” I paused in my mind, considering. Everyone thus far had recommended me to stay the night; it wasn’t a good idea to drive to Maryland at 9PM. Was that some sort of indicator to me? I doubted it.

But it was a sobering thought. It made me very aware of my breath, and my body, and the beauty of the evening sky. I realized that I had some choices. And so I got in the car, confident that if I died, that would be necessary and fine.

Have you had the sense that you would die soon? I’ve had it a couple times in my life, maybe three. It makes me feel very good, like my priorities are finally straight. It reminds me of how fragile I am, of how fragile life is, of what a dream it is. The pain in my body and my mind do not yield suffering, because I see how impermanent they are.

It seems like such a strange notion. I often find myself desiring death as a release from difficult circumstances, such as having to keep battling with the pain in my body simply in order to function in society, and simply to bring the pain to an end. My neck and head hurt very much sometimes, and I can’t really make them go away. But once I start thinking about suicide, it brings me back to awareness of a kind. At the very least, it makes me aware of what I am feeling, where my mind is going, and that I am being carried away. Though I write about this in a very sterile way, you can be sure that it isn’t a particularly sterile situation. :)

That taken into consideration, I find it odd that I wear my helmet when I ride my bike, and that I drive cars slowly and carefully. I wonder often about why that is. I have some hypotheses, but none feel correct.

While I was driving back, I got attached to the idea about feeling a sense that I would die. “Was I really going to die? How would it happen? Would it be painful? Maybe it would finally be that release that I was looking for! Maybe, at last, I don’t have to keep fighting!”

That last one made me realize how very deluded I was about the situation, and that I was not seeing with the same clarity that accompanied the initial feeling.

I am exhausted, and have been wanting to sleep for quite a while.

I ran into Nate Edwards today, that was wonderful. I didn’t even recognize him. His face is becoming more adult, and it’s very handsome.

Wafflez was sneezing and hacking a lot today, and his left eye was watering heavily. I felt bad for him. A similar thing happened to me at the 24-hour relay; some sunblock caused it to me. Kitty allergies?

Good night, and it really seems like a different person writing all this than the person who wrote on this blog a year and a half ago.

2007-05-21T21:35:00.000-04:00

A little while ago, I warmed up a glass of milk. I put in some chocolate syrup. Part of me warned, "It's a little late in the evening to be drinking this!" but I tried not to worry. It seemed right for the moment.

I sat, drank it slowly, and thought. I looked at my hands. They looked as distinct from the table below them as the table did from the floor below it. They didn't feel disconnected from the table. They were my hands, yes, but there was nothing special about them; that is to say, there was nothing special about my hands that kept the table from being just as special.

I drank, and I watched my mind move to other things. What I would want to do after I finished drinking the chocolate milk, what led me to drink it.

The most interesting subject I thought about was the pain in my body. My neck, back, and head hurt. They've hurt for a long time; at least a year, and I would guess for several. And I wondered, "Can I be happy despite these things?" All of the Buddhists I've met have thought so, as have many Buddhists who I have not met. (Things I've read.) I'll bet plenty of non-Buddhists think so, too. :þ More importantly, a lot of people whose opinions I value deeply have told me so. But I'm not sure how to do it. It is hard to go about my daily life with the pain; it seems like quite a push to go to actually being happy despite it. But what I frequently hear is that I shouldn't be happy despite it: in fact, they often say that overcoming the pain is just about impossible. Rather, the happiness should come from being aware of myself. This is a confusing notion. Hopefully I can ask one of the ministers about it soon.

Sometimes I think about waiting for a train. Sitting there, people would be immersed in their newspapers, their books, their iPod, the ground, their thoughts, the person they're talking to... But not to the other people on the platform. You'd be thought of as crazy if you looked at the other people. Or if you were just looking around quietly and observantly. Shouldn't you be doing something? Shouldn't your mind be occupied by something? It's odd that we are expected to be closed off in the world of our mind; it seems preferable to be open within that realm, and thus to the world outside of our minds.

I keep thinking back to what Young-in (Rev. Sa) told me: "Don't judge." I've wondered what that meant. I've often wondered what that meant, especially Jesus', "Judge not, lest ye be judged." What does it mean to judge? I assume that it means to take a look at things and draw some conclusion, usually assigning some positive or negative connotation to the conclusion, and perhaps to the action or actions that precipitated it. I think she was taking issue with the notion of assigning a positive or negative connotation to the conclusion. I've tried to do that lately, and it's been liberating, to a degree. Mostly, it seems, because I've felt comfortable when I'm aware of what's going on in me at the time. But I want to give it more practice. The inference there was, "And then I'll pass some judgment about it." :) Mmm. I won't judge.

I heard she cut her hair. I'm eager to see it.

Almost a year ago, she gave me a book to read. It was so thickly worded, I couldn't get through it at all. It's been sitting in the bathroom since. I picked it up last night, and it's been astonishing. I guess I'm more ready for it now, at least dialectically. But I read this sentence today, and it's meaningful to me: "If you cannot practice dharma when you are sad, due to what this does to your mind, and you cannot practice dharma when you are happy, because you become attached to that, then there will be no time at all when you can practice dharma." (While "dharma" has many meanings, in this case, it's referring to spiritual practice.) It's just a reminder to me that now, this moment, is when I can practice. It's very good to remember when the pain wants to take me away.

Sometimes, I want to meditate so that I can feel more peaceful and practice more easily. Is this right? It's not wrong. It's not wrong... It's fine. :) But each moment is a chance to be aware.

Once, I was talking to someone, and he was speaking strongly in favor of spiritual practice, saying how it was liberating and brought a presence and power of awareness to life. But he seemed so closed-off, like he wasn't really speaking the words he was saying, or, more importantly, wasn't hearing them. I was very fortunate to be there for that. It showed me that having dharma on your mind doesn't mean you're practicing dharma.

Wow. Who the hell is writing this? I never would have imagined myself writing as I am, with this lexicon. Wow...

Sometimes I'm tempted to relate all of the countless insights I've made into the world and society ¬_¬, but I'm 20 years old and even if I were 100, I'd still be trying to give form to something formless and perfect. All things are the truth, but one can't find the truth in any of them. One can't find the truth at all. It's a matter of seeing what is already there.

When I say that, am I speaking from insight, or am I repeating wise things that I have heard? It felt like it was coming from me, but I can't really know. And the last sentence in that paragraph, indeed, did feel contrived. But most of it I mean.

I'm often scared to talk. I fear the judgment. I should go to bed.

2007-05-19T15:48:00.000-04:00

When the founder of Won Buddhism, Sotaesan was in his room, a company of inspectors visited him and asked, "Where is your Buddha enshrined?"

Sotaesan said in answer, "Our Buddhas are now outside. Please wait a while, if you would like to see them." The words of the Great Master were quite incomprehensible to the inspectors. After a while, at lunchtime, a group of workers came back from the fields to eat, carrying their tools. The Great Master said to the inspectors, indicating the group, "They are our Buddhas." The company of inspectors was still at a loss.
I received an acupuncture treatment this afternoon, for pain in my neck. Part of it consisted of drawing out blood, which I hadn't heard of acupuncturists doing before. Right after I was done, they asked me to stand up, and I didn't feel any pain in my head. It was different, but it was nice. My head felt lighter. Soon, the pain started to come back. Rev. Sa took me with her to share some coffee at the temple, and to finish setting up for the services tonight. Jungsoo played the piano while we drank, and he was incredible. I had no idea he was so skilled. Rev. Sa said that he was self-taught.

Rev. Sa recommended to me that I stop judging, saying that calm clarity is good and that pain is bad. I think she may be right. I wonder if I can. Being able to see that... It seems like so much more than I could be. But I know that thoughts cannot define a person, nor can feelings. And if what "I" is is something undefinable...

Is it the case that difficulties and pains can never be solved, and that we can only recognize that peace is already here? Then it seems like I do not understand peace. Mmm... I'm confusing myself in the words.

Hmm...

All actions will cause suffering, all actions will cause enlightenment. One action is precipitated by all other actions, all other actions precipitate that one. It can't be isolated; it cannot be.

I should go do something worthwhile.

2007-05-18T12:39:00.000-04:00

I sent this message to someone. I want to hang onto it. Not a definition of me, but it'd be good to look at when I'm 27 and wondering how I was at 20.

-

I was pretty lucky with my OCD. When I was 15, I went to a cognitive behavioral therapist who specialized in dealing with OCD. It was an incredible help. She had a very good understanding of what I needed, and really helped me work through my rituals. It really helped me bring a lot of the compulsions under control, and gave me some understanding about the obsessions. But we didn't get as far as would have been good, because she moved away after a few months of treatment.

I'm blessed to not get as locked into compulsions as I used to. The obsessions are still very big for me, though. Getting locked into that spiral, I very often find myself immobilized. I understand those fears that you have... It's astonishing how much fear can just rip away at you, at your life. And it's hard to not feel guilty about that... That vicious question: "I see what the problem is, why can't I stop it?" I guess that's the same question that kills addicts.

The answer, I guess, is that it takes more than just thought and force of will. Have to change the way you interact with the world... That's not a slow process.

Do you suffer from depression? I do. I'm not sure where its limits are, or what its causes are, and that sort of thing; it's still a bit too close to me for me to say "This is Ryan, this is depression." I have a suspicion that I won't find any real distinction, but that instead I'll just see that the depression is simply an emotional response, and that aspects of my personality are largely a response to that response. But the pain of it... It gets very blown up, I think, because of obsessive thinking. And that very strong pain has largely forged how I act.

Growing up, I was always an atheist, and I thought religion was horrible. I've tempered a bit since then; I'm not nearly as extreme as I used to be, because, for me, polarized thinking was just too painful. Plus, I could be very opinionated, and still be very wrong. These days, I'm hesitant to express much certainty with anything. I think a lot of people regard me, thus, as having kind of a weak personality, but I would rather acknowledge that I don't have the answers instead of clinging to ideology, or making decisions that could hurt many people.

Buddhism has been a big influence on me over the last year. It's the only system of thought that I thought truly addressed the problems I was having. I guess one of the big ideas that helped me was that there could be an end to the pain, that I could be happy, and that the answer wasn't going to come from something outside of me. The solution can't come from something outside of me, because then it isn't me. The answer is already inside of me, it's just a matter of seeing it.

That is, of course, very ideological. I don't feel happy, and I don't feel free from suffering. But it's all a process. By practicing, and training my mind to be open to those things I said before, I'll probably reach those things. Maybe it's a lot of hoo-ha, but I don't think it is.

Meditation has been good for me. It's not always helpful when I'm already lost in obsession, but it's been much better for keeping me out of it. Plus, it's offered me something to do for myself. It's good to have at least something... I've spent a long time at war with myself, hating myself because of the pain I put myself through. But hate never brings things together, it only pushes them apart. It's hard to accept the pain and the obsession and the guilt, but I know that it's something I have to do if I'm ever going to be happy. (I don't mean "accepting" in the sense of yielding, but in the sense of not running from it.)

It's crazy, I think. I'm amazed by how much pain there is just by being alive, and how difficult it is. I've spent a good amount of time in and out of mental hospitals, because that hatred was so deep-seeded that I didn't want to live with myself. That urge is still there sometimes, but I know now that I couldn't kill myself. Whether or not there is a point to life, whether or not I ever will be able to be happy, there's still a lot of pain in the world. I want to figure out my pain, so that I can help other people with theirs. I might as well; I have the opportunity.

2007-04-28T20:18:00.000-04:00

For the last 15 years of my life, when brushing the fronts of my teeth, I have done so in a clockwise direction. Every single time.

I tried it in the counter-clockwise direction tonight. It was very, very hard, but it felt incredibly good.

What an incredible thing the Buddha did...

2007-04-28T08:51:00.000-04:00

Last night and this morning, I've been helping folks at Won with papers. I am very tired, and it's odd. As long as I don't have the headache, it doesn't really matter if I'm tired or not! I do have the headache a little bit, but not nearly as much as I often do.

I don't think my English is up to par at this moment, I haven't been sleeping much this week. But I feel like my mind is still pretty open. Might just be as a result of the endumbnifying effects of a lack of sleep.

But this morning, on Facebook, I saw a group called what I thought was, "B Heart Hearts Bielicious." My Spanish teacher is named Professor Biel, and I was like, "Huh? Why would anybody like her so hard?" As it turns out, I am an idiot, and it said "Boobielicious," but with hearts instead of the letter O. But I had the chance to see something very interesting: lots of girls had posted pictures of themselves displaying their cleavage. At first it was interesting to me for the reason that that is generally interesting to any twenty-year-old male, but I couldn't help looking at the young women. Like, stopping and looking at them, at what they were doing, at what they were feeling, at why they were doing this. Why would they do this? In the exceedingly detached sense, yes, why would a person clutch their breasts and then take a picture of it? But that is a bit too detached for some, I think. Why would a young woman post picture after picture of her breasts on the internet? Clearly, so that someone could see them. But she doesn't care who sees them, she only wishes to have the exposure. Why would she want that? She wants to be acknowledged. She wants to be accepted for something. You may be thinking, "Yeah, so she chooses something very cheap and immoral," (obviously not in those words, I know I'm an old man who has not been sleeping) but is that really so? If this is what has given her very much acknowledgment and acceptance in the past, why would she bother stopping now? It can fill that need that so many people find in themselves. If there is anything that can be gleaned from looking at our society, it is that the source of fulfillment is not as important as the fulfillment itself. Well, for some it is, but not for most. Television, music, drugs, sex, books, spirituality, God, exercise, money, a job, children, a spouse or significant other, listening to themselves, convincing themselves that they are correct and others are incorrect, spending time with friends; these are all things that people find fulfillment in. It is very tempting to say, "Yes, but only a few of those are valid," or "Only one or two of those are real." Why would people spend their time chasing, always chasing, something that isn't real? Something that isn't valid? Clearly, it is real to them! It is valid to them! The truth is that there is no valid, there is no real. There is only the practicability of the source. As it so happens, murder and drugs are fulfillments that generally cause a lot of pain (not just to the user, nor just to the victim), and things like books carry a little less (though they can still be great sources of pain).

I don't know... I just felt bad for them, and it reminded me that they are looking for the same fulfillment that I am. Maybe not from the same source, but certainly to the same degree, and with the same emotions. And I hope that they don't get hurt.

When I was losing my arousal, I understood why a man would want to use Viagra. My brain felt very stimulated as I was quickly reacting to the pictures. There was a strong sense of euphoria, but it felt thin.

Jeez, I'm crazy... And if I keep thinking as I do, it seems like I probably won't be having sex anytime soon, hahahahaha!

2007-04-24T23:28:00.000-04:00

My mom had a biopsy today. Tonight, I realized I hadn't talked to her about it and everything, so I acted overly empathetic, put my arm around her, and said, "Hey, Mom, how are ya? Talk to your son!"

She answered without my hokeyness. "Why are you depressed? You're intelligent, strong, funny, handsome," and she said some other things that I can't remember. I stood up, and I meant to say something like, "We're supposed to be talking about something that will make you feel good," but I don't think that was the meaning of the words I spoke. I can't remember what I said.

But next I said, "Well, maybe it's to show the world that you can be smart, handsome, strong, funny, have a loving family, have all your needs taken care of, and still be missing something important."

I don't think that what I said was true. I don't think that my depression is supposed to show anything.

Tonight, I couldn't fall asleep. I wanted to go to sleep early, but I was very restless. I don't know why; I don't think I had caffeine tonight or anything. And I would roll over, and I would think, "What's wrong with me? Why am I in pain? Why do I feel so alone?" On the tail of those questions were, "There isn't anything wrong with me, I'm just in pain for now, I am not constituted by pain, I'm not really alone" and I'd go back to a more relaxed position, but those answers did not sate me.

I cried at acupuncture today. We had been talking about how I've been depressed the past week, but have remained very active and open. Then there was a long silence, and I said, "I always feel like there's this feeling I want to express, but I can never find the words. It hurts so much." Ed stood up, walked over to me, put his arms around me. I said, "I'm so tired," and started crying.

I feel so lonely. With myself. I want to be there for myself, I want to be here for myself, but I feel so far away. I don't know where "Ryan" is; I feel like I'm someone else, filling out the paperwork constantly to try to get to Ryan. Yeah... that's a very good analogy. I won't explain it, though... Words just don't seem to work for me.

I often feel depressed and peaceful at the same time. I can smile and care about people while being depressed. I can do my homework while I'm depressed. I can run and meditate while depressed. But the pain eats away at me.

A long time ago, Emily commented on my blog, "What have you got to be unhappy about?" And I always wonder that. What could cause so much unhappiness in me?

I feel selfish writing all this. I'll keep it, though.

I hope you have a good day.

2007-04-18T09:35:00.000-04:00

I heard a wonderful story last night:

Once, a Buddhist monk was cooking in a kitchen, when a wild boar burst in, running for its life. It kept running, and hid. A hunter next came running in, asking, 'Have you seen the boar?'

The monk responded, 'I will tell you a story. If, having heard it, you still wish to kill the boar, I'll tell you where it is.'

'Once, a bird was sitting in a pear tree, under which a snake was sleeping. Hopping onto a branch, one of the pears fell onto the head of the snake. The snake died, but right before it passed away, it looked at the bird, thinking, "I will have my revenge."

Later, the bird was eating worms in the soft mud at the bottom of a hill. While it was pulling a worm out of the mud, a wild boar that was higher up on the hill accidentally knocked loose a stone, which rolled down and killed the bird. In its last moment, the bird looked at the wild boar, and swore, "I will have my revenge."'

The monk then said to the hunter, 'You are the reincarnation of the bird. What will you do?'

The hunter threw away his arrows, and became the disciple of the monk.

2007-04-16T22:13:00.000-04:00

Ooouuuu...

I want to let go of my ego... I feel like I cling to it as a security blanket, like I'm afraid to give it up... But perhaps, instead, it is merely the case that I do not have a non-ego into which to rest, but simply a different ego; a quiet, peaceful, Buddhist one, but an ego nonetheless.

God... I don't want to keep defending. I don't want to keep hiding, being ashamed... Avoiding it. I would prefer that ego to the one that I cling to these days. It just feels sarcastic for sarcasm's sake; bitter, even.

Are some egos better to have than others? I certainly would create much less suffering (for myself and others) if I resided more in the Buddhist one.

Hmm. Maybe I should just try it. Try to avoid reacting so quickly... Try to reside in the peace, more. It's worth a shot.

I'm a little ashamed to post all this on the internet, but I don't want to be ashamed of it anymore. Please forgive me if I have misled you, or brought you to confusion or to have thought less of me.

2007-04-10T11:25:00.000-04:00

In class today, we were talking about how suicides were rare in the concentration camps, but more prevalent after being freed from them. Folks were saying how they couldn't understand how anyone could want to commit suicide. Hearing everyone talking about it, I remembered something. It was a strange feeling. It felt like a quiet memory, like remembering to pick up milk, or that there was a quiz tomorrow in Chinese. It was just the thought that I've spent a good amount of time considering suicide in my life. That memory didn't bring much feeling with it, but it made me quiet. I felt ready to cry. I raised my hand to try to talk about "why suicide," and I had some idea of what I wanted to say, and it would have been one of the first things I'd ever said in that class that I meant. Class ended, though, and I wasn't called on.

On the board, we had written some reasons about why people committed suicide after getting out of the concentration camps. They were

1. only then did they appreciate the horror
2. guilt - why didn't I do something
3. better people than I died
4. purposeless universe.

But it's despair. Other things contribute, certainly; if you feel that the universe is purposeless, that would only take your life if you couldn't take some comfort in knowing that your despair wasn't permanent, that it didn't have some meaning. Feeling trapped... These people came out of the concentration camps, but they still carried them with them. It's clear in their writing.

I generally feel far away from suicide these days, but it's still something I consider, which is odd to me. It confuses me. I don't want to identify myself with my pain, but it is harmful for me to ignore it. Pretending that it's not there makes me pretend that I don't feel what I feel. I need to guide myself away from the despair, though... God... No...

What do I feel now?

-

I wrote all this in the morning... It's 11:30PM now. I'm not sure what else to say. I am exhausted. I've spent all day trying to breathe in awareness. It's been helpful. How fascinating breath is...

2007-04-08T15:48:00.000-04:00

"Estoy inclinada ante una hoja de papel y te escribo todo esto y pienso que ahora, en alguna cuadra donde camines apresurado, decidido como sueles hacerlo, en alguna de esas calles por donde te imagino siempre: Donceles y Cinco de Febrero o Venustiano Carranza, en alguna de esas banquetas grises y monocordes rotas sólo por el remolino de gente que va a tomar el camión, has de saber dentro de ti que te espero. Vine nada más a decirte que te quiero y como no estás te lo escribo."

My God. Have you read El recado by Elena Poniatowska? I know that the words themselves are not the key message, but, my God... such perfect use.

I feel so closed-off to romance these days... But, ay, in a different way, I'm still very open to it all...

Er, I'll try to translate it for those who can't read Spanish, but I think I'll have read it incorrectly. "I'm bent over before this sheet of paper and I write all this to you and I think that now, on some block where you walk hurriedly, decidedly, like you always do, on one of these streets where I always imagine you: Donceles and Cinco de Febrero or Venustiano Carranza, on one of these gray sidewalks and monocordes (I'm not sure what that means) broken only by crowds of people that are waiting for the bus, you are to know inside that I'm waiting for you. I came for nothing more than to tell you that I love you and since you aren't here I write it to you."

2007-04-06T10:43:00.000-04:00

Often, I say that I don't think I'm a very compassionate person. This is sometimes met with, "Are you crazy?!" and the like, but I realized a moment ago that it's because I don't feel very compassionate with myself. I don't feel at home with myself; I don't feel secure. I've known these latter facts for some time, but I hadn't tied them to my outward relationships.

Last night, I decided to go to bed early. I lay there for a bit, relaxing my body, breathing. There was lots of noise in my dorm, and I let it be there. I watched how my body felt. My wrists, my belly, my arms, and my feet felt like they were sinking pleasantly into the mattress. But I noted that I still felt disconnected from them. Why is it that things seem so much more clear in hindsight than when they are actually occurring to me? It is a disturbing notion, and one that I think is at the root of why I don't feel fulfilled from my practice.

When I go to the gym and see people running hard, I sometimes wonder whether they are running toward something or from something. Probably both, but I would imagine that one would be stronger than the other. Are they running toward a healthier body system, or from perceived obesity? Are they running toward physical/mental discipline, or from physical/mental weakness? Are they running toward happiness, or from pain? Obviously, I ask the questions of myself, as well.

By meditation, I've felt often that I was not running from something, but realizing that I didn't need it. Oftentimes I'll think I want something to eat, but I see that the problem is more that I am unhappy and wish to remedy myself. So I try to answer that unasked question, and oftentimes I'll feel content and not need to eat anything. This is often sufficient for most of my perceived needs. It feels very nice, and it makes me feel closer to myself, because I've addressed the problem directly. It's not denying myself anything, because I find contentment in myself. I do not feel a sense of loss for not fulfilling the physical need.

But the place where I fail in this is with spiritual fulfillment. I cannot seem to find it anywhere. When I want to indulge myself with food, I can return to my nature and feel content; when I want to find sexual indulgence, I can return to my nature and feel content; but when I want to feel spiritually "at home", I feel lost. I don't feel that I can return to my nature. It causes me to question whatever attainment I had before: perhaps I have not returned to my nature in the above cases, but rather deluded myself into thinking I have, and instead denied some need of mine.

I don't think I see any answers. I would rather have transparency and honesty with regard to this rather than optimism, so I'll leave it open.

2007-04-01T21:53:00.000-04:00

The other day, Jon said, "All this happening, it can't be a coincidence," meaning that various affairs in his life were all coming together to show him something. I don't disagree with him, but I think he's wrong about the issues in his life aligning to show him something. It seems to me that the universe, existence, God is incessantly personified in every single thing, in every action, in every moment, in everything that exists and fails to exist. The trick seems to be whether or not we're able to get out of our own way enough to see it. We're so eager to create complex models that describe how God works, how the universe is interconnected; but God is always working! It is always interconnected! Look at any given object for long enough, and you will see it clearly and completely. More importantly, if we stop trying to assign words and concepts to it all, it will become even more clear. I assure you that I am in error by relating this! Thankfully, very few people take me seriously.

When I see the big signs outside of churches that say, "God is still speaking," I'm glad. It reminds me to look to see what it might be saying at that moment, to see what is going on at that moment.

I am very thankful to feel all this now... Though it reminds me of my own misunderstanding of all of this. I am still a person who is in very much pain. It was a good realization to see that meditation, Buddhism, being in the moment: these do not eliminate pain; they will not "cure" me, nor will they take me to anything glorious or beautiful. Yet I know that they will lead me where I need to go. Eh, no they won't... I can't quite describe it... I assume that it will help me forget my self, I will relinquish what I believe myself to be. But I very genuinely do not know.

Buddhism, meditation. They are not cures, they are not magical, they do not eliminate pain. They just lead you to see... Hahahaha! No, they don't. Gosh... Hahahahahhahaha! Ridiculous... Buddhism is ridiculous, and wonderful.

It's no use, I'm not awake enough to understand it myself, let alone explain it. Might be a bit of time. I'll get out of my way...

2007-03-27T20:57:00.000-04:00

Today was a tough day. I never take naps, but I tried to today. It felt very good; the smell of my sheets, especially. I thought for a moment about everything that came together to make my bed, all the different materials and efforts that put together this very pleasant and refreshing experience for me. It really astounded me. Perhaps I was made to be an idiot by my lack of sleep. :)

I didn't actually take a nap; I just stayed in there for 15 minutes.

That doesn't seem like it is very tough. Hmm...

The harder part was the afternoon. The pain in my chest was very great. I can't even really remember why... But it felt very deep. I found myself looking up Vapassana meditation, and some of what I read felt to be the most beautiful things I'd ever read. I acknowledge, however, that they might have felt better to a despairing mind. I've often fallen for folks who have said things that seemed very honest and very resonant with me, but people are able to say such things without being honest and having found some personal truth. I'd like to learn more, nonetheless, to see if these folks really seem to know what they're talking about.

One of the greatest sources of despair for me was that I feared that my pain now would prevent my practice. That ache is so frequently there, and there are so often songs stuck in my head... So I meditated. I tried to just breathe. And I ran a little, and walked outside. I admit that I didn't look too much to the sky today. But... It left me, didn't it? The pain in my chest, it left me sometimes today. I swear. To you, Ryan! Please, at least remember that. God, it's so hard to remember... It's so tempting to say, "I hurt, it doesn't go away, it always plagues me." I am so tempted to return to that way of living. But it isn't true. That scares and thrills me. God... Please, Ryan, you don't have to do too much right now. Just please remember that it passes. The pain in your head, the pain in your chest, the songs in your head: they aren't permanent. They left you at different times today. Please, keep practicing, keep breathing, keep working. It may just happen that the times where you don't hurt will lengthen.

Please, Ryan, we can do this.

I was listening to Daft Punk Live in Barcelona today. I am always stunned by the point where Around the World merges with Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger. Around the World seems to be in a bit of a higher key, and there is one other theme in the song that unites the two, but it otherwise seems like the two fit together so perfectly, so seamlessly, amplifying each other... Music seems like such a stunning gift... I've been hard-pressed not to wear it out. :)

It seems to be the case with Bach and Buddha that if I don't yet appreciate what they have created, it's just that I'm not ready for it yet; I'm just not smart enough yet. :)

It's so cute to watch everybody open up here at Ursinus. It seems that when people come to college, they're bulbs, but now that spring is coming, they're blooming. I feel it in myself, too.

Ayyy... I do see these wonderful things. Why is the despair so strong for me, then? It seems like I should be able to turn to them when I am in difficulties... That's what most folks seem to do. I guess I was able to turn to meditation and running today... Mmm... I don't want to think too much about it.

I really want to watch Babe. Everyone has such comforting voices in it, and the music is beautiful (I listen to Saens-Sans a lot more these days), and it has one of the most beautiful endings I've ever seen. Yeah...

2007-03-26T20:08:00.000-04:00

Reverend Sa and Chongsoo came up tonight to give a dharma talk. It was wonderful. Best of all was having dinner afterward. We had a very genuine conversation, and Rev. Sa related things so clearly, was so genuine. Everyone fell in love with her. :)

Jon and I went for a walk afterwards. It was good. He asked me, "What are you looking for?" I waited a long time before answering. I said that I didn't know. And that I feel like I am largely not heading toward something, but instead running from something else. I feel a lack of meaning? Run to meaning. I feel a lot of pain? Run to no pain.

He reminded me that that isn't necessarily to be discouraged, and that I just have to remember why I'm doing it. (Not his exact words; I am interpreting for my own benefit.) He told me about something relevant to him: Once a woman was teaching tempura painting, and she said that it wasn't until layer 87 that she started to see what she wanted to see. Now she knows that she just has to wait until layer 87 before she'll really be able to see what she's looking for.

And I realized that I do see layer 87 sometimes. When I was walking with Lexi, after talking about all that stuff, and tonight, when Jon and I were talking and he told a joke and I remembered to look around me... It still hurt, but at least I was seeing it. God... Being able to breathe, to see the sky...

I ask myself, "Is it enough? Is the sky, my breath, is it enough?" And maybe it isn't... But it makes it better. It makes it easier, and it's wonderful...

I don't want to run. But I don't know what it is that I do want. Perhaps just to see things clearly, so that it will reveal itself.

My mom. Do you know what she said to me last night? "I was unhappy, unkind, and immature before I had kids. But then when I had them... It all changed. It was what I always knew I wanted." It was beautiful to hear her say it. I love her.

It gave me new inspiration to practice. To find what fulfills me... Or to find the fulfillment that is already there. It hurts so much sometimes, so much... And I get scared sometimes, and feel alone. It drives me to despair... But even when I've lost hope, I can't lose hope. I can't kill myself; I can't abandon myself; I can't knowingly lie to myself. I don't know why. It's a blessing from God, absolutely. One that I don't yet understand. Putting ideas to it, trying to define it, that would be satisfying, but inaccurate. It seems the greatest service you can do to God is to not try to define it, not try to say where it begins, where it ends. Instead, all we can do is recognize God in everything: in ourselves, in every object, in time, in existence, in non-existence... There is nothing that is not God.

I do not understand this. It does me little good to have this as an idea in my mind. I have to realize it... Certainly, to have the idea, I can try to guide myself to the end. But, hell, I don't need to guide myself to it. I am already constituted by God; there is no way that I couldn't be. If I simply get out of the way of myself, surely, then, I would not be separate from God. I need only recognize that I am not separate from God... From happiness, fulfillment, culmination, love, peace.

Por favor, Ryan, no te rechaces... Ten cuidado, encuentra disciplina, ama, respira... Recuerda el cielo. Ya eres lo que quieres.

2007-03-21T14:05:00.000-04:00

I don't brag much these days, but my Chinese teacher sent this to me today and it made me grin really big:

"Just wanted to let you know that you are the class SUPERSTAR!!! I've never had anyone who had a 115% in my class before!"

Yes, ladies and gentleman, I am a superstar.

I like my teacher a lot. :)

2007-03-20T19:26:00.000-04:00

:)

Tonight, at acupuncture, Ed asked me about my chest a lot. I ended up realizing a lot.

I've always talked more easily with women than men. Talking to my mom was always what I needed to feel honest, and to have meaning and to feel expressed and fulfilled. But when she started working more, I lost that, and I tried to turn to my girlfriends to replace that release. My relationships were pretty short, but Stasia let me. She listened, and I kept talking. It made me feel complete, because I felt like I was communicating what was in my soul. I felt like I knew myself when I was talking about what I felt, when I was talking about my pain.

But that was what I wanted more than anything; just to have that satisfaction. It's clear that it is unhealthy to only focus upon the pain. And it did, indeed, become very unhealthy. I clung to it. I involuntarily made more of it. I based myself on my depression, and since talking about my pain felt right and good to me, I did it as much as I could. But I was taking personal issues, things I needed to figure out for myself, and not solving them, just reliving them.

It's no wonder that I was cut off, then. I lost my ability to speak what was in my soul... And, clearly, because I wasn't speaking about what was in my soul. I was talking about my pain, which I don't think was really based in reality anymore. My mom would always tell me that, but, of course, I couldn't see it. We have only our perceptions, and if you are wearing sunglasses that you cannot remove, you cannot know what the world really looks like. And I still am trying to take mine off...

After losing my ability to see inside myself, I went to the other end of the spectrum. I was (am) very afraid to talk about problems that I have with anyone. It left me feeling alone and misunderstood, and it made me lose trust in myself, because I didn't feel like I could communicate what was inside me anymore. How could I have a meaningful relationship with anyone if I left most of what I felt unsaid? This is the case with most of my relationships now, and it leaves me feeling unfulfilled and alone. The way I feel with my friends feels like it's missing something, because it is: it's missing my honesty. It's missing me. Instead, I'm acting like something I'm not. I notice this a lot with regard to my spiritual practice. I am trying to be something. I am trying to make things true.

That is impossible. Or at least, it is exceedingly difficult. It's taking a much longer road than necessary... God. The truth is already here. As I said, I think that I am still wearing sunglasses, that my ability to see it is still obscured. But... It's not, really. I just don't have the discipline and the experience and the understanding to see it all the time yet... But I know it's there.

That emptiness in my chest. I don't know what it is. I think it is because I feel alone. Is it something more than that? It's also because I feel unfulfilled... Unsatisfied.

But I do not understand. :) It makes me smile every time I remember that. I don't know who I am. God... I try and try and try to understand myself, and I just end up forgetting that it's OK that I don't know. No, it's wonderful. Because if I can acknowledge that I don't know, at least I'm not trying to put something else there. I'm being honest. Which is the best thing I can do for myself...

I'm sorry, everyone. I'm not sure where to begin with being more honest. I actually started a few weeks ago... But I guess with Ed is a good start. And maybe my mom. I've been so, so scared to tell anyone what I thought about problems in our relationships. But it's all right for me to do that. And it's way more than all right to not immediately go around telling everyone why I'm unhappy with them. :)

What a weird life... Wow... I really don't understand it.

2007-03-18T01:45:00.000-04:00

Today was a really nice day. I spent the day with my brother and his friends. I also shoveled a lot of snow.

Best of all was the food. And the promises of more food. I can't eat as much these days, but that seems to be giving me an incredible pleasure in finding the ones I can eat. I have a wonderful mom.

Did I mention that I'm a celiac? Well, I'm pretty sure I am.

I really don't know who I am. It doesn't bother me, but it is something that seems confusing.

I'd say that I want to see things clearly, just as they are, but I'm not sure that I do. I'm not sure what I want.

I've been having a lot of realizations lately, but I don't feel like I really have to get into them; I doubt I'd be able to really explain it. The most important thing at any given moment is that I be honest. Meh. I don't know that that's true. But it's something that feels good to me. A lot of the time, people talk about realizations they've had, and I certainly like sharing them, too, but I just don't feel like that's best. I also don't want to make any pretentious statements like, "I'd rather just appreciate things, rather than get hung up on what's been going on with me." That seems like a dickhead sort of thing to say.

I don't know if it will make me less interesting, or less poetic, or what. I think it's just that I feel like I've been missing myself for a while. I don't know that I'd like to sacrifice poetry and being interesting in order to be close with myself, simply because I'm not sure that the latter is a result of the former. But I do miss myself, and it would be great if I felt closer to myself. I can be cool with being less social for a bit. Anyway, I'd probably be a much better friend if I were less pretentious.

Bah, I'll figure it out. Thanks for reading. It was really nice writing this. Christ, I haven't been up this late in a long time!

2007-03-18T01:41:00.000-04:00

God. It had been ages since I wrote a poem I liked and agreed with. I don't know if I even agree fully with this one (the first two stanzas are a bit much), but I'm pleased with it at the moment. I can always change it.

A Poem Without Poetry

Some nights, my cat sits in the den and howls mournfully.
I lie in bed, grimacing, and wishing I could do the same.
But I don’t rise and go to him; I sit in the dark, alone.
No one writes poems about apathy,
No one writes poems about apathy.

It hurts to lie in the dark, knowing his spirit aches like mine.
Isn’t it so that healing hearts are two lonely ones that have come together?
But I can’t rise, nor can I revel in my entrapment.
I’m just quietly hurting, with nothing to hold onto.
I’m falling while I’m firmly on the ground.

I don’t know who I am, or where I’m supposed to be going.
My heart sings in pain each night, but I can’t hear what it’s saying.
I don’t know if that’s OK or not, but I sure hope it is.
I wish I could give you words to strengthen you, but if I did, I couldn’t mean them.

I always used to look for meaning, for strength in everything.
My pains became my moments of clarity, when I understood most who I was.
But I’m not pain, nor am I joy; I’m not meaning, nor am I lost.
I don’t know who I am, but I’m not scared of that.
Honestly, I don’t know what I fear.

It bothers me, though, that while no one writes about it
Apathy seems to write far more than I ever could.
I think I’d rather say nothing and mean it
Than say something nice that is an echo in a hollow heart.
Don’t get me wrong: I tried that plenty. But I think I’m done for a while.

I don’t know who I am, or where I’m supposed to be going.
My heart sings in pain each night, but I can’t hear what it’s saying.
I don’t know if that’s OK or not, but I sure hope it is.
I wish I could give you words to strengthen you, but if I did, I couldn’t mean them.

I wish I even could give you this poem to rely upon, to have some truth.
But it really just cannot be so; I won’t agree with this tomorrow.
I’m reaching for an aphorism to close and bring some closure,
Even if the closure comes with quiet and painful peace.

But that wouldn’t be right for now.
I apologize, and hope that you can find it for yourself.
If you do, please don’t share it with me.
I’m always looking for peace, closure and poetry,
But I’d be happier if I understood that I don’t really need it.

2007-03-14T22:38:00.000-04:00

Hi. How are you?

It was a lovely day. I spent a while meditating. With Katy, I acted, and she laughed a lot. I did, too. Afterwards, as I was walking back to my dorm, I didn't. I walked down to the practice fields, where there were no lights.

I sang. It felt good. As a writer, for you to understand how this felt to me, I would have to devote a lot of attention and words to this subject, and then you would believe me. But I don't want to be a writer right now. It felt so lovely.

I don't understand who or what I am.

Yesterday, I was talking with one of my new friends, and it was honest. I talked about something that's been on my mind a lot lately. And she said, "You look really sad."

I was really sad.

Last night, I took some folks from my meditation group to Won. Reverend Sa said to one of them about me, "He may not tell you, but he has very deep wisdom." I said, "You're just flattering me."

Oftentimes, people tell me that I need more confidence.

I wrote in my journal for the first time in a while last night.

While I was walking in the dark tonight, it occurred to me that someone could jump out and kill me or shoot me or steal something from me. I think that would have been OK. It smelled like rain. But there were no clouds; just the incredible and tiny stars.

Also, I thought about how good I felt at the moment. I remembered that I can't take that feeling with me. I wondered about how I could feel happy, then, and what happiness meant. In a more immediate way, I wondered about why it hurts so much to wake up. It's not something I understand. There seem to be a lot of things that I don't understand. I am constantly surprised by how much people think they understand without really understanding it.

Hush little baby,
Don't say a word
Mommy's gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird don't sing,
Mommy's gonna buy you a diamond ring
And if that diamond ring don't shine...

Tomorrow is my cat's 11th birthday.

2007-03-12T20:24:00.000-04:00

God. The smell of the air... The sky... I look, and I feel like I'm a little kid: I'm seeing it with the same eyes, smelling it with the same nose... I couldn't see it for so long. Years... I couldn't feel it. I was walking back from meditation tonight, and I smiled. I just smiled. The clouds were so perfect. The air was perfect.

2007-03-10T17:14:00.000-05:00

I went to bed early last night, and woke up early this morning. But I took a while to get up. I felt OK, but a little heavy. I went for a walk, and picked up some garbage I found. But I looked at the sky, mostly.

When I got to Won, I just wanted to sit. It felt good to meditate and chant. Instead of a dharma talk, we were to talk to one of the other members, deeply. That was nice. I got to know a fairly new guy, Dave. Everyone was really honest.

During the meditation, I looked at my heart. Why does it feel empty? What am I missing? If I had compassion, would it stop hurting? It seems so strange that my mind and belly can feel at peace, but that I can still have that pain.

I drove Master Han around a lot. We went to a few supermarkets, and bought a tape recorder. I bumped into another car when I was in a parking lot, which sucked. We recorded me reading the Introduction to the Discourses in the scripture. He gave me lots of tea and snacks.

I feel very drained now. When I was at Won, folks kept telling me I looked tired. I think it's mostly from the weather, and partly because of other circumstances.

Thursday, after I got home from running to and from the Won Temple, I was spilling things everywhere. (Inadvertently.) My parents asked what was wrong. I told them, and I cried a little bit. This is really bothering me. I talked to Sunjung about it the other day, and it was cute that she was trying so hard to help me. But it didn't do much other than raise my spirits a little. My joheunoona...

I don't know what to do about it. So far I've just been focusing on dealing with my feelings and enjoying myself as best I can. It's something I can deal with, but it still bothers me.

God. Gracious... I don't like this.

2007-03-07T14:49:00.000-05:00

I was shoveling the snow, and I thought about how I wanted to learn to work. So I tried to do it very peacefully, and it felt good. I didn't want to stop with my house, so I did everybody's on my street and some other places, too.

At one point, I was shoveling my neighbor's driveway when the sun came out. It was still snowing, really big, flat flakes. It looked like little mirrors were falling from the sky, and the snow that was already on the ground and the roofs sparkled. It was incredible. Splotches of blue peeked out of the clouds. It was a wonderful sight...

At one point, I saw an old lady in a cute pink robe sweeping the snow outside of her house. I offered to help her out, but she didn't say anything. I figured she only spoke Italian; the guy who lives there owns the pizza place at the mall. So I gave her a big smile and just started shoveling.

She kept working, too. I figured it must have been good exercise for her. And it would also give her a good sense of accomplishment. (Jeez, I sound like a Communist.) When we were almost done, she looked at me for a bit and managed to say, "Italian? You speak Italian?" I said no and apologized.

It was amazing to watch her. She moved with difficulty, and I was a little worried that she would fall down, but she proved to be pretty solid. Her face was so dark and worn, and she seemed old. Though I figured she just didn't speak English, it made me think of all the old folks who can't speak anymore, whose minds degrade and have difficulty communicating.

What amazed me most about this was that none of it was her doing. That she could have been a very attractive young woman one day, or at least, someone worthy of bearing children. :) That she had lived her life, and done whatever it was that she had done, and through a natural process, was as enfeebled as she was today. She is no different from me, or you, or anyone. If we survive to that age, we all are going to become enfeebled, and have difficulty moving, and maybe have difficulty speaking, and our features will wear out. It seems almost impossible that that is what I will become, given enough time. But that is exactly what will happen. It is one of the laws of life...

I mean, it seems so funny. I know that she has had children, so at one point she must have been a young person having sex, and hopefully she was enjoying it. But the very same person, the exact same person, the same continuity of memory has become something that is so close to death. It astounds me to hold the two pictures in my head at the same time. And also that she has been someone who cried and felt things deeply.

Certainly, I am attributing an awful lot to her, and making a lot of assumptions. But if these things have not happened to her, then they surely have happened to someone else.

I don't know. It's something to think about, I guess.

2007-03-06T15:50:00.000-05:00

At 4AM, I peed and gave Waffie some water. I wasn't going to, but he wanted it, and he doesn't get to eat at night anymore, and I could sacrifice sleep so that somebody could drink, couldn't I?

I woke up around 7 to my dad slamming something and my mom saying, "What is wrong with you?" I wondered about that for a while.

Same old thing eating away at my chest, and I found myself dressed, lying down on top of my brother's bed. All of his yearbooks on his shelf... Why would anyone want to remember high school? Well, I guess I understand. But, gracious, I can't believe I survived. It was, indeed, a pretty thin escape.

My head hurt. My chest hurt. My stomach hurt, but thankfully not as much as usual. I imagined myself as a fetus in the womb. They may be safe, but they're working. I don't even know how to build an arm, or a lung, or a brain. But they do it.

"But a spider doesn't even know it's building its web!" Seems like a silly point. And I bet that there is something inside of a spider that makes it feel satisfaction. At the very least, the presence of such a thing would be as likely in a spider as in a human being.

It makes me smile that I ran today. It's very cold out, 19 degrees when I left, and it was very windy. But I ran. For a long while, too, and up big hills. Lying on my bed like that, though... I had to run. Seeing my house, seeing the pain in me, I had to run. It doesn't matter anymore, where the pain comes from. Just matters what I do with it.

It always pleases me how much it hurts at the beginning of running. So I breathe, and remind myself that I'll get through it. I wrote a bit of a letter to myself in my head today. I can't really remember how it went, but it was comforting. I wish I could remember it. It was about how I have to work, to practice to overcome the pain. Because I'm finding that I love working and practicing. I love bringing myself together in order to surmount difficulties. Just so long as I don't give up, my body, my soul can take care of things. I just have to get out of the way and let it. Yeah, it can be very painful. Absolutely, horrendously painful. But rising beyond it is worth the pain. To adapt to this world, I have to see it clearly, and I have seen very clearly that to no degree can I run from pain. It will inevitably present itself. I thought I could run, I spent almost my entire life thinking I could. But I can't. At any moment, my family could die, my house could burn down, I could die, I could lose my legs, my arms, lose my ability to speak, anything. Not by any fault of my own, or perhaps through some fault of my own, indeed. It doesn't matter where it comes from; it will inevitably. The only decision I have is regarding what to do with it. And even in some of those cases, I don't have a lot of choices. So it is imperative that I strengthen my mind so that I can endure it, and, furthermore, flourish despite it. The soul already is prepared to deal with it, so "all I have to do" is get out of the way. It's so hard, and I can't claim to comprehend it to its full capability; surely, it should be more natural than I currently perceive it to be. But, for the time being, I'll assume that by practicing, it is becoming more natural. At the very least, I will eventually find a way to let it be natural. Just as with meditation, the degree of success is secondary to the dedication to it.

Perhaps I'm incorrect! I don't know. Hopefully I'll find out. :)

People offer me lots of advice, but it usually is either too idealistic or seems misguided. The best advice seems to come from people who are happy, and who don't want anything from you. Thankfully, I'm surrounded by those people. And I think, also, that trees, the moon, and especially the sky are wonderful people to get advice from in that way. I can read books that are perfectly written and wonderfully inspirational, but if I spend 10 minutes outdoors, what was written in that book is a hundred times more clearly expressed.

I sound like a dirty hippy. :)

Speaking of which, so far this week I've applied for two different jobs for the summer. I've been so proud of myself for that. It's gonna be hard to work this summer, but I need it desperately. Hmm. Hopefully, as things turn out, it won't end up being too difficult. Who knows!

And you don't know how much I love you, oh oh, oh...

I haven't even listened to that song in a while. It's a good little lyric to have, though.

And I raked! It was nice. Lately, I've often felt that I wouldn't have much trouble living in a more northern place. I like the cold.

And Oh My God. I had the most ridiculous lunch. Oh My God. It was this Thai noodle stuff. Red curry and such. Oh My GOD. It felt so fulfilling. Mmm. It was so good. And I had a glass of apple juice with it. It was astounding. I've been eating less in general lately, and trying to be content with what I've had, and so I only had the noodles and the glass of apple juice. Oh my brothers, it was effing swell.

I've been bored a lot during my break. I don't have much more homework I could even get the jump on. I'm a bit more anti-social than I ever remember being, I think just because I have a very powerful desire to let go of myself and be natural, and when I'm with most of my friends, I have to put on airs and crap in order to be polite and engaging and such. I'd rather be boring and mindful and rude and naturally myself. I like hanging out with the pre-ministers for that reason; they're always so bored that they're easily entertained by my boring self. And I get to let go somewhat. I'm hoping that I find my activities more engaging, and I guess I am. I just don't usually feel like talking about it. Which is why I blog less, I suppose. But then I end up rambling anyway...

I was reading some of my old entries earlier today from January of last year. I said some very funny things! I was surprised and pleased.

Hmm. My chest feels like a gray vacuum. Mmm... I do miss bonding with people. I seem to be no good at it; whenever I see people expressing that they really enjoy being with each other, I assume that they're lying. They don't seem to be expressing much at all! There must be something I'm missing, or just not understanding. The only real bonding I've ever done was through pain, and I don't want that anymore. So I guess I kind of find myself without a venue. I guess I've been able to bond through a search for clear comprehension of one's life, but that's not an easy subject, and not one that a lot of people are really able to talk about. Maybe I can talk to Rev. Sa about it soon.

I've been thinking more about my brother lately. I love him dearly, and he seems lonely, but I haven't really been there for him lately. I'm not sure what I want to say to him, though. I think about it a lot. I'm sure it will come to me with time.

Breathe!

People, especially Buddhists, often talk about how great it is to breathe and be in nature. I understand now, but I couldn't really before. I was in too much pain. I doubt that it was a problem peculiar to me!

It's good that I generally end my days on the high notes that I do. I usually feel pretty rad by bedtime. It sucks that going to sleep and waking up makes me feel like crap! I wish I could figure out what is wrong. I've never been any good at sleeping... And I even had that sleep study! They said the same thing as everybody else: Depression! What a vague answer. It's one that comes when they can't figure out what else it could be.

I wonder what it is. When I was a baby, my mom would stay up with me and pat me on the back a lot, trying to get me to fall asleep and stop crying. I must've hated sleeping at that time, too! And I remember sneaking downstairs because I couldn't sleep... Ooo, and I remember all of the various monsters I was afraid of. The only fond memory about sleep that I remember from my childhood was when I imagined little fairies performing oral sex on me. What a weird thing for a little kid to think about! I was very very little when I would think about that.

I've tried sleeping in different positions, but nothing really seems to work. I'm really at a loss for what it could be.

Why would anyone read any of this? If you have, that's pathetic. Stop avoiding your homework. And if you read it because you are looking for some way to make me fall in love with you, you'll never succeed! I am heartless! And if you read it because you are looking for some way to defeat me, then just use a gun! It's very easy to get them these days, and it's not too hard to shoot someone, I don't think.

2007-02-24T18:41:00.000-05:00

Today, Rev. Sa gave a talk that went something like this:

"A king wanted to see every aspect of himself, so he filled his palace with hundreds of thousands of mirrors. One day, a dog stumbled into the palace. He saw a hundred thousand other dogs and thought, 'What the hell is going on?'"

We all burst out laughing. I don't think I'd ever heard her swear before. I wonder if she knows that it is considered a swear, even if it is a very benign one. Regardless, I still laugh an awful lot whenever I think of it.

(If you're curious about the rest of the parable, it goes something like this: "In anger, he barked at what he thought were the other dogs, but they all barked at him. Suddenly afraid, he tried to run away, but ran into a mirror, which shattered and killed him." Interpret it as you will!)

2007-02-22T21:42:00.000-05:00

The old malaise, that same consuming emptiness. But I dance, and giggle, and grin, and mention the pain. But I don't worry.

Walking back, the moon takes me away. How? How does it have such power over me? I take it then, but I do not overstay my welcome, simply because I do not wish to become dependent upon it... Or, worse, to find that I am looking and unable to find it.

I stink from the exertion, from dancing. But it is my smell, and it is always comforting. I am rolling in the piles of laundry... Smelling my parents' sweet odor. I wonder, now: was that the smell of my father's exertion?

Snow is dirty, and I recall Katy's distaste. But it's lovely to me.

The third floor, and I smell burning popcorn, and I hear a blaring TV. Suddenly I am sneaking out of bed, down the stairs, onto the big pink couch. The popcorn smells bad, but the twists of memory make it good. I squish between him and the back of the couch. The soft tan blanket, you know the one... It covers him. My dad doesn't say a word. He just hides me behind him, so Mom won't find me and put me back in bed. Dory solicits my father, and I am surprised: he was always so scared of me.

The music Will Bruce gave me. It is May, or April. No. May. It isn't so beautiful in April... I am sitting on the stone stairs, waiting for the bus to take me to the mental hospital. The music is good. The sun is bright, the air is warm, but cool. It's so green...

Do you remember when I visited you the morning before I first went? Sitting on your couch... I don't remember it too much with you, just the bracelet; but I remember walking through the woods to your house, and then going back up the hill when I was leaving. I remember how bright the sun was.

I remember, also, riding my bike in the summer night. How much that hurt... But it was so quiet. And the hum of my tires on the asphalt.

Sitting in the bath, my mom at my side. Was I 14? 15? 16? I am crying. "I can't remember! I know that good things have happened in my life -- I know that they must have -- but I can't remember any of them... I look, and they're not there!"

In Secret of Mana: "But time flows like a river." It may never be the same river twice, but perhaps the same droplets will come once again...

Sitting in the bathtub, eating an orange popsicle. I am 8 or 9, too old for a bath. But it's OK. I vomit into a bucket. Only a little bit of vomit. Not enough to take the concussion away. It's just orange goop.

But always the sun seems so bright to me... In my mind's eye.

At the miniature golf course with Mom and Tara. I am waving my arms. I can barely speak. So little memory, but I am ashamed of what I am: a retard. And so I am buried deeper. But the light is fading, and the lights on the course are white, not yellow. The green is dark, really dark... But summer nights never turn black.

On my porch, the thunder is loud. But the smell keeps me.

I wear my denim jacket. I am a bit afraid to go outside. How small am I? I must be tiny, because I have had this jacket for most of my memory. Most of who I am is with this jacket, and I don't like that. I don't like denim. But I stand on the bulkhead, and I look at the church, and I hear the bells. They're pretty. The light on the steeple, the setting sun is stunning.

Liam is watching TV. There is a picture of Pamela Anderson, and she is wearing overalls. She's well-covered, but her breasts are big. In the shower, I rhythmically beat my penis and testicles, and it feels incredible! I don't understand what happened, but I was so excited, I thought I should tell RJ and Anthony and Brian about it. Something keeps me from doing so.

A few years later, I walk into my mom's room, and I'm crying. "I masturbate uncontrollably!" I don't remember any of the rest of the conversation. I think that maybe she says something along the lines of, "Talk to your father about something you can put on your hands."

I cried... I cried so much. 7th grade, 10th grade. Those first days... It was too much. 10th grade, it was so, so warm. It was hot. All of our windows were open... I was sweating under the straps of my backpack. I walked in the front door and just started weeping... Dawn came by later, and mentioned that she had heard me, and assumed I didn't have a good first day. Is this white suburbia?

Bright, minute vapors, combusting for an instant. That's all a memory is... But, somewhere, the purples become darker, the leaves on the trees are greener, the sun shines more poetically, the smell... the smell is sweeter. It isn't a memory. It's a caricature... Come back to this, Ryan. Come back to when life was sweet. And I cannot see how sweet it is now; not until a few months from now, when this, also, will have become a caricature.

Condensation gathering on the inside of my skull; tiny water droplets cool my mind...

So often, saying "joy is in the moment" is like giving someone a treasure map but no shovel.

I am tired, and I wish I could stay with you. I wish I could escape the pain in my body... Those drove me to the meditation chapel today, where I prayed. Aftewards, I wrote this:

I want to discern no longer. The equanimity that is found in peace and samadhi seems to be the clearest way to live in wisdom and compassion. The way to ease my suffering is not by saying "No" to it; it is by realizing the light of God, of the Dharmakaya Buddha, of my soul. By letting go of judgments, feelings, and ideas, the light of God will shine clearly through me.

Being separated from this, I find myself acting and thinking without wisdom, and, in fact, in delusion. And it hurts.

At the time, I thought, "How arrogant!" But it doesn't seem arrogant now. I'm just confident, for once. Even if I'm not correct.

Do I want to become a minister? Maybe. But I know that I oughtn't leave college for any reason. (Just as well; need a degree to be a minister.) I need to suffer, and I need to overcome. I can continue my practice in the meantime.

My heart aches. I'd like to go back to reminiscing. But I know what I have to do instead. I'm always surprised when it works, though.

(Hint: I stop trying to treat the problem, and I look at it. I see how I am feeling, and try to listen. It usually instantly presents itself, and I feel better. But I doubt that this would work for most people. Who knows.)

Hahaha! Golden Brown! Haven't heard this song in ages! What a mistake!

And you don't know how much I love you... Oh, oh, oh...

Neither do I. I don't understand love. Maybe sometime.

2007-02-21T10:10:00.000-05:00

It hurt so much this morning. My chest, my head, my stomach... They were all these colorless vortices, taking away all my energy. It took me a long while to get out of bed. And it hurt more... It scared me about what it meant.

But I forced myself to put in my laundry, to do the things I needed to do. I put on clothes, and headed to breakfast.

It was warm. But the air had something else, and the sun was bright. The smell, and the air, and the warmth of the sun... I melted, and a smile came to me. I breathed. The snow shone so brightly, it blinded me. And I remembered arriving at the little league baseball fields, how bright it all was, how it smelled. I didn't really remember the anxiety and fear that I had about playing, but it made me smile to think of it. I concluded that I must have felt happiness as a child, not that it means too much. But it's good to remember.

After breakfast, I pulled on some shorts and went to go to the yoga class. I couldn't find it. So I went for another walk. I watched the ice melting off of the roof of the gym, listened to it splash like a waterfall. I looked at the chimneys of the dorms up against the bluest sky I'd ever seen. The coniferous trees were green, and the deciduous ones were whatever color they wanted to be.

I went down to one of the fields. There were no feet marks on it at all, no human ones anyway. And it was huge. I felt like doing some gymnastics, but my shoulders still aren't up for it. So I sprinted around in the snow, grinning really big. Soon I'd written, "I [HEART] U" in humongous letters. I went up on top of a hill and looked down, and grinned. I was proud of myself. It's good to act like a doofus when you mean it as much as you can. I am a tremendous doofus. :)

It reminded me of that night with Stasia, but that didn't even occur to me until after I was looking down on it. I really just wrote it for myself, and for anyone who happened to look at it. I guess just like how Stasia and I did. Just doing it to enjoy doing it; just doing it out of formless love.

I still feel like I am being drained, but that's all right. God. Haven't I come so far? I'm still in pain, but... Look at me. I'm enjoying my life sometimes. I appreciate the moment, and I'm able to get out of my head sometimes. I used to be so trapped... But I'm doing well against my depression. I'm beginning to see that it's OK to be alone with myself. Hell, I think I often prefer meditating and going for walks and just doing what I need to do for myself rather than being with other folks! Though being with my dharma friends is wonderful... Goodness. Rev. Sa is incredible.

It's hard to find the balance. Depression still eats away at me a lot. But... No, it's not terribly hard for me to find the balance. I think it's just confusing to people when I talk to them about it. Especially my mom. But I've been explaining it better to her. And if you don't understand, then look at yourself: are you always in pain? Are you always OK? Are you always sad? Of course not. Like the tides, we change from moment to moment. And I feel like I'm getting better at appreciating the changes... Though I still often get stuck in the depression. It's like getting punched; there's that moment where you don't know who or where you are, and you lose all you had before. But by practice, by repetition, I'm getting better at working away from the depression. I don't have the willpower to overcome it, but by having it inscribed in my body that I need to meditate and run, I'm more able to let go of what I feel and do what I need to do for myself.

It's hard. It's really hard...

I'm looking forward to the spring and summer. I have a feeling that I will actually experience them for the first time in an epoch...