On to the next, tired of looking at the last, ill at ease with it.  We are all victims of our own egos.  I know I've done a lot of very dumb things, counterproductive things, things that cause pain and suffering, from being led around by ego.  In retrospect, you can only hope that some of your inner consciousness and peace shined out, as if in spite of yourself.  And a chief regret is letting myself be enchanted with the things of pop culture with its big story lines that infiltrate and desensitize, such that you are singing along to the words of "(I can't get no) Satisfaction" rather than thinking.  Everywhere you go, the happy music is on the sound system, asking you to be lazy and to slip right in to the comforts of ego, when even you know yourself that you would rather be sitting under a tree, if not to achieve sudden Buddha Enlightenment, at least to not be doing any harm.

What is there to report about a bar, let's say?  What good can a barman accomplish anyway, but to radiate a peaceful kindness, a compassion beneath it all that another human creature might somehow, if not totally distracted by all the necessities and practicalities of living and seeking pleasure on top of that,  pick up on.  It's probably not the wine that helps anyone, short of a muscle relaxant that I put to use way too often when I come home sore, inflamed, tired, dull aches and pains, finding the numbness attractive to the body.  But the mind protests against it, I find more and more.

One of two women, older, having arrived loudly at the bar, saddle up closer to a young woman who's been sitting by herself, loudly, 'oh, it's not that I'm hitting on you or anything...'  That's the beginning of the night.  What good am I doing anyone here, I ask myself.  My buddy, coworker, vents his discontent that other people are taking time off, backing out of commitments to work shifts during the coming 'restaurant week' when he is taking two classes.  True, it might be considered an odd time for the boss to be out of town.  Later on, the bass player of the trio is suffering, clearly, from food poisoning.  Pour him a home brew ginger ale.

I get home later, turn on the Olympics coverage, holding out a promise something interesting will happen.  No, not really, though it's hard to turn it off.  Some pure moments of athleticism, no doubt, but a lot of ego, ego grasped by other egos, self-perpetuating.  I take refuge, finally, in PBS show, The Buddha, produced by David Grubin, narrated by Richard Gere, commentary by Merwin, Thurman, practicing Buddhists.  And that, of course, works, though I do not have the energy to go sit under the fig tree that sits innocuously just up the street.

"Wisconsin Killer Fed and Was Fueled by Hate-Driven Music"
From the New York Times, Erica Goode and Serge F. Kovaleski (an old bar customer of mine, actually, going back a ways.)  August 6, 2012

Analysts for the F.B.I. and the Department of Homeland Security routinely monitor violent extremist Web sites of all kinds, including those attracting white supremacists, according to former officials of both agencies. But the department’s work on the topic has been criticized. In 2009, conservatives in Congress strongly objected to a department report titled “Rightwing Extremism,” which speculated that the recession and the election of a black president could increase the threat from white supremacists.

Amidst the horror, the deep sadness for Sikhs, gentlest amongst gentle people, this telling observation about political behavior.  Namely, conservative behavior.  The strong objection, to what has already been shown, as in the Oklahoma City Bombing.  The strong objection, yes, because this is their own tactic, their own worst fault, which they must dress with guilded lilies, the Flag, Patriotism, Anti-Obama.  That's what they do.  That's the playbook standard, the modus operandi.  Which is why they can't stand even the slightest suggestion saying so.

Further reporting in the Times brings out, perhaps, a deeper point, centered on supremacist groups using this kind of music (adopted by the gunman) to spread hatred and recruit new members.  And this, unfortunately, is an element in certain kinds of music, that it puts voices insides our heads, that it promotes the Ego and egotistical thinking.

And this is, as well, a larger problem with mass media culture, in that it is a place for those who are enchanted with their own egos and egotistical minds to present material that promotes the egotistical, that draws the attraction of other egos, thus perpetuating.  In the same, it would not occur to one in control of her own ego to go on a tour of self-promotion and exaggerations.

Wow.  The Republican ads against Obama...  Blaming Obama for the bail-out.

Blame instead the deregulation pressed by a Republican agenda, who created 'too big to fail.'

Such an absolute lie.   Which says volumes about the GOP agenda here.  What are they protecting?  Hmmm.

The more people speak out about such ads and complete distortions, as soon as possible, to completely and immediately reject such lies as soon as possible in all possible forms of personal media and discussion, the better off we will be, and the clearer the resulting debate can be.

Stand up.  Stand up against liars.  Stand up against self interested lies.  Stand up against those who have to lie and cast aspersions about Obama's record, Obama left holding the bag for all the regulation and Republican 'pro-business, pro-banking' agenda.

This has to be noticed now.  This has to be made clear.  This has to be mentioned and observed.  This has to be understood as a complete distortion, a promulgated misrepresentation.

Do you want to vote for people who are delighted to lie, proud of it, enthralled with the lie, just to get elected, just to, obviously, protect their own interests, by keeping dumb people dumb, such is their thinking.  Do you want any part of such tragic liars?  Ask yourself why they are spending such money anyway.  Why, because they want to pull out the smoke screen, make those who would regulate all their greedy craziness look like the problem.

Please, spread the word.  Call out the lie, so well funded, so trying to be 'the truth,' when it is not.

Opinion piece, NY Times, August 4, 2012, by Avraham Burg, "Israel's Fading Democracy."  Quiet, but great piece about the nature of democracies.  All nations take note.  What happens when Ego takes over;  what is left to fight against the acts of ego (such as a Constitution.)

Step by step.  Very interesting.

If, lets just say, you were an enlightened being, how would you go about doing things?

Well, first of all, it doesn't take a genius to sauté broccoli, or see that the tomato plant needs watering.  But, what, if a modest regular human way you were able to 'get' it, that you were able to understand on both an intuitive and thought-out way, a basic balance of nature, that you would know, in short, how to live.

Would you initially feel, say, outlandish, as you began to assume your wisdom?  Would you still be caught for a while in lapses, trying to fit in, lapsing into fits of egotism as you try to raise your consciousness into a new way of thinking?  Would you sense that you were coming off as a big jerk when you least wanted to be taken as such?  Peer pressure, the desire to conform, to do well by the accepted standards, would all make you try to accept the way things seem to be.  But, then, you learned, through education, what is true.  You become in touch with That Which Is.

You might not want to end up like, so the thinking outside of it goes, an old bachelor kook like Thoreau, but, it seems one really must finally accept that the American Way, as far as it entails a certain lifestyle, as we've been led to see it, isn't really working, at least as far as the planet Earth is concerned.

But in life we are learning, ever on the very verge of understanding the deeper truths that must be called spiritual.  Like learning, hypothetically, for example, that, properly, making love is best left to people who have the greatest deepest understandings of each other, something like that, let's say, or, that your career sort of a life should really build from within, from what you are doing, from the experiences of finding in many little ways, what your calling is.  And that requires, I suppose, some bravery, some willingness to stand up for yourself and your gut feelings, as complicated, confusing and often influenced and shifting, as that all must be.  And it probably takes the investment of time, moments of now spent encountering that which, for you at least, is free of Ego.

An SUV accelerates, and you can hear the gas being burnt, the engine churning, but you know, someday that has to come to an end, as we are not all on safari driving through jungle, plain and rivers in Africa to record a wild species, if you were able to stand aside and be that impartial outside observer.

Poetry can teach us this, sometimes, when it is careful, as when we look at the Grecian Urn, at the scene on it, look at ourselves looking at the urn, achieving a kind of freedom from being caught up in things, allowing us to find out what's right for us as individuals.

The Day the Earth maybe Stood Still

The first year I lived in Washington one of my housemates, Sandra, took me down to a hotel on Capitol Hill for a UFO and Psychic Conference.  The session was led by an interesting woman, probably about 70 or so, and perhaps she there was a hint of an accent in her speech.  Anyway, she was perfectly bright and happy to tell us what she knew, which was, basically, UFOs had landed on the National Mall.  She had photographic proof of it, she said, and later on when she showed the dozen or so people in attendance the blown up photo it looked pretty much like a trick of the light of a sunset or sunrise caught in a lens, somewhat like a reflection, though we were kind to humor her with a suspension of disbelief.  The aliens who landed were from Venus.  Not exactly the planet Venus you see shining in the night sky, but a more spiritual realm or dimension, from which their ships, made of light particles could travel from easily, without the use of anything like fuel or even nuclear energy.  She was very certain about it, and in a comforting way, I think, through her confidence in the matter.  She was an attractive person, dressed humbly, not exactly hippie, more of a Central European Grand Dame of the very laid back sort, as you would expect from a mystic living in a greater knowledge, as if to her it was all quite as plain to see as it is to hear crickets out singing and chirping out in the grass on a balmy mid-summer night.  It would not have been hard to imagine, given what I know now about the interesting people I have come across, having a pleasant glass of wine with her in her library one evening along with cheese, listening to her stories and histories.  Her scarf was over her shoulders and around her neck rather than wrapped tight around her head, gypsy fortune teller style.

Basically, she explained, quite kindly, and calmly, as if she had expected each of us just so, that these aliens, people, but of a higher more spiritually pure order, and certainly wiser form than us on Earth, had come to show us the error of our ways, with some encouragement for us to fix things.  One even, a man named Val something, if I remember, stayed here on Earth in the USA for some time, and NASA and the CIA gave him a cover of an office job out in Los Angeles, a good place for him, probably hoping to extract what they could, and him understanding all that immediately.  He was apparently willing to meet with, and actually did meet, Robert Kennedy, according to her historical notes.  Some of a stealth kind (not the literal same as that employed in the 'stealth bomber,' but then again maybe a significant influence upon such design, namely a circular quality, and one wing or no wing, depending on how you looked at it) of technology and of propulsion systems was passed down from the higher minded aliens.  But, basically, they were here to tell us that we were wrecking our planet and needed to change our ways, and be more spiritual in a serious way, less complete ignoramuses totally willfully unenlightened.

Sandra and I stayed through the presentation, watched the slide show, and at the end, when it came, we were in no great rush to jump up.  I forget who approached whom exactly, but I think it was she who came to us, as we sat there in folding chairs toward the last, or fifth, row.  Or perhaps just about everyone filed out, and we had the imagination to just sit and remain a moment and watch her pack up her things.  She told us that she was not at all surprised to see us, and that she could tell immediately from our eyes that we were 'window people,' as she had talked about 'window people' in her talk, those in this world on this planet but who see clearly and spiritually, have an inkling of what Venus is like, and so are here to sort of prepare the way for the larger awakening.  We looked at each other, as the lady smiled kindly at us,with sincere and calm affection, and I'll be damned if I didn't see the distinct clarity in Sandra's eyes, which were striking already anyway and of a brown sort of color and one eye just ever so slightly lazy almost.  And indeed, as if it were in fact something that I had already noticed, that we were sort of pre-ordained to meet and for a time be housemates at the right time.  Sandra was good people, and was a help for me in my first days in Washington.  She kept an eye on me, showed me some cooking tricks, and once insisted I go to a doctor to get a wound on my ankle looked at and good thing I did. She was a very interesting person in her own right, and not just because she would leave what looked like some very fine and well-fitting Italian lingerie and gartered stockings up drying in the bathroom on a special wooden rack from her life in Europe.

And I too felt that my own nature had been sort of brought out by this lady and the experience, that I was not on the high order of the perfect Venutians who live in another dimension far purer than this, but that I might qualify as a window person.  Why not?

I cannot remember well, but I seem to think that the lady told us that at least for a time a landing on the Mall of these UFOs was not a completely uncommon event, that maybe a good number of them beamed in and materialized, without somehow ever managing to be a big deal the way such an event is portrayed in The Day the Earth Stood Still, with the tanks, the big robot who comes out to guard the ship, the headlines and so forth.  The government knew all this, but were protecting us, as it were, and the news really was squelched.  I remember being left with the impression that they, the higher beings, might drift in now and again, that they were very worried about us, that maybe trying to teach us the basics of how to live with nature wasn't a great success.  Maybe it was determined somehow that we just weren't ready to act right, until a new form of spirituality and consciousness spread through us, informing our actions.  Maybe things had to get into a pretty dire situation before we would wake up to the real deeper ecological Universal truths, and finally be able to harvest, if you will, that which can be taken in without mucking everything else up.

Yes, it was an interesting afternoon, and I was glad to be off on a Saturday, and happy that we had made the trip down from Foxhall Road above Georgetown all the way to Capitol Hill.  Perhaps the event shall remain in my memory, ensconced in a sense that I could now find an intuitive grasp on what I was doing here in Washington, D.C., strange as it may be.  And I had been somewhat skeptical at first, and again at each stage, which made it all the better and somehow truer and meaningful.

I think back on her from time to time, remembering her clarity.  And I wonder, too, if perhaps, at least in a poetic way, she was right about higher life forms coming down to the National Mall to deliver some necessary wisdom.  Maybe far more correct she was than one might give her credit for.

That is the distinct impression I get when I look over and up at, when I climb steps, and read from words committed to marble and limestone found at the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, the FDR Memorial.  Indeed, and as pure as the light that shines in the night and makes them perfect and white and just what they should be, there are spiritual teachings within, distilled understandings and conclusions the wisest would draw from the meaning of earthly life, such as the moral and spiritual value of putting people back to work, or of being true to the sentiment that all people are indeed created, and must be treated as, equal, that we must live in tune with nature rather than destroying it. (Such statements are very hard to reconcile with the obstructionist morally bankrupt big-money friendly anti-environmental focus President Obama and any other rational being in Washington must fight against, and which he must himself fall prey to out of seeming political necessity, i.e. getting reelected.  The climate is so skewed by the reactionary pull to the right, by a logic and system of thought so utterly wrong that it might seem a safe place to hide and hope, while greed and egotistical selfishness destroys for a dollar what little we have left.  So utterly and completely wrong on every level.)  I read from them, the engraved lines, in my peace, and say to myself, you know, maybe that crazy old lady was right after all.  The people of Venus up in the higher dimension would have been perfectly happy about FDR giving unemployed people good hearty not too complicated work to do, with the byproduct being trails, cabins and improvements to National and State Parks, still enjoyed today when we break from our routines, go for a hike and commune again with nature, replenishing our souls and our psyches, and we are just like them.  Yes, something like that would be a good thing to have happen in the present time.  As if we could indeed get back to the real reasons why we do things in the first place, working for the simple spiritual and moral benefit of it, for example, not for anything grander than that, as nothing could be.

I'd like to tell her, I guess, if she is still on this planet in our time here, that she has helped me enormously in feeling comfortable with the way I would naturally relate to the other people I come across, the strangers, the people you might see once, as if they were asking for directions and then on their way, the people you spend some time with next to in whatever circumstances come your way.  Far more than that sort of selfish egotistical way you can slide into, sort of, that makes you feel like a big jerk at a party anyway, what with your horrible wants and lusts, whiny needs for security that will never come.  As a bachelor, it is far easier for the heart to be pure of intent, not bothering what you know well enough as a scheme, and that could be applied to cynicism as well, things that would never pay off, make it worth acting that way if you can possibly help it.  All of that, there is that quality just as she said, of us being windows from which we look out of from a higher spiritual dimension and see the same in the eyes of another, and that being a principal part of who we are.  As if to say, yes, thank you, my friend, this is sweet here, and we will save the good of it yet, and our children will live happily onward upon our good works.  That is, anyway, might you might find down on the Mall at night in the summer, a brotherhood of man, a good hearted and humored spirit that makes tourist and resident equal in standing, and everyone basically, at least for a long moment, 'getting it.'



Living in the world, it strikes me on a night bicycle ride down along Hains Point with the moon just past full and the tide high, or rather, living in the Universe (properly, harmoniously) is, mysteriously, very much like riding a bicycle.  Take riding the bike.  It doesn't seem to make sense.  It is a matter of faith.  But somehow, you got up on the thing, and pushed forward with a pedal stroke, and darn if the whole thing doesn't really quite instantly work out to absolute perfection.  There you are, up floating on two wheels, balanced, moving forward as free as the breeze, in perfect control, without so much as having to even think about it.  And it just feels comfortable.  It so happens that it doesn't pollute, but minimally, the occasional need for new tires and chain oil, metal parts worn out and recycled.  You can go where you want, as far as you'd like.  It's good exercise.  It clears your mind.  It helps you think.  That is what you can gather, consciously in worded mental forms, and I'm sure it goes deeper than that.

Small changes in our behavior, tiny incremental ones, like riding bikes and recycling, and just being thoughtful about electricity usage and carbon footprints, I think all that could start us off on going a very long way to fixing and mending our ways and putting us back in harmony with the heavens above.

My Life as an Idiot

My life as an idiot.  It's one of those classic topics of literature, of humanity figuring itself out, employed by Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Erofeyev, Twain, Sherwood Anderson, Joyce, Eliot, Kundera, Carver, Dickens, Melville, and certainly as any, Faulkner.  It is not about the classic portrayal of the psychological Id, the basic dark drives, hunger, libido, this form of idiot, but rather the plain conscious being within whose 'foolproof built-in bullshit detector' (Hemingway term) unfortunately is uncannily able to sense the Ego when it kicks in (whether or not he or she is always immune to its biddings.)  One engaged in a 'sinful' life is just as able, if not more so, to eventually receive the insight upon this separate constant dialog of thought in our heads.

Let's face it.  In a social setting, it's quite easy to go along with certain behavior.  The musicians are sitting down at the end of the night with dinner in front of them, talking shop, drinking wine, discussing Joe Henderson and the old One Step Down jazz club.  The idiot, out of curiosity, sits down to follow their talk, inevitably joining in with a glass of wine, and thereby enabling the musicians to sit around and talk longer, say about how the up and coming generation can not play, refuses to learn even, a simple melody, of the kind from Broadway show popular tunes, that Jazz has mined and made further relevant.  Coltrane, the bassist, a tribal elder, tells us, yeah, man, knew his songbook, knew the tunes prior to launching his own style, a background in all his work.

And so the barman, instead of cleaning up and going home, watching himself all along, after he's eaten his little turkey sandwich after all have left, becomes a poor man's Johnny Carson or Charlie Rose, hanging out, talking, and of course, sipping away.  He gets home late, restless, and it would have better for him if he hadn't had that first sip which led to the second, and before you know it, it's getting light out as he cleans up dishes from angel hair rice pasta and the cat's food.

He reflects after taking the cat in for her prednisone shot (for treating rectal cancer) that the only place such an 'idiot' as he could really honestly found any form of employment is in the restaurants, as a barman.  He gets to continue being an idiot.  He gets to listen to the tales people tell over dinner and wine, like the truly nice couple who ordered a lovely Chassagne Montrachet, minerally, lemony, citrus peel, underlying almond to go with their soft shell crab (the local delicacy) and sea scallops on ginger broccoli mousse, insisting I have a sip.  Talk of an uncle who worked with Julia Child on Mastering the Art of French Cooking (as I happened to mention it as the lady studied our menu), talk of mountain climbing in South America and free climbing in Alaska, and a great book recommendation of an A. Alvarez, Feeding the Rat, as well as a bit of a chat about the Tour de France and how cycling clears the head.  And being a hick, well, he naturally finds a lot of things fairly impressive.

The idiot is not the self-absorbed turned-into-a-baby of basic wants and needs.  The idiot, in this case, is probably close to what Eckhart Tolle describes as a thread running through spirituality, the basic aware sensitive consciousness, the contentment of the being, without all that Ego form and structure and dysfunctional thinking placed upon it.

So, what happens to the idiot?  What does he or she see?  How are experiences treated as they come and go?  What to do with the profound realization, from Hamlet, who else?, that 'nothing is but thinking makes it so,' that also comes from the Zen master who refuses to be pressed into a reaction such as 'oh, this is good,' or 'oh, this is bad.'

Okay, try living that way.  What effect does that have on, say, a relationship?  How does one avoid the label of being 'uncommitted' or 'uncaring' or 'oblivious'?  Got to make a choice in life, right, or choices are made for you, right?  And if you are so full of observations of peace and beauty, how can you share them beyond that peaceful 'dumb' smile on your face and a bit of gurgling?  BECAUSE THIS IS LIFE!  You have to find a way to be relevant and active and a doer on the side of the good, and not end up old and alone.  What bloody good does bar tending do the world?  More harm than good, probably.

But the idiot:  Yes, I had to go through all that.  It was part of a larger spiritual awakening I was simply meant to have, that had been preordained through basically everything I ever did, every one of my seemingly obtuse reactions and actions to things.  And now I try to find a home for it, wishing to be something along the lines of a Zen Master, I mean, though, along with Aloysha, I am really just an idiot, one who doesn't fit in anywhere, but for the company of strange old monk elders like Father Zossima who take everything in stride and don't mind hanging out with the humblest of rustic brethren.

To me, the idiot, far too much emphasis seems to be placed on winning.  Take a sport, let's say, a beautiful thing, to see the strength, the grace of motion in the great cyclist, the swimmer, the gymnast.  Yes, competition brings out some crazy abilities and feats that might not otherwise come about.  The crowd roars, the victor raises arms, gets to listen to her national anthem and go back to her country wearing a gold medal.  And then there's someone who was the big favorite who did not win, say by one one-hundredth of a second, goes home with, yeah, the eternal silver, the story "I came in second."  I feel for everyone really, the ridiculousness of this word 'losing,' for all were able to participate in the beautiful idyllic of a sport, an Olympic sport.  All made it happen taking their bodies around a track as best they could as nature made them able to, some short, some tall, some with broad chests, some less so.

And this is why Emily Dickinson's words hold something worth notice:  "Not one of all the purple host, who took the flag today, can tell the meaning so clear of victory, as he, upon whose vanquished ears the distant strains of triumph break agonized and clear." I imagine there is some reconciliation within the poem, beyond these lines, an ultimate realization, a knowledge the vanquished's insight turns into a comprehension of the dignity of participating in life.

Big Oil Companies, though, they are not inclined to stop and think in such a way as to consider themselves part of the idyll of nature and interplay.  They are about winning, about growth, about power, about money.  And so subconsciously they support the subtle suggestion that winning is everything, and that coming second is for losers and you don't want to be a loser, forget it, that's all there is to it.  So they proceed, with complete recklessness, endangering every sentient being there is in this world, in complete failure to understand the web and pattern of all that exists within the Universe, including all its great laws and ways.

Rep. Darrell Issa, a fine example of the contemporary Republican, complains of the great lacking of the truly rich in Congress, I hear, to go off on a tangent.  No, not just the millionaires, no, they're small fry who don't get it.  He wants his peers to be of the really rich, those, like, close to half a billion in wealth.  The truly rich, that's who should be in Congress, for the good of the country, good for a government 'of the people, by the people, and for the people.'  Ah, the supreme self-confidence of the wealthy, the winners in our little economic game.  The Ego attracts other egos, attracts and makes necessary the egotistical, a spiral of inflation on up to fantastic hubris, the great arrogance of 'knowing' something, lording it over 'lesser people,' when really no one knows anything finally more than anyone else (except those who have gone through sickness and dying before us by the current measure of logical time.)

And the idiot?  What does he attract, but the simple basic truths of life,  to which the ego must say, 'oh, yuck, I can't stand that,' not wanting the hands to get dirty with such lowly stuff as not having your own private jet.

It's all very interesting.  And acting, almost, at least, like physical law.  Maybe you have to become a complete idiot in order to figure all that out, trusting as it were, the hands of God.

The largest truths about the Universe, I would offer, are tender, peaceful, gentle things, able to be held by such as us, the whole birth into matter in all its complexity much like the simple fresh opening of a flower to the sun's rays.  Go forth with that gentle spirit in mind, and maybe you can't go too far wrong.