green tea
honey
organic whole milk

heat energy
ceramic mug
thumb, fingers, palms, wrist

the whole kit and caboodle

Weary

Weary these days. Not so much physically as overall. Being physically weary is not so bad. Mental exhaustion is worse. Some things on the horizon. Some moons drying up. This is just life, nothing more nor less. Got to keep working.

An example of what brainwashing does to people

To Meet

I rolled Kou / Coming to meet.

The Creative, Heaven, over the Gentle, Wind.

My interpretation: It says I am like the wind under heaven, going everywhere, seeing everything. Beneath heaven, I am certain of my confines. If I was above the earth, I would think of myself as free. But no, I am underneath heaven: the way that I know is right, my ideals. But I am free in those parameters. One should always be magnanimous to everyone, the weak and strong alike. I need to be open and free to find my way, but like the wind I must be forceful, yielding, and everywhere at the same time. My future peace lies with my present peace, or lack thereof. I shouldn't let the weak or strong block or corral my path.

I am going to meet a friend in an hour as well, and I am going to eat some meat. The I-Ching has a way of making fun of me. I see oracles as generalized guides to our individual lives, just as the general laws of thermodynamics can help create a specific engine.

Okay, yeah, here we are, new week, new life.

I am going to dedicate this blog to the Now.

Being here Now doesn't mean worrying about finding a new car or job, paying the rent, or losing my mind. What it does mean is that I will be dealing with these things as they come up, in due time. What I can't do is figure it all out right now. I just need to be here, now. I just need to open up my heart and my mind and my body to this present moment. I need compassion to be a guiding force in my actions, because I have learned that this is a helpful way to exist, with an open heart. Otherwise, I get all caught up in my own game, and in a game, someone is always winning or losing. I don't think that's the case with life. Life is here, right now, and we need to enjoy it.

My apartment is cleaned up. My dead car is sitting on a side street, waiting. I have some job ideas, but right now a week after finishing up my last job, I am okay with taking it easy.

I have a comfortable place to sleep, a warm home, a TV to watch movies on, a computer that is almost ready to crash for good, my guitar, communications with the outside world. I am healthy and happy, to a degree. What is there to complain about?

What blows my mind is that everything that has happened has already happened before, or will happen again. My life is not unique, in the sense that I am no different than every other living being out there. But I am completely unique, in the sense that I am the Now of everything that has come before me. Sort of a paradox, but that's the warp and weft of the fabric of life.

You out there, you know I love you. Thank you for journeying with me, and we will see each other again and again.

Living the Dream Farm

Check out my friend's website I helped set up. I think it looks great, and I'm really excited for her whole farm endeavor!

www.ltdfarm.com

I have more feelings than thoughts this morning, my whole psyche is a quagmire, but my job is to continue on.

What is this flash in the pan we have? No really, what the hell is it? Why are so many people content with their little piece of cake and not wildly curious about what the whole cake looks like, or who is the baker? What is the meaning of this wild ride we all rent? I've never really understood the apathy I perceive all around, because all my life I've been searching for wisdom, knowledge, truth, beauty; something that gives life a heart. Or maybe this apathy is all just for show and most men and women are quietly desperate, happy just to get by with some dignity. I've been trying to ignore the stark reality of having to get by, but I'm beginning to see that an emotional rift separates those who are afraid of not getting by and those afraid of just getting by. Maybe it's not fear so much as an approach to societies whole game, and I guess I haven't really read the playbook. Because of my ignorance, I'm getting tackled just about now. Hopefully I can shake it off, but I might have a concussion.

I mean, why do we suffer so much, and why do we feel so much joy? Is it just synaptic touch football with a post-game endorphin opiate cocktail? I'm not even asking why we suffer, I'm asking why we even exist to suffer, why am I sitting here wondering why we exist to feel happy, sad, scared, exited; the whole gamut of our emotional reality. Why do my fingers have their specific shape, why do I walk in circles, why does driving fast feel exiting? Why, why, why?

Some of you may think that I am talking about philosophy or religion or art or science. You're way off base. It isn't that at all. I could care less about all these established modes of sticking life in a box, and that's what's getting under my skin. How can life be pigeon-holed? Why does anything need to be labeled, and is this quest to label everything in the universe our sick method of trying to wrest control of our lives, of life itself? In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God. Or so we would like to think. Before the Word, there was life. Before we labeled the mystery, there was the mystery. Before everything we know, there was something we didn't know.

Well, after all that is said and done, I still have to get up and do the dishes. I'm beginning to see that doing the dishes, taking a walk, holding hands, watching the stars, eating a cupcake, drawing a flower, everything, absolutely everything I do is life expressing itself and is of the utmost importance in the way that all acts are. Everything I do is a work of art, a science experiment, a prayer, a philosophic treatise. This is most definitely a metaphor, and it is not a metaphor at all. Life manifests itself metaphorically, I think, and the falling leaves in autumn are real.

Things plod along. The crisp dried out corpses of autumn leaves rustle on the sidewalk as I walk along the path from my back door to the car. The fifteen minute drive to work in Battle Creek in my old Olds is familiar now, but over today. That is a constant problem with contract work, you put your heart and soul into a place and get used to the commute and then wooosh, you have to start all over somewhere else, on a different project. But, you know, it's like life, more then a stuffy office job that you go to everyday for years and never get to vary your routine. So I am thankful for variety and instability.

The stones call to me, says they are going to bed. This is a prime season to gather stone, As all the trees and shrubs are sleeping naked as well. The book of Changes:

The Sun / Decrease

Decrease combined with sincerity
Brings about supreme good fortune
Without blame.

One may be perservering in this.
It furthers one to undertake something.
How is this to be carried out?
One may use two small bowls for the sacrifice

I am collecting stones, small and beautiful.

The day is dark by 5 PM now.

Most things are going bad but one is possibly good.

I have a pan with baked on grease.

I feel a bit like a cornered animal these days. Like a wolverine caught in a trap.

I saw a young buck yesterday in the woods, and a crow spoke to me three times.

Yo.

crashing waves

How do you separate the tragic from the comic? How do you keep philosophy in mind as you contemplate your empty wallet? Maybe this magic balancing act is our main call to arms as humans. We have this amazing life filled with happiness and sadness, and these large cerebellums filled with our own ideas of who we are in this world, and what this world means. Maybe love trips us up so much because we let others take over our own journey for awhile, so that we can rest. But after the rest we can't find the path again, and maybe just let the lover leave us on their own journey. Of course in real life they still sleep and eat with us, but spiritually they have their bags packed. Maybe if we all just kept in mind that we all have to go down our own paths, no matter what, some of interrelationship problems might dissolve, whatever they may be.

I have this overarching ambivalence these days, mixed with extreme concern. It is a hard wave to surf, my friends, a huge, choppy, cold wave. Yet I know it will break and crash its vast wetness on the sandy shores of time. It has to, because that is what life does.

I've been fighting that wave, looking for ways to get through, under it, past it, but it just stays underneath me.

Or maybe I've been lollygagging on the shore after a particularly heinous wipeout, going over it in my head over and over again? Yeah, that's more likely. I need to get back on that wave, my path, and see where it leads.

warrior defined

I want to clarify my concept of what I think a peaceful warrior is.

Being a warrior means coming to the tremendous realization that you are a living human being, and pursuing the art of walking a path with heart. Being a living human being means knowing that your death stalks you, always. Knowing that death stalks you always allows you to pursue life wholeheartedly, without reservations.

For the most part, our story as human beings has consisted of hunting and gathering our sustenance, clothing, and shelter. Perhaps most of our innate behaviors comes from this immense ocean of experience. We have divorced our selves from this period of our evolution and called our current story "Modern Civilization". We love the comforts of this modern world, and we live longer lives. Lives in which we look for meaning.

The warrior does not seek comfort. A warrior can relish physical comfort, good food, laughing companions, and other pleasures, but no easement in life is sought or required. In fact the warrior recognizes that discomfort and fear are primary teachers. Like the spiritual warrior Siddhārtha Gautama, the warrior can see that all the world is illusion, but knows that the illusion is the only reality.

A peaceful warrior is one who seeks peace in his or her life. Some seek peace for themselves and their circles of friends and family, others for their countries and states, and others for the very future of the planet.

If a person can realize that they are alive and that all life is really a dream, essentially to be present and active in each moment, then they can be effective warriors.

That is what I now believe a warrior is.

As of right now, October 21, 2009, I am on the warriors path; a path with heart. I follow the wisdom of my elders. I listen to the words of my friends. I experience the many songs of the universe; the chirp of the cricket, the smell of the river, the taste of asparagus.

I believe that your fears are your main soul killers, but if you face your fears, they become your primary soul teachers.

There is nothing worth writing about at 11:03 PM on Tuesday, October 20th, 2009.

run, alice, run

Went for my first run, I think ever, this morning at about 5:30 AM, 36 degrees F. It was beautiful out. The oak leaves rustled in the early morning breeze. Peeked at Orion through the maples. Rabbits kept hurrying away, timepieces in hand.

I don't have running shoes. I used an old pair of beat up sneakers. They hurt my feet and knees, and didn't provide any support at all for my arch. Today I will go buy some proper running shoes.

I couldn't run constantly. I had to make little bursts between various light posts. The first half hour I was just trying to break my heart in, as it seemed sort of painful. I didn't want to have a heart attack. But after awhile it seemed to mellow out, so I was able to push myself a bit. Hopefully I will work up to sustained running sessions of ten minutes or more soon.

He's smoking his last cigarette, standing on the Stone Arch Bridge in downtown Minneapolis. He is walking north, toward Dinkytown. The old pea green army coat doesn't provide as much warmth as he needs to keep warm, and he shivers slightly as a cold breeze snakes up his back. His worn out boots swing passed each other in an old, sad dance.

He had been fired from his job that morning and had been smoking and drinking beer all day long. His eyes are watery and unclear. His mind is a jumble of anger, apathy, and despair. The despair lodges like a woodtick in his heart, a small, unnoticeable creature that slowly sucks the oil from his rusty motor. The rage bubbles up and he punches the metal railing, bruising his middle knuckle and causing a sharp pain to shoot up his arm. That hurts, he thinks bluntly. Fucking stupid railing.

He looks down into the dark water and thinks about jumping in, realizing how cliche that is. Probably wouldn't die anyway, probably just get soaked and frozen, catch hypothermia, rack up some hospital bills. His eyelids feel like anvils as he stumbles off the bridge onto a brightly lit street. Some well-dressed people are walking in clusters here and there, emerging from nearby bars, movie theaters, and offices. He feels a certain comfort being in the midst of people that seemed to have it all together. Not like me, not a loser who can't even hack a simple warehouse job for more then two weeks. They look at me and see the failure I am. It's written all over my face.

Fuck it, I just can't do this anymore.

He turns down a dark alley and looks for the right one. When he finds it, he takes off his stocking cap and wraps his hand in it. The car alarm bursts into life, shrieking a pissed off melody into the night air, as he smashes his fist through the rear passenger window of the car. The effort hurts his injured hand, and he throws the glass shard encrusted cap into the backseat of the car. Then he realizes that he can't get the doors unlocked from the back door. Shit.

He's at the coffee shop typing on the borrowed laptop, sipping a large dark roast and sniffling. His sinuses have been congested for a few days and he's worried he might be coming down with a virus or a cold. He has to blow his nose every ten minutes or so.

The coffee is making him jittery now. He is typing an email to a friend. He hopes she doesn't read it right away. It is a very personal email and he feels that as soon as he sends it, it will be too hot to touch. It needs time to cool down. His cell phone rings but he doesn't answer it.

A beautiful woman in a long red coat walks in through the glass door, a bell tinkling. He is captivated by her sharp features. A moment later a tall man in a leather jacket enters. The beautiful woman and the tall man exchange greetings and hugs. He wonders if they are a couple or friends. He wonders what the difference is.

His coffee and email are almost done. He finishes them both up with an artistic flourish and grabs his coat. Outside in the dark night he turns up his collar and hunches over a little to stride back to his apartment. He is ready to lay down for awhile.

He feels a presence. He moves his head a little to try to catch sight of anything behind him with his peripheral vision, and spots a figure trailing him. He doesn't care, just keeps on walking. The night is damp on his cheeks, but his internal temperature rises as he walks and all surface moisture evaporates.

All of a sudden he finds himself tripping over a bump in the sidewalk. His head is falling down, down, and smack! He feels a crack in his skull as his face kisses the pavement. Holy shit, he thinks, this could be bad.

He reaches up to feel his forehead and encounters a warm wetness on the sidewalk. His blood, the blood of his head. His heart begins to race and he starts to shiver in fear. Then a hand grabs him by the back of the neck. He calls out in alarm.

She's strolling down the black street in tan shoes that she's always thought were a little too heavy for her feet. The streetlights that line Washington Avenue cast yellow light haphazardly out into the wet autumn air. Downtown Minneapolis smells like car exhaust and fried foods, popcorn and gasoline. She turns and walks up a street to her regular bus stop in order to catch the bus that goes down University every ten minutes or so. It is dark out and she is feeling nervous. She worked late tonight, trying to get part of a project done so that she wouldn't have to go over it all again tomorrow. She is tired of that part of the project.

Being a small female, she is inconspicuous to most people who pass by. But she thinks of the type of men who lurk in the shadows and prey on the small and defenseless. She doesn't usually worry, but every now and then she catches herself in the mirror and senses what could happen.

She wishes she had some pepper spray in her pocket. It makes sense to have some sort of protection, she thinks. Not a characteristic thought for her, but the dark coldness of the urban night feels tinged with danger for some reason. She stands, hunched into herself at the bus stop, trying to exude an empty feeling, trying to shapeshift into a blob with no distinguishable sexual characteristics.

The bus whizzes by without stopping, splashing a little dirty slush onto her newly laundered pants.

What the fuck was that, she thinks in disbelief. The disbelief slowly turns into a smoldering rage at the world. Why the fuck didn't the bus stop for me? Her thoughts go around and around in circles.

She starts to walk home, over the bridge that spans the Mississippi River. She was really counting on getting into that warm bus to help shake her crazy feelings of personal danger, but now her senses are on heightened alert and she is simply afraid, too tired to keep it together. Every noise is a maniac in the bushes ready to pounce. Her fear is slightly ambivalent now, as it all seems like a dream.

Snow hits the ground running

Snow has hit the ground this morning and the white blanket immediately takes me into the vortex of Thanksgiving and Christmas. I am sure in a few hours the snow will melt all over the rain soaked ground, which is not a bad thing. I am sure my soul will melt into a gooey mess this holiday season, but let it come as it may. Whatever, I am ready for it. I am excited right now for this cold, frozen, dark season to whip through my life like a maddened cougar running form naked hunters. I will stock my tea, perfect my bread baking abilities, read and write prolifically, and work toward a future I can not imagine.

I know that the term "warrior" is not popular right now, especially in progressive left-leaning circles. I am well aware of that, and it is not a popular term for many good reasons, mainly because it has been co-opted by violent men for violent purposes. But I think to be a true warrior in this age is unusual. We have many soldiers; of fortune, professionals, coerced kids, insular gangs. A true peaceful warrior must look toward the pain with delight, as one who know that the pain means growth or death. These are some of the peaceful warriors that come to mind when I think of true warriors: the Dalai lama, Thich Nhat Hanh, Ghandi, Will Steger, Martin Prechtel, Robert Bly, Pablo Neruda, my friend John Brian Becker, Alice Walker, Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Winona Laduke, Rosa Parks, and Rachel Carson. Feel free to add your own list of peaceful warriors that have impacted your life in the comments.

I feel as though I have cultivated the inner farmer in me to the exclusion of the other soul parts that make up my Self. The inner farmer could be thought of as the corollary to the warrior, in terms of the diametrically opposed cultivator consciousness and the hunter consciousness. For such a long time I thought of the hunter in me as something bad, something culturally tainted, but now I see it as simply a part of me, a part of my genetic and soul make-up that needs to be addressed. There is no simple action to take, just simply an awareness of how I interact with this world.

Know this though. I have come to the strong feeling that you can't successfully embark on a path of healing without embodying some aspect of your inner warrior, your inner hunter and gatherer. Without this type of inner strength and fortitude, you run the risk of losing your Self to some force in this wide, crazy world.

Like the ancient Yamabushi, I strive to embody the warrior/monk attitude toward life right now. To connect directly to the divine with poetry and art, to live simply, to fight for what is right; these are simple ideals I hold deep in my heart.