tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11410536987217717562024-02-07T09:50:16.949+00:00Current IllusionsThis blog is a semi-regular journal of our adventures. I say "semi-regular" because you can't always find an internet cafe in the jungle or mountains... which is one of the reasons we go to those places.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-78271263711549664482010-09-28T05:45:00.005+01:002010-09-29T00:01:51.045+01:00Adventure on the Feather River<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6lbETo1DRAnWU-Ue7EKeCvkOS5nR7d51MJ4IBoA__p1Dw746GAg8T3ytxnZ5EcwKD1UfHWqXf63J2V7oCDG0_nydPyOh9XUC7g80_nexcz0WE4kxaFaEyQGwMvrIQ2TLanvkz2UiDqA/s1600/liquid+matrix+2010+067.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6lbETo1DRAnWU-Ue7EKeCvkOS5nR7d51MJ4IBoA__p1Dw746GAg8T3ytxnZ5EcwKD1UfHWqXf63J2V7oCDG0_nydPyOh9XUC7g80_nexcz0WE4kxaFaEyQGwMvrIQ2TLanvkz2UiDqA/s200/liquid+matrix+2010+067.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522101845967442178" border="0" /></a><br />I hoped to finish Liquid Matrix without needing to tell any stories. Does the world really need any more "Gary stories"? But it's fun to share the adventure...<br /><br />The party didn't take place at Paxton because Thursday afternoon we learned the Paxton Lodge had no primary fire insurance. I'm not sure why it was a secret but it proved to be fatal. The provider of our event insurance informed us that there was no way to cover the structure for it's worth on such short notice - we tried anyway and failed. The lack of primary fire insurance, combined with the fire that almost got away in Paxton a few days before, meant the risk was too much.<br /><br />Thursday night I spoke with the owners of the Paxton site and explained the coming horror - hundreds of people were on their way, some already on the road. We needed a miracle and I asked them to work on getting one for us. And they went to work, calling everyone they knew in the area, following up on leads and pleading our case. Friday morning I walked an old abandoned saw mill with the owner... it had acres of land along the river, flat spots for stages, lots of trees. The owner was up for it if his lawyer liked our insurance (which, i have to say, was A+). But there were drawbacks. It was visible from the highway and the land was covered in two-foot high grass.<br /><br />While we were sorting through the logistics of moving to the mill I got a call from the Paxton site's co-owner saying we should go check out the county fairgrounds, that she'd spoken to them and told them what we were doing and apparently we were welcome. Hmm. Fairgrounds. Sounded dusty. The Paxton co-owner seemed very enthusiastic about it though, so a partner and I took a drive up to take a look.<br /><br />The Fairgrounds manager showed us around when we arrived and we realized the space might work. There were some problems - most notably that the sound had to move indoors at 11 pm. We were also concerned about neighbors and attracting unwanted attention. To that end my friend stressed that it would be loud. I think his words were, "it's going to be unrelenting doof doof doof for 48 hours. Is that going to create a problem?"<br /><br />The fair manager was unfazed. "We have the High Sierra Music Festival here and they have bigger speakers than anything you're going to have. It's not a problem," she said. Sounded good to me. My friend then asked about neighbors and we were told that there was one cranky guy in a trailer but not to worry about it. So we didn't. We went to work.<br /><br />For the record: there are neighbors and they did, actually, seem to mind. That was a giant problem for the police, who started fielding noise complaint calls within minutes of us turning on the sound. I had my first meeting with the Sgt. from the sheriff's department at about sunset and it went well. I explained who we were and what we were doing, showed him my contract with the fairgrounds and the insurance certificate. He was cool. He told me to keep it inside the gate and that everything would be fine. Then the sound came on.<br /><br />Over the next several hours I danced with the police. I kept them at bay until about 2:30 am by reviewing the fact that we were contracted with the county to do what we were doing and it didn't seem right for another department in the county to be hassling us. That argument carried some weight with the Sgt. from the sheriff's department and it kept the music on until... the Highway Patrol got involved!<br /><br />The local Highway Patrol commander showed up at 2:20 and told us to shut it off. He yelled at me for a while and refused to listen to a word, then got in his car and sped off, leaving me standing there with the sheriff's guys. They all had a "who farted" look on their faces and I took advantage of the moment to give a general speech on what BS it all was. I told them what the fair manager had said about us not being as loud as the High Sierra Music Festival and one of the younger deputies said, "you're not the High Sierra Music Festival." I saw a look of annoyance cross the Sgt's face - he knew better but said his hands were tied due to the local nighttime law enforcement command structure. I believed him.<br /><br />I went to bed. Allen waited an hour and turned it back on - he's a pirate and that's why he was the first on the team. When I got up in the morning I went to work with the fairgrounds people. They agreed that I was being unduly harassed and from there the phones lit up in the Plumas county political and law enforcement circles. For the next 12 hours I was almost constantly on the phone with county supervisors, the sheriff, the Sgt and the fairgrounds people. Most of them seemed to be on our side - even if they were very upset with the fair for contracting with us. As night fell on Saturday night I was cautiously optimistic that we'd make it.<br /><br />At about 8 pm I got a call from the Sgt. - he said they'd reached 50 noise complaints and by law the matter would have to forwarded to the DA for a criminal investigation. He told me not to worry about it, that his report would keep me safe, but that I'd need to give them my drivers license info before I left. He added that one of the neighbors wanted to perform a citizen's arrest on me and if he pushed it there was nothing the Sgt could do but serve the papers and cite me. I told him I knew he'd do his job and it was cool, and that my job was to keep the party going. He told me it would get shut down for sure if we didn't move inside right away so we rushed Stereographic off the outdoor stage (sorry man, that was the worst part of the whole party for me! You were ripping it up!) and started getting the indoor stage ready.<br /><br />At about 9 pm Saturday night the Sgt called me and told me the local politicians had decided that the fair manager had overstepped his authority in issuing us the contract, and that the result was likely that we'd be closed down in the next hour. I asked him what he meant by closed down, whether they intended to chase us out of the campground or, if we stayed would the voices and sounds of 400 campers be almost as much of a problem as the music. The Sgt told me he'd get back to me.<br /><br />Allen and I started searching for an attorney in Plumas county - we weren't going to let them close the party without a fight. As I keyed in the number of one of the lawyers who was famous in those parts for a fight against the police... the sheriff called. He was pissed off and it took 30 minutes before he calmed down enough to have a reasonable discussion. It was clear that the noise complaints were a problem for an elected sheriff. It was also clear that the party was likely to have been stopped if it had taken place either in Paxton or the saw mill. He told me a lot about local politics and the personalities we were dealing with and gave sage advice. He's a smart guy. I told our story and he was sympathetic. But he works for the people of Plumas county and the noise was a problem. It sounded like he was going to close us down.<br /><br />Then, while I was talking to the sheriff a line of police vehicles streamed onto the fairgrounds. They stopped and about 10 deputies dispersed into the crowd (some police jargon for you) while the Sgt walked toward me. I was so sure we were going to be closed down that I asked the sheriff what to do with all the people. His answer was a bit cryptic: "Just keep the lid on it." He paused for a moment and repeated, "just keep a lid on it".<br /><br />I hung up and turned to the Sgt. We talked for a bit and it became clear I didn't know what was going on. He asked what the sheriff had told me and then cleared it up for me - the party wasn't being busted. The deputies were doing a count in a last ditch effort to see if there were more of us there than I'd contracted for (there weren't), and when the quick count was completed the Sgt told me to keep it as quiet as I could and maybe no one would have to go to jail or lose their jobs.<br /><br />I stood out by the gate talking to that Sgt for an hour after the rest of the counting-squad left. He asked me what I meant when I referred to our group as a community and listened carefully as I explained the connections we have to one another and to the music and dance that frees our hearts and minds to allow us to be better members of the larger community. He got it. I told him he was my best new friend of the weekend and I meant it. The entire adventure was worth it for the hours I spent with this man, the understanding we both gained and chance to communicate directly on a heart level with a keeper of a table in the paradigm.<br /><br />It certainly isn't all joy and light though. The fairground neighbors are real people who deserve consideration. Consideration we did not provide and I'm disappointed that our needed ceremony had to intrude on others. Karma was created that we'll all have to deal with and my name is on the contract so I expect many of those energetic ripples will land at my shore.<br /><br />But... I decided to take that on from the beginning because we need to dance. Everyone other than me did their jobs exceptionally. Everyone, especially the dancers. The math tells me that Liquid Matrix produced about 5000 dancing hours between all of us. 5000 hours of moving meditation. 5000 hours not in our heads. 5000 hours that create peace in us and through us. The world is better because of it.<br /><br />Next time I'll try to do my job better too. But don't worry - I forgive myself fast!SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-32448535171774512652009-12-14T21:18:00.002+00:002009-12-14T21:36:50.589+00:00One moment in timeToday is one of the days I wished for during more difficult times - nothing special except it's all special. Contentment.<br /><br />My throat hurts and my left sinus is clogged shut. Details. I love you.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-37745909343167668052009-02-28T00:05:00.002+00:002009-02-28T00:50:40.592+00:00Karma EnsuesWhen a person gets lost in thoughts and worry there's a tendency to take an action that returns them, if even for a moment, to the here and now. The subconscious will compel one to a behavior that might cause great damage, but at the moment the plate is flung the voices go away and the present moment is experienced. Karma ensues. Self-judgment ensues. More thoughts careen around the mind and... another burst from the subconscious, more karma created. It continues until the internal dialogue is stopped.<br /><br />If the need to return to the present moment is truly the catalyst behind many unconscious acts, then it's possible to slow down the headlong rush to new karma by proactively returning to the here and now. A few deep breaths and our course can be altered.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-52846385663759435022009-02-24T22:15:00.004+00:002009-02-25T03:17:58.126+00:00LivingMy story is simple. I was lost in my head. I gained a little internal stillness by trying to be aware when I was thinking useless, negative thoughts. That stillness led me to see some other types of thoughts that were also useless, and the stillness I gained from noticing those thoughts led me to examine all of the thought loops I tended to spin in. By practicing gratitude for those thoughts, once I’ve noticed them, I’m spending more time alive, and less time in a waking dream.<br /><br />I used to walk down the street lost in thought. Now I see things I’d never noticed before. The flowers were in the cracks in the sidewalks all along – I was just too “asleep” to see them, along with the people, opportunities and truths I’d walked past unconsciously before beginning this practice.<br /><br />Whatever it is that makes me bi-polar hasn't gone away. I still have strong emotional responses to the world around me and my head still spins on things good and bad. But the practice shortens the cycle. A six month depression replaced by a bad week, a bad week replaced by a bad day, a bad day eventually becoming a hard moment.<br /><br />And I like it that way. I want to experience the soaring joy and crashing despair that come with being alive. But after the moment of joy or despair I want to let go and be ready for the next moment. By being grateful to the source of that momentary joy or pain I'm brought into the present, where I can best face whatever comes next.<br /><br />My life has changed in the years since I began this practice. I remember how helpless I felt against my onrushing depressions, not knowing where they came from or why and when they’d end. It seemed beyond my control. Now I have a tool to use when my mind starts spinning. <br /><br />It was my pain that led to my joy. The same path is there for all of us.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-41660324907105439112009-02-24T01:37:00.003+00:002009-02-24T22:14:10.455+00:00GratitudeOne day I noticed I was in a thought loop about a very exciting opportunity. It wasn't a full-blown manic episode, but the type of head-spinning that can eventually lead to one. When I noticed the thought loop I had a brief moment of gratitude. "How nice it is that this opportunity is in my life, it's even reminding me to return to the present moment."<br /><br />I started using the gratitude I felt as a small meditation or prayer. Breath in, "I'm grateful," breath out, "for having this person (or opportunity)," breath in, "in my life," breath out, "to remind me to return," breath in, "to the present moment." Breath out. <br /><br />Feeling gratitude to those things that excited me or made me feel better about myself was always nice. But I soon realized I could feel the same gratitude toward the people or subjects that created negative thoughts. I was grateful whenever there was a thought loop that I could identify and try to notice, and every time this happened I was returned to the present moment, if only for a second.<br /><br />I took this on as a practice. I didn't try to stop or judge my thoughts, but to simply be aware of the subjects I thought about the most, and when I noticed it I did a short gratitude meditation. I didn't set out on a path to "find the present moment". My only goals were to stop feeling like I was a bad person and be able to function like a normal person. The "present moment" had no real meaning to me because I'd had so little experience with it in my head-spinning past. But when I found the present moment, as a side-effect of trying to function, I found more than the ability to function.<br /><br />Today, I'm grateful for being bi-polar, because it forced me to find the present moment. Otherwise I might have spent my entire life lost in the errands on my lists, never quite here and now. Today I experience many moments of gratitude. Today is all I have.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-10182838732387068482009-02-23T23:10:00.007+00:002009-02-24T20:59:42.712+00:00WatchingThe depression came, as it always did. I could feel myself slipping into it in a haze of self-created expectations unfulfilled, and when it settled on me I spent a few weeks lost in head-spinning self-judgment. Eventually I remembered what I'd learned about those kinds of thoughts and started trying to be aware when I was having them. <br /><br />While I was trying to notice the judgmental thoughts I became aware of other streams of thought I was having, the ones that seemed to come up the most often. Replaying past actions, planning future recourse, nothing that was of any benefit to me. I began trying to notice when I was lost in thought about certain subjects, just like I was doing with the judgments. It was hard to do. I'd often spin on a subject for an entire day before I'd catch myself. But I'd always eventually notice, and after I noticed I took a few deep breaths.<br /><br />Maybe once today.<br />Three or four times tomorrow.<br />A dozen times the next day.<br />Thirty or 40 the following day.<br /><br />The depression vanished.<br /><br />The manic period started.<br /><br />As I slid into the next depression I noticed that I'd been in thought loops, continuous internal dialogues, that had been pleasurable, or at least positive, and that as soon as there was a problem or negative aspect I transferred the same chaotic thought stream from the positive to the negative. One day I was lost in fantasy, and almost the next day I was lost in judgment. I saw for the first time that the manic episode was the same as the depressive episode, a condition where my mind was lost in thoughts that didn't serve me.<br /><br />Using what I'd previously learned I was able to escape the next depression, and afterward I started trying to be aware of whenever I was lost in thoughts about particular subjects. I can't tell myself not to think about something compelling, the thoughts seem to come up on their own. But if I ask myself to be aware of when I'm thinking about these things I can be brought into the present moment, and out of my head, by the realization I was lost in the thought in question. It feels good to think about exciting opportunities and new love, but I'd seen how my thoughts could build conditions and paradigms that didn't serve me. I started trying to be aware of spinning on any subject, whether it was apparently positive or not.<br /><br />In the book "The Art of Dreaming" Carlos Castaneda tries to explain how to achieve a lucid dream state and he says the first step is becoming aware, within the dream, that you're dreaming. The method he says he was taught was to try to remember seeing his hands in a dream. By programming himself to remember he was dreaming when he see saw his hands it was possible to take control of the dream state.<br /><br />It's much the same with thoughts. Trying to realize when my head was spun out was difficult because... my head was spun out. It was in the illusion state, the waking dream state. I could teach myself to recognize the illusion for what it is by looking for elements of the illusion in my thoughts. Each of us can easily name the two or three things we think about most in the course of a day. By noting these subjects we will eventually (sooner than one might expect) start popping out of the illusion with the realization we're thinking about that "thing" again.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-91276389948824902472009-02-20T21:40:00.005+00:002009-02-24T00:19:07.434+00:00TreatmentI had a friend who was diagnosed as bi-polar. He'd had a bad breakup and couldn't seem to shake the depression that followed, and when he sought help they put him on lithium. I watched him gain weight and dull down until he finally decided he wasn't bi-polar anymore and stopped taking the medication. Fair or not, the lesson I learned from my friend's experience was "don't take lithium".<br /><br />So... as I realized I was trapped in a cycle of short-lived highs and crashing lows, I thought back to my friend's experience. I read a few books. It wasn't hard to suspect I might be bi-polar. Trapped, as I was at the time, in a soul-crushing depression, I attached myself to the idea of a pharmacological solution. So I went to the doctor and lied.<br /><br />I described the depression. Yes, I sleep all day. No, I won't go out and see anyone. But I knew which questions to lie to. Ever have trouble sleeping? Uh, no. Fantastical thinking and unwise, spontaneous actions? Not me. I wanted the mood elevator, not the drug that had such a bad effect on my friend. It was easy to fool the doctor.<br /><br />I took an SSRI for a couple of months. I didn't like the way it made me feel. At the same time I started taking it I started trying to watch for when I was thinking the types of thoughts, the negative judgments, that I'd learned didn't serve me. Even if I <span style="font-style:italic;">was</span> a bad person I could see that the thoughts about being bad were making it harder for me to function, and they didn't make me a better person in the bargain. When I started trying to be aware of these types of thoughts a funny thing happened - they went away.<br /><br />Not immediately, of course. But surprisingly quickly. Within a matter of days the crash I was experiencing seemed to melt away. I thought I'd found the key to "curing" my illness, that it was as simple as being aware that my self-judgmental thoughts didn't serve me and could be stopped by watching for them as they came up. I was wrong, of course.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-20960358723554764572009-02-20T00:03:00.005+00:002009-02-23T23:09:11.218+00:00DiscoveryI can't remember exactly when and where I first realized there was a problem in my head, but I remember the thought that led to the realization: "What's wrong with me?"<br /><br />I had that thought a lot during later crashes, and it eventually changed from "what's wrong with me?" to "there's something wrong with me that keeps me from functioning" to "I'm not a good person". There has been no greater suffering than being paralyzed by a head spinning on the idea that I'm a bad person because of all the pain I'd created for myself and others.<br /><br />The suffering was made worse by the certainty in my heart that I'm <span style="font-style:italic;">not</span> a bad person.<br /><br />During a crash I once had a realization about the judgments I was making against myself. I realized I was suffering the consequences of my words and actions, and those consequences are payment enough. Judging myself for yesterday's actions doesn't do anything to prevent future consequences, but accepting responsibility and internalizing the result will help me make better choices in the future.<br /><br />Sometimes I brought so much pain into my life and lives of others that it was hard to convince myself I didn't need to "double pay", to suffer both the consequences and feel badly toward myself. Losing the love of a cherished person or missing out on a great opportunity wasn't enough, it felt right to wallow in self-loathing.<br /><br />But not quite right. There was always a feeling, a sense that this was just indulgence. I started looking back at the actions for which I had the greatest judgments against myself. It wasn't very comfortable. But I learned something about why I'd done or said those things. I learned that if I went back to the exact moment when I'd made the choices that led to the regrets, I was always making the choice that at that time would give me the best chance of having the feeling of love or peace or presence. My subconscious was compelling me to do something that would let me, if even for a moment, cut through the blaring noise in my head and be aware in the moment. Unfortunately, my subconscious didn't care about the consequences of the actions, and those consequences usually led to me thinking I was a bad person.<br /><br />The idea that being lost in my thoughts caused the stupid things I was doing might seem pretty obvious. What's less obvious is that being trapped in internal dialogue causes the things I do that help create more internal dialogue, and because of this the problem isn't that I'm doing stupid hurtful things - those words and actions are just the symptoms.<br /><br />That's when I knew there was a problem, and that the problem was between my ears.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-13081171593441374752009-02-19T22:50:00.005+00:002009-02-23T22:54:37.340+00:00SufferingAround the age of 13, after a sixth school change in five years, I had my first depressive episode. I have no idea if there was a mania that preceded it - this was before I knew to look for the mania to warn of the depression that follows. <br /><br />It's easy to use words like mania and depression now but at the time and for many years later I didn't have any labels for what I was experiencing. What surprises me most, in retrospect, is how unaware I was that there might be a problem. Each soaring high was taken as my birthright and each inevitable crash filled my head with its own circumstances. I didn't see the pattern until I was over 30, despite spending months at a time hiding from the world.<br /><br />I couldn't see the problem because my mind was too full of thoughts, but it might seem odd that none of my friends and family noticed. Well, that's not entirely true... they noticed I'd stop returning their calls for months at a time, they noticed I'd be in love one day and on to the ugly break-up the next, they noticed that I went from "fair-haired-boy" to "persona-non-grata" at job after job. Drama after drama. But they didn't notice I was sick. They didn't notice because when they were around I hid it by paying attention to them... it's funny the way people think those who pay them attention are the sanest people in the room.<br /><br />And they loved it. Until, that is, I'd be so spun out, so lost in the depressed result of an earlier manic episode, that I didn't have the capacity to hide in plain sight by focusing on them. So I'd hide under the covers and unplug the phone, and let them think I'm lame because I didn't have a better explanation to give them.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-66684234603609103292009-02-19T03:29:00.003+00:002009-02-24T22:34:37.611+00:00LovingCompelling person rivets my attention. It is transcendent.<br /><br />Later, when no longer with that person, thoughts of them appear. Illusion and indulgence.<br /><br />Deep breath in: "I am grateful for this person," deep breath out, "so compelling that they serve," deep breath in, "as a reminder to return," deep breath out "to the present moment". Indulgence over. Relationship kept in the present moment, not in my head, no paradigms constructed.<br /><br />No hiding from thoughts - instead identifying the thoughts and being grateful for the chance to return, if even for a moment, to the here and now. With this key all despair leads to nirvana. We don't have to stop our minds spinning, we simply learn to notice the spinning, and the subject of the spinning... and give thanks while we breathe. Self-judgment removed from the process.<br /><br />Once today.<br />Maybe 3 times tomorrow.<br />A dozen the next day.<br />Too many to count the following day.<br />At the end of a week...<br /><br />Life changed. Slowly slowly we start noticing the flowers growing in the cracks in the sidewalks.<br /><br />Anyone can find out the truth of these words by doing the practice. No points for "belief". The infinite will reveal itself in a way that transcends "belief" as a result of doing the practice.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-30846806416712680782009-02-02T21:38:00.002+00:002009-02-02T21:41:54.050+00:00LimboToo awake to be of the world,<br />Too attached to be a sadhu,<br />So not committed to either.<br /><br />Could enjoy proper debauchery,<br />But not debauched enough.<br />Could be a Bodhisattva,<br />But my hand's up Maya's skirt.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-12238245105245470132009-01-31T06:04:00.025+00:002009-01-31T09:00:06.918+00:00A Bold DiagnosisI paused on my way into the office. My mind was clear, my thoughts made sense... but something was wrong. Very wrong. The previous few days I'd had some trouble speaking. Well, not with speaking, but with what I was saying.<br /><br />The psychiatrist's receptionist looked up when I opened the door. She smiled, and I smiled back. This won't be so hard, I thought. I can talk to her, she's adorable! I loved her short, black bangs and professional-yet-maybe-freaky-underneath look.<br /><br />"May I help you?" she asked.<br /><br />I took a deep breath. "I'll bet you have a slutty tattoo on the small of your back," I heard myself say.<br /><br />"Pardon?"<br /><br />Oh God oh God oh God, this was going badly. "Don't listen to me. I'm an idiot. That's why I'm here," I blurted. Her smile was gone and I couldn't help trying to bring it back. Say something kind, maybe funny, try to lighten the suddenly cool mood, I thought. "Just because you're whorish doesn't mean you don't have lots of great qualities." Oh my.<br /><br />She looked at me with contempt. I didn't blame her. "Are you here to see Dr. Merde?" she mono-toned in my direction.<br /><br />"Yes. Parsons. Two o'clock appointment." I couldn't leave it alone. "And there's no shame in having a bad haircut." I winced.<br /><br />It must have been professionalism that allowed her to take a deep breath and pick up the phone. "Your two o'clock is here." She put down the receiver and spoke without looking at me. "The doctor will see you now." <br /><br />Not a moment too soon. She motioned me to the door and I kept my eyes on the floor as I entered the inner chamber. There, behind a large oak desk, was the silver-haired Dr. Merde. He came around to greet me, offered me a chair and took a facing seat. "So, Mr. Parsons, what brings you in today?"<br /><br />Must. Be. Careful. I focused on my hands in my lap and spoke as precisely as I could. "I'm... having... trouble... talking... lately."<br /><br />The doctor nodded. "Something's causing you to speak abnormally slowly?"<br /><br />"No... Not trouble talking, really... trouble with what I've been saying."<br /><br />"Go on."<br /><br />"A few days ago... I started saying stupid things. Things I don't really mean, and sometimes the exact opposite of how I really feel."<br /><br />"When did you first notice this?"<br /><br />"Last week. I was talking to a woman in my building who's son is fighting in Iraq. I told her 'al Queda has some good ideas'. What was that? Some good ideas?"<br /><br />"Interesting."<br /><br />"Later on, I told one of my clients that September 11, 2001 was one of the best days of my life. After he told me his cousin died in the attack."<br /><br />"Hmm."<br /><br />"The next day I got pulled over by a cop for an illegal turn. When he came to the window I said, 'It's a good thing I got all the drugs out of the car yesterday.' There were never any drugs... September 11 was an awful day... al Queda's got ideas? And I <span style="font-style:italic;">love</span> your receptionist's hair."<br /><br />"What does my receptionist have to do with anything?"<br /><br />"Never mind that... can you help me? Why am I blurting stupid, inaccurate tripe all of a sudden?"<br /><br />Dr. Merde stroked his gray chin hairs and looked off into the distance. "So, before this... you weren't saying stupid things?"<br /><br />He had me there. "Well... I guess I've always said stupid things, but usually just clumsily insensitive. Lately it's been aggressively stupid, not even bothering to be insensitive, just patently offensive."<br /><br />"Tell me, Mr. Parsons, what do you do for a living?"<br /><br />"Why do you ask?"<br /><br />"Humor me."<br /><br />I shrugged. "Business. This and that. Whatever I can to get by."<br /><br />More chin hair stroking. "Don't be offended, but do you tend to be, how to say... half-assed in your business affairs?"<br /><br />"Half-assed? How do you mean?" I realized my question was a dodge.<br /><br />"Yes, you know, missing deadlines, making promises you can't keep, staying out late before important morning meetings, that sort of thing."<br /><br />I wanted to argue, but I had to admit he might be right. "How can anyone as old as you possibly know anything?" I said, which struck me as less than an outright admission.<br /><br />He wasn't fazed. "Yes. Quite. And your relationships... have you often let people down?"<br /><br />This guy was good. My life had been marked to that point by disappointing those who'd believed in me. I wanted to compliment him. "Did they even have medical school back when you were a student?"<br /><br />"Interesting. Have you ever heard of acute hypermanuria?"<br /><br />"No."<br /><br />"It's very similar to types of blood poisoning, when toxins in the body start to excrete through rashes and pus-filled bumps on the skin."<br /><br />"I haven't had a rash."<br /><br />"Yes. With acute hypermanuria, the, er, toxin, if you will, comes out in a different way."<br /><br />I furrowed my brow. "It comes out in my words? What kind of toxin is it?"<br /><br />"Shit."<br /><br />"Shit?"<br /><br />"Yes. I'm afraid you're full of shit." <br /><br />A bold diagnosis. "Full of shit? That's a medical condition?"<br /><br />"Over the years your irresponsibility and disappointing actions have accumulated a mental residue, if you will. At first it simply made it harder for you to see the needs and concerns of others, but over time there have been so many of these disappointing episodes that the sheer volume of shit is now escaping from you in random spasms. Shit spasms, you might say."<br /><br />You might. "Full of shit. I'll be damned. I guess I've always suspected it. I just didn't know it could be so obvious."<br /><br />The doctor nodded. "That's one of the symptoms. Those with acute hypermanuria are often the last to realize how full of shit they are, but those around you probably noticed it."<br /><br />"Why didn't they say anything?"<br /><br />"Many reasons. Many, if not most, people probably like you. Another symptom is eagerness to please. But more likely, people <span style="font-style:italic;">have</span> told you - when you're full of shit it's hard to hear the truth."<br /><br />I sat for a moment, thinking back to some of the things I'd been told by my friends and family in the past. Slowly it dawned on me... they'd been trying to tell me all along. I shook my head sadly. "Is there anything I can do for this condition? I don't suppose there's a medicine that helps?"<br /><br />"No medicine, no... but there's hope for you still."<br /><br />"What can I do?"<br /><br />"It will be very hard."<br /><br />"Harder than being a September 11th admirer? Please, tell me what I need to do."<br /><br />"It's hard to do, but simple to understand. It's just this - do all that you can do in the present, and never make a commitment to the future. If you do this faithfully, eventually you'll no longer be full of shit."<br /><br />"That's all?" I asked.<br /><br />"Believe me, that's a very large order. And the easier you think it will be, the more full of shit you are. You'll know you're particularly full of shit whenever one of your stupid statements pops out, and you'll know you're better when you're able to say what you mean, and mean what you say." He sat up with a satisfied look on his face. "I'm afraid our time is up."<br /><br />I stood and reached across to shake his hand, feeling optimistic for the first time in weeks. The doctor's diagnosis made sense and I was certain I was on the road to recovery. Doing all I could in the present moment and making no commitments to the future was going to be a snap now that I knew how important it was. I smiled at the doctor. "I don't know what made me think it might help to see an old coot like you," I said. <br /><br />He smiled sadly. "It's going to be a long recovery."SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-12305373341314800022008-06-25T13:34:00.006+01:002008-06-25T22:41:12.261+01:00I'm 50 Years Old<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNv8Ya1QpXyH4X7wpm9R7ctsN52qEHl8VUpB7KBMtOPOmQtR2vnvGXdAl9V0f7VvAUkukf-HCMk8zctwdjksMYQZ3-EglcP3OfeFgzSSlmgDO6iHwVBciMj5YoiqXGZBWJj7A8NzgeMOg/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNv8Ya1QpXyH4X7wpm9R7ctsN52qEHl8VUpB7KBMtOPOmQtR2vnvGXdAl9V0f7VvAUkukf-HCMk8zctwdjksMYQZ3-EglcP3OfeFgzSSlmgDO6iHwVBciMj5YoiqXGZBWJj7A8NzgeMOg/s200/Picture+1.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215798740982717346" /></a><br />I was born in 1958. Dwight Eisenhower was President of the United States, "I Love Lucy" was the top rated television program and the world was in black and white. Ancient history.<br /><br />Recently I visited a website with current pictures and profiles of my high school friends and was shocked to see so many grandparents smiling back at me. Is that the same kind of face I see in the mirror? Is the youthfulness I feel an illusion, a trick of the mind that each of us engage in to get through the day? I'm not sure.<br /><br />Last weekend I went to London for a 24 hour trance party and was my usual self, which is to say I busted it full power. I didn't feel old seeing the 20 and 30-somethings sitting, exhausted, against the wall while I jumped at 150 bpm. It isn't about chronological age and I guess it never was. But there was one giant difference, for me at least - being so close to my 50th birthday I was aware that each time I walk onto the dance floor I'm one day closer to my last dance. That's been true since the beginning, of course, but last weekend it was at the front of my mind.<br /><br />The knowledge of the eventual end of my trancing ways didn't make me sad - quite the opposite. I spent the entire party with a huge smile, enjoying doing what I love and loving it all the more because I'm not guaranteed the chance to do it ever again. Every part of the party was beautiful, including the three hour bus and train trip back to Brighton. It was beautiful because I'm alive.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZIdtAQJPgvEMPfcx1bUjOhWOnmSIUwWP15nEOo77SGO6Ynmd_ApVR2gf48LhXJXjq41qrxiMUwIy1P3k9Fdam9qSufJUkUOo6yxt4vgNaiGtjG6ZSZykmKhExBiPB1FMvfYlD8NKk4c/s1600-h/IMG_3333.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZIdtAQJPgvEMPfcx1bUjOhWOnmSIUwWP15nEOo77SGO6Ynmd_ApVR2gf48LhXJXjq41qrxiMUwIy1P3k9Fdam9qSufJUkUOo6yxt4vgNaiGtjG6ZSZykmKhExBiPB1FMvfYlD8NKk4c/s200/IMG_3333.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215908732041969154" /></a><br /><br />My life has been - is - idyllic. I've had pain and trouble, just like everyone else, but I'm grateful for this life. And in a way I'm grateful that this life is finite - the certain end of our lives makes the time we spend here more precious. Every day we can have the proverbial "last cookie" feeling, the special enjoyment that comes when we cherish the end of a pleasant experience.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-44310916510427440952008-04-03T10:48:00.005+01:002008-04-09T11:25:55.774+01:00Sadness in Spring<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHmkLTAd7CeLsgLkFzVGs-mQVlymN7EVjazsW-QtwEVfVmOdBWTpte6Eoiluh5HaexmdcK6S0hetADbGa1PhMF4oJoIPfSprCffM4iMkxMXPw3OiBx6W17_mP7zs7UNwr-UWZH4fvqqRs/s1600-h/IMG_3307.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHmkLTAd7CeLsgLkFzVGs-mQVlymN7EVjazsW-QtwEVfVmOdBWTpte6Eoiluh5HaexmdcK6S0hetADbGa1PhMF4oJoIPfSprCffM4iMkxMXPw3OiBx6W17_mP7zs7UNwr-UWZH4fvqqRs/s320/IMG_3307.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184954056389197314" /></a><br /><br />I got up this morning in Brighton and saw the tulips in full bloom in the back garden. They helped a little... I feel sad today, even though I know my sadness is misplaced. A friend in San Francisco is very ill. (Update: My friend passed away April 3)<br /><br />It's not about me, of course. My sadness is a drop in the ocean compared to the burden borne by her and her family. For the past two years I've followed her progress as she's fought bravely against a serious and determined disease. I've been thrilled by her courage and the love and support given by our close-knit SF community. I love her, and I'm just one of the many.<br /><br />Several years ago, before she got sick, this wonderful woman helped me during one of the few times in my life when I've experienced true fear. I thought I was going to die, which was ridiculous to everyone but me at the time. My lovely friend helped me past that moment, calming me to the point where I was able to accept whatever fate awaited me. My crisis passed with the calming, but I learned a lesson about acceptance that stays with me to this day, that will make my own eventual passing easier.<br /><br />I love her.<br /><br />I appreciate the strength she's shown during the illness and treatment. She's done it for us... for me. We can't bear the thought of her leaving us. I've wanted her to fight - for us, for me - while trying not to begrudge her the calm acceptance she teaches us. Yesterday she was moved into palliative care, a sign that it's time for all of us to look inside and find the place of loving acceptance that celebrates her life without attachment to outcome.<br /><br />I love her.<br /><br />None of us are ready for you to go, V... but none of us will blame you if you leave. Where, after all, can you go? You've made too much a difference in our lives, you're planted too deeply in our hearts to ever truly leave us. I'll carry you with me until my last breath, a moment I know will be easier because of what I learned at your feet.<br /><br />I love you.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Update</span><br /><br />Update, April 3: My friend passed away this morning. I'm grateful her suffering is over. Afterwards I mentioned her and the effect it's had on our community to a friend in Brighton. He asked me what I meant by "community", whether I just meant our group of friends. It was hard to explain what happens when hundreds of open-hearted people come together and dance together, hour after hour, intermittently sitting and bonding, weekend after weekend, year after year. Did we ever spend that kind of time with our parents or brothers and sisters? Maybe some of us did, but for many of us the relationships we've formed on the dance floor are the closest of our lives, spread among a community that's too close to be called a "network".<br /><br />V wasn't someone who stood on the edge of this family... she was in front, dancing with more energy and loving with more acceptance than almost anyone. I might be far away physically but i could never go far enough away to leave her behind.<br /><br />And I don't think she can go anywhere where she'll leave us behind... but i'll still miss dancing with her. In her physical absence I'll try to internalize the ever-present lesson - this incarnation comes to an end. Today we should all get out in the sunshine.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-8222824668905199352008-03-13T21:26:00.004+00:002008-03-13T21:34:46.718+00:00A message for a friendI think this speaks for itself...<br /><br />Dear _____<br /><br />A couple of weeks ago I was over and you asked me a question - "Why do I do that?" You looked at me for a second and then said you knew I didn't know... but I had an answer. It just didn't seem like a good time to go into it.<br /><br />First, I don't for a moment think you do anything that merits judgment against yourself. The activities you described didn't seem bad or wrong to me, and even if they did (believe me, they didn't) it wouldn't be important anyway. It's the question itself that's interesting because I, just like most sentient beings, have asked that question so often in the past.<br /><br />As is my experience, any question I keep asking eventually receives an answer. One day, about 12 years ago, I was sitting in my apartment in San Francisco and the answer popped into my head, almost like a vision. I was so taken with what seemed like obvious truth that I sat down and wrote it out in an essay of sorts. Being a dufus, I don't have that essay handy - it's filed with a lot of other stuff I'll probably never see again in a box somewhere in California. But no matter... the answer is welded into my consciousness.<br /><br />We do what we do, whatever it is, to have the experience of the present moment.<br /><br />We didn't squeeze ourselves out of our mothers' wombs to be lost in our thoughts, stuck in our heads in seemingly endless thought-loops. We crave the experience of being alive, of being in the present moment experiencing that to which our paths have led. When we get lost in our thoughts our subconscious minds compel us toward actions or behaviors which will return us to the present moment. Unfortunately, when we let our subconscious lead us to present moment behaviors we don't always make the most enlightened of choices.<br /><br />The evidence is everywhere... people who have inappropriate sex with people they don't even like, sometimes screwing up relationships with people they love, because no one is thinking about yesterday or tomorrow when they "cum" with a new person; people who spend money they don't have because at the point of a purchase they're brought into the present by their new "thing"; people who cut or mutilate themselves because when the knife breaks the skin the "voices go away"... there's a common thread in each of these examples - after the action is over we're thrown back into our heads even more forcefully, spinning on the questions of "why did i do it" and judging ourselves for having done whatever it is. These questions and judgments add to the already blaring background noise in our heads and lead inexorably to... more of the same, as our subconscious compels us toward the same behaviors because of the desire to be present, to be alive.<br /><br />Not all of the behaviors are damaging - in fact most of them aren't. Getting tattooed or pierced, exciting hobbies, dancing, etc are just less harmful examples of the same desire to return to the present moment. There's nothing wrong with it unless we're causing pain in our lives and/or the lives of others with our actions. It's these harmful actions that cause us to ask the question in the first place - "why do I do what I do?"<br /><br />This answer wouldn't be worth much if it didn't also come with a suggestion of how to avoid the actions that create pain, that create more spinning and karma and force us to return to the same behavior to make the mental noise go away, if even for a moment. The answer is simple - but the application is, at first, difficult. When feeling compelled to do something that we suspect will bring pain or karma into our lives we can lessen the desire for this action by taking a different path to the present moment. The simplest, most accessible path is to return to our bodies via our breath. Three deep breaths can work like magic.<br /><br />One of the beauties of this is that belief has nothing to do with it - you don't need to believe what you can discover for yourself.<br /><br />So... whether it's returning to one's body via breath, or (as one friend does) jumping up in the air and turning around (he swears by it and it makes sense), or reciting the lord's prayer (Jesus wasn't stupid) - one needn't be led by the subconscious to do what will eventually hurt. But more importantly, once we know why we want to do these things they lose much of their power over us.<br /><br />We're here for one thing, and one thing only - to have the experience of the present moment. Our responsibility to ourselves (and the rest of creation) is simple: pay attention where we are, and not to what's in our heads. In doing so we regain power over our actions.<br /><br />You asked, after all.<br /><br />Love, GarySFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-77477044693592958462008-01-05T15:36:00.001+00:002008-06-25T22:46:16.866+01:00Football Hooligan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVQ0sMJlMItwkNR_ZleB8-tMeFJzvOMQD5Wu1fnLj1eAmXDtoxb59vt3W5R7OzBP09RkX4T7FBNRM9e7CrTB-VOAwTh-ZvhMunb6FAyP0U-m2zgjeO4L5X2pK_xvwx7wUq_TgvC5F9Ddg/s1600-h/DSC00849.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVQ0sMJlMItwkNR_ZleB8-tMeFJzvOMQD5Wu1fnLj1eAmXDtoxb59vt3W5R7OzBP09RkX4T7FBNRM9e7CrTB-VOAwTh-ZvhMunb6FAyP0U-m2zgjeO4L5X2pK_xvwx7wUq_TgvC5F9Ddg/s320/DSC00849.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152022537713957058" /></a><br />The day we moved into Aussie Matt's house he informed us it was an Everton supporting household... fair enough. I took on the Toffies, the lesser known team from Liverpool, as my favorite even though I really didn't have much taste for football. I have to admit I warmed up to it, especially since Everton went on a winning spree as soon as I moved in, winning 10 and drawing 1 without loss after I moved in... I'm golden!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakJJNBnq2Is6TsfK9z8s36QdR6qtyD8Jj405kA4TLHsH5VAsuZQxnU4jb2g_ueKWBwjmyZOCJcrH7AnTE5eyRLh98R9Tz4wMT8kYIY0CRVbi4sR1TBRXRKx_8IwsELSwSxtLz7tkw27I/s1600-h/DSC00855.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakJJNBnq2Is6TsfK9z8s36QdR6qtyD8Jj405kA4TLHsH5VAsuZQxnU4jb2g_ueKWBwjmyZOCJcrH7AnTE5eyRLh98R9Tz4wMT8kYIY0CRVbi4sR1TBRXRKx_8IwsELSwSxtLz7tkw27I/s320/DSC00855.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152022546303891666" /></a><br /><br />For Christmas Matt took me and a few friends up to London for the West Ham vs. Everton match in the quarterfinals of the Carling Cup... He even gave me his Everton "kit" to wear, without warning me that wearing that shirt at an away game meant I was the most likely to get beaten up. No matter...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxnLK_aQ5GThBx1QdlUrEq2vepWnDEMIK1jHdvlcnM8nSnTGXbK5oFfcNrqef_5-jOEPus0rc1EyomFVwonrtXoK0KgNY3UkWX3sFBN2NYTTmUI8bfpVZz7P2qfK5pqVYdxosXzfP2tPQ/s1600-h/DSC00857.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxnLK_aQ5GThBx1QdlUrEq2vepWnDEMIK1jHdvlcnM8nSnTGXbK5oFfcNrqef_5-jOEPus0rc1EyomFVwonrtXoK0KgNY3UkWX3sFBN2NYTTmUI8bfpVZz7P2qfK5pqVYdxosXzfP2tPQ/s320/DSC00857.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152022550598858978" /></a><br /><br />It was a lot of fun - in English football they pack the "away" supporters into one end of the stadium and keep them separated from the the home fans by the police, which reduces but does not eliminate the fights. The fans like to sing songs to one another... my favorite, sung to the tune of "Que Sera, Sera", was:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Steve Gerrard, Gerrard,<br />He runs over kids with cars,<br />His wife takes it up the arse,<br />Steve Gerrard, Gerrard.</span><br /><br />Classy! But somehow funny - you had to be there.<br /><br />It was an exciting game, with Everton scoring in the last 3 minutes to snatch a road win - the away side went crazy and I couldn't help being swept up in it, joining in the chant honoring the goal scorer (Yakubu): <span style="font-style:italic;">"Feed the Yak and he will score!"<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCmNf4fTXwoduDunWMabZNUKO_01TcBUZRsYZhm7VP_qrEqmz81HY3S2ijlerWeEWnzI0g3BFbYSiQDTBCfYwX_bzMLbThKxn0Vgnf7SPHHlOjoFoh56zkvLOlYyNmp-Znw3AS7WXP2U/s1600-h/DSC00864.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCmNf4fTXwoduDunWMabZNUKO_01TcBUZRsYZhm7VP_qrEqmz81HY3S2ijlerWeEWnzI0g3BFbYSiQDTBCfYwX_bzMLbThKxn0Vgnf7SPHHlOjoFoh56zkvLOlYyNmp-Znw3AS7WXP2U/s320/DSC00864.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152022550598858994" /></a><br /><br />Matt, Good Guy Gary, Stu, Neil and I had a great time, and Everton is currently high up the table in the Premier League... Go Toffies!SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-30008742985749023982007-11-27T22:06:00.000+00:002007-11-29T17:33:29.504+00:00Recharging in Brighton<a href="http://i112.photobucket.com/albums/n190/sfgary/IMG_2864.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://i112.photobucket.com/albums/n190/sfgary/IMG_2864.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />It's been exactly a year since we left California on our current trip. We recently arrived in Brighton, England where we're visiting friends and working on www.erinslist.com before returning to India. The posts below are about some of our adventures over the past year.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-71852110880447706932007-11-27T20:31:00.000+00:002007-11-29T17:34:42.148+00:00The Museum of Murdered Birds<a href="http://i112.photobucket.com/albums/n190/sfgary/IMG_2997-1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://i112.photobucket.com/albums/n190/sfgary/IMG_2997-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Recent headlines in the UK are about bodies being dug up out of a serial killer's yard. They remind me of a recent visit to the Museum of Murdered Birds in Brighton.<br /><br />Actually, it was the Booth Museum, just up the street from our place at Aussie Matt's. Every time we walked past Erin pointed at the poster for the current display: DEATH. She was determined to see it so we walked over last Sunday. Inside there was a sign that explained the show very succinctly. Here's the "money" quote:<br /><br />"His (Edward Booth's) parents left him well supplied with money, which he used to fund his passionate interest in birds. Booth's love of birds led him to take an interest in taxidermy - the art of mounting animals in a lifelike manner - which allowed him to fill his house with the specimens he had shot."<br /><br />I assume Mr. Booth showed "love" for his friends and family differently.<br /><br />The dead, stuffed birds are in glass display cases, surrounding a room filled with random skeletons. My favorites are <a href=http://currentillusions.blogspot.com/2007/11/museum-of-murdered-birds.html><img src=http://i112.photobucket.com/albums/n190/sfgary/IMG_2980.jpg alt=here></a> and <a href=http://currentillusions.blogspot.com/2007/11/museum-of-murdered-birds.html><img src=http://i112.photobucket.com/albums/n190/sfgary/IMG_2981.jpg alt=here></a><br /><br />I can't bring myself to say any of the bird displays were "favorites" but this one <a href=http://currentillusions.blogspot.com/2007/11/museum-of-murdered-birds.html><img src=http://i112.photobucket.com/albums/n190/sfgary/IMG_2992.jpg alt=here></a><br />brought up a question: did Mr. Booth love the rabbit as much as he loved the eagle?<br /><br />Our intrepid naturalist had a thing for squirrels, too. <a href=http://currentillusions.blogspot.com/2007/11/museum-of-murdered-birds.html><img src=http://i112.photobucket.com/albums/n190/sfgary/IMG_2972.jpg alt=here></a><br />This is just creepy.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-37493814333952418152007-11-27T18:37:00.001+00:002007-11-29T17:35:46.381+00:00The Secret Waterfall<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfCBv_jLUiso6M5StYMdNjtmx9AutXxisQHW4zq18OyBbPktBXgFzK38WnRSQVuY6rAKyqW1q7tW1P0hk64v2iTOO7litGDbbuuevSgIXmIr3ziw6v793NwCSMoSZ6CGrn313opM7Xxw/s1600-h/IMG_1611.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfCBv_jLUiso6M5StYMdNjtmx9AutXxisQHW4zq18OyBbPktBXgFzK38WnRSQVuY6rAKyqW1q7tW1P0hk64v2iTOO7litGDbbuuevSgIXmIr3ziw6v793NwCSMoSZ6CGrn313opM7Xxw/s320/IMG_1611.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137614657987003954" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6YQ9wSyYrnTZR7m0tgzV1zCBth6sCFbJjPN8Uy32Hzvl3p5bkO-miiYJ4hcVoHljBo0EcLJpzNeQi1rCrPgKeokir9zFQZ3Gk0kEWZXv7AiZpro76p4GxtEOjJzVh5emJEyQKtE946bg/s1600-h/IMG_1617.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6YQ9wSyYrnTZR7m0tgzV1zCBth6sCFbJjPN8Uy32Hzvl3p5bkO-miiYJ4hcVoHljBo0EcLJpzNeQi1rCrPgKeokir9zFQZ3Gk0kEWZXv7AiZpro76p4GxtEOjJzVh5emJEyQKtE946bg/s320/IMG_1617.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137614657987003970" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZSUMS59G_Zx449qyIfdyhlR4QD9fyrL-8B_G4sncuHZ0RQrtryh-E1F5Hf3JHD2iTRWs6UJMhBEirCiigAYv7zPNcVWadGS9brGaXgBYFnYVdBowBaNRsRoIdP-d5hew7XkTqPGxeqc/s1600-h/IMG_1629.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZSUMS59G_Zx449qyIfdyhlR4QD9fyrL-8B_G4sncuHZ0RQrtryh-E1F5Hf3JHD2iTRWs6UJMhBEirCiigAYv7zPNcVWadGS9brGaXgBYFnYVdBowBaNRsRoIdP-d5hew7XkTqPGxeqc/s320/IMG_1629.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137614662281971282" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEVg2JBU2oeLei4V5F7zQqCYF_VvgaWAWa-VojIkESOSopbg_I2n91JXjBA3rAZ2NrLzKqZxCuH-1ShW4oF55ohO5vjCF4CO2NKGFmi2Efza106rLXiB7BEtAe3LyhFVHOK0vr3dD11g/s1600-h/IMG_1636.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEVg2JBU2oeLei4V5F7zQqCYF_VvgaWAWa-VojIkESOSopbg_I2n91JXjBA3rAZ2NrLzKqZxCuH-1ShW4oF55ohO5vjCF4CO2NKGFmi2Efza106rLXiB7BEtAe3LyhFVHOK0vr3dD11g/s320/IMG_1636.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137614662281971298" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcRqZ0nnVtVeXo9QD5QatFTCv78YBBYh37eymhOz8wCYAxa9DBr9zLso07NM6i_UIGy9neZdi9e79kcjnpgLbffvM6db-JheT5fMEEJHrf-1lRs4_zEd8fRQQhnC-EiG-DNWrL8DmrwA/s1600-h/IMG_1653.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcRqZ0nnVtVeXo9QD5QatFTCv78YBBYh37eymhOz8wCYAxa9DBr9zLso07NM6i_UIGy9neZdi9e79kcjnpgLbffvM6db-JheT5fMEEJHrf-1lRs4_zEd8fRQQhnC-EiG-DNWrL8DmrwA/s400/IMG_1653.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137591860300596770" /></a><br />When Andy first mentioned a camping trip to a waterfall he was very clear - we weren't to tell anyone the location. The spot is too perfect to let it get overrun by, well, others like us, travellers in Goa looking for the next big adventure. I'll keep up my end of the bargain.<br /><br />Six of us planned a 10 day trip to the remote jungle location, which sounded great until Erin and I realized it meant carrying enough food and supplies on our backs to live for 10 days. Andy, Maria, two Erics, Erin and I hired a car and driver to take us several hours away from north Goa to the village nearest the waterfall and hiked the last three hours to camp. Andy and Maria had been there before, but when they turned off the path into what looked to the rest of us like deep jungle I was momentarily worried. Maria assured us they knew where they were going, that we were in fact following a path of sorts, but I was unsure until we came out on a beautiful jungle stream. Our camp was a small clearing on the edge of a deep pool.<br /><br />For the next nine days we swam in the pool, hiked up and down the river to find other pools and small waterfalls to play in, kept a fire burning all night to keep away the panthers that live in that part of the jungle (which required hours a day of foraging for downed logs to burn) and ate the meals cooked mostly by the two Erics. Canadian Eric and Andy stumbled onto a big cat's den on one excursion, returning breathless and briefly afraid after seeing the bones and half-eaten carcasses of cows and goats. The den was two km from our camp and after that we were all (Erin in particular) a little more vigilant about the nightly fire. We weren't too worried - six humans pissing and shitting (buried, of course) in a hundred-yard circle around our camp seemed like a great way to mark our territory, and the big cats of India are wary of hunters.<br /><br />The real adventure was on our way out. There's a railway switching station at the bottom of the mountain below the falls, and we'd learned a train to Goa stopped there at 4 am every morning for two minutes. We decided, for reasons that made sense at the time, to hike down the steep path to the switching station, a two hour walk at least, at midnight to try to jump on the train.<br /><br />The steep walk down the mountain was grueling and dark - we weren't as weighed down as the walk in but each of us were still carrying at least 15-20 kilos on our backs. The worst almost happened - in the narrowest place, over a 100 meter drop, Erin slipped and almost went over the edge. To the others it looked like I'd grabbed her in time but it was only her twisted knee that saved her life when it caught on the way down. We were all shaken by the close call and Erin suffered what at best was a strained ligament, but adrenaline kept us moving.<br /><br />We were relieved when we reached the switching station about an hour before the train. The lonely station attendant was scared out of his wits when we walked up in the dark. Andy and Eric speak Hindi well enough to learn that he thought the voices he heard coming up the track were ghosts. When we sat down to wait Erin's knee started to swell.<br /><br />The arrival of the train was surreal. It rolled to a stop in the darkness and we ran out to climb on, but the doors of each car were locked from the inside. We ran the length of the train, trying all the doors and calling out to anyone onboard to open one for us. Finally, at the last car, a man got up and unlocked the door - just as the train started moving. I stopped running - I figured we'd missed the train and would have to figure something out. But Andy jumped up on the ladder and hauled Maria in before we knew it. I heard him yell "Erin, you're next!" and she gamely limped/ran over the loose rocks and got her foot up on the ladder. As she tried to lift her injured leg into the door she suddenly fell backwards, hanging onto the moving train with one arm and leg, the other limbs flailing precariously close to the rolling wheels of the train. There was no time to panic - running behind her, I got my hands firmly on her butt and launched her through the door. American Eric was the last one on, running at full speed to catch up.<br /><br />Once we were all safely inside the train we sat and looked at each other with stunned silence. A big adventure was over. Erin limped for two months.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-45603397413414292592007-11-27T17:43:00.000+00:002007-11-28T13:43:05.138+00:00Mayday with the MaoistsWe didn't go to Kathmandu this spring to investigate the Maoist rebellion or the birth pangs of a new republic, but to renew our Indian visas and spend a few days in the cool air of the Himalaya. We read the local English language newspapers (my favorite article was a sarcastic put-down of the US ambassador for characterizing GW Bush as one of the global giants of environmentalism) and the amount of Maoist activity they described was surprising, particularly the "bandhs", or strikes, that effectively closed the rest of the country off from Kathmandu. The lead article in the Kathmandu Post one day was an interview with the leader of the Maoists, now part of the interim government. He was clear in his demand - the interim government must declare Nepal a republic by May 15, or there would be consequences for Nepal's recent peaceful facade.<br /><br />The next morning I noticed, in passing, that it was May 1st. Hmm. Mayday. Maoists. It could be interesting, I mentioned to Erin.<br /><br />There have been problems in Nepal for several years. Erin and I first visited the mountain kingdom in 2001, just months after the entire royal family, with the exception of the King's brother, were gunned down in highly suspicious circumstances. The "official" story was that a love-sick prince had, at a large celebration, killed his parents, siblings, assembled relatives and then himself because he wasn't being allowed to marry the woman of his choice. The only member of the family not present at the celebration became the new King. Conspiracy theories spring from less, but the people of Nepal seemed willing to accept the official version.<br /><br />Despite the palace intrigue, our visit in 2001 was amazingly free of difficulty. We toured and trekked and moved on after a month. The stories of the Maoist insurrection in the villages seemed very far away as we dined in Thamel (the tourist section of Kathmandu) and trekked part of the Annapurna circuit.<br /><br />Within a couple of years the situation in Nepal worsened, with the King eventually acceeding to the Prime Minister's wishes and disbanding the legislature. Big mistake. This led to an alliance between the Maoists and the displaced forces of democracy, which in turn created enough unrest that the King backed down. It was approximately a year ago that the interim government, with a large representation by the Maoists, took power with the charter to plan for the birth of a republic.<br /><br />Back to May. The talk in India this year has been the re-opening of Nepal, and it was confirmed by the crowds of rich westerners thronging the streets of Thamel. The shops were doing good business and the restaurants were full of steak-eating (in a Hindu country) trekkers. But everyday a new story in the paper... businessmen being assessed "special" taxes by armed Maoist youths, road closures (by the Maoists) on the way to Kathmandu to protest police actions elsewhere, beatings and even special license plates some of the Maoists were using on their vehicles. The government, and the people, seemed paralyzed by fear of the mostly young (and angry) "reds", and no one seemed willing or able to exert any control.<br /><br />Mayday. During breakfast we saw a small group of slogan-chanting, red-flag-waving marchers skirt the edge of Thamel. I foolishly thought that was the end of it. We decided to go to Durbar Square for the day and were convinced by a bicycle-rickshaw driver to go with him - he wanted the business worse than the taxi driver, and even though it would cost us more to be conveyed by pedal power, while sitting in the hot sun on a slow journey, we couldn't resist his near pleading.<br /><br />About 5 minutes out of Thamel we came upon a small group of red-flag-waving youths stopping and turning around traffic from the opposing direction. It was odd watching the hardened (and older) taxi drivers taking immediate instruction from the youths in rags. All vehicles turned around as soon as they were told, with no argument. Our rickshaw was passed through, as we seemed to be going in the direction they wanted us to go.<br /><br />As we approached the first major intersection we could see quite a few men with red headbands and flags, and four of them came running up and stopped our rickshaw. They were angry and seemingly drunk with power. One of them did most of the talking (yelling, actually), all of it to the rickshaw man. None of the Maoists even looked at me and Erin (surprising but appreciated - we seemed like excellent targets for angry young Reds, being carried along like colonials by the labor of another - an issue any fair-minded person fights with in Asia. Is it better to be politically correct or feed the rickshaw driver's family? I waver).<br /><br />After a few minutes watching from above, while the young Maoists refused to let the rickshaw either continue on or go back, Erin and I hopped down and started walking back toward our hotel. Before long we saw why the traffic was being diverted - thousands of red-flagged and headbanded marchers were coming our way on the narrow street. We pressed ourselves against the wall and watched them go by for about half and hour.<br /><br />Most of the marchers were having a great time - many looked drunk. I spotted "Eminem" and "Fitty Cent" t-shirts along with many other examples of American cultural hegemony. Mixed into the mostly male crowd were a few women. Most of the crowd seemed benign - except the stick wielders. Every few yards there were men, usually young and usually angry looking, walking along with sticks they used to clear the way or nudge the marchers along. They were scary, actually. One of them looked at us with pure malevolence as he passed. I couldn't resist meeting his stare - I hoped my expression was loving and accepting. He held my gaze until he was well past us.<br /><br />After waiting out the march we slowly walked back to Thamel. Along the way we saw some shopkeepers hanging royalist flags over the street - not so bravely done, coming 45 minutes after the march had passed. I tried asking some of the shopkeepers about the march and the Maoists in general but they all seemed very reluctant to say anything. "Too dangerous" is all I could get out of one of them.<br /><br />We were out of the country before May 15, the date when the Maoists' leader had insisted upon the declaration of a republic "or else" (my translation, not his words). In general my sympathies are with the rural poor and trade unionists who make up the majority of the Maoist movement - the monarchy has not served the people of Nepal and what I'm witnessing are the results of generations of unfair treatment. I have no position on the economic policies being espoused by the Maoists in Nepal - I haven't done the research to know what they demand, other than the end of the monarchy, and I can certainly support that.<br /><br />No matter what your politics you better keep an eye on the situation if you or anyone you know is planning a trip to Nepal in the near future. I'm not so sure it's as settled as the travel agents might have you believe.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141053698721771756.post-75836127888998502982007-11-27T16:57:00.000+00:002007-11-27T20:29:13.838+00:00Ma Ganga<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWtmnLXuztZQJcQxiUGFFRGYhDakN5CgW_Fn99BW3mbhvHNRsTerfTIrmOmDogqCyUEwT34QiO2PKtZQ1kq-vhc7fM4NXWBhGot-JYWaoCXPyG5678NkdaNCX9zky1jf2-VTJv5IPRlc/s1600-h/DSC02029.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWtmnLXuztZQJcQxiUGFFRGYhDakN5CgW_Fn99BW3mbhvHNRsTerfTIrmOmDogqCyUEwT34QiO2PKtZQ1kq-vhc7fM4NXWBhGot-JYWaoCXPyG5678NkdaNCX9zky1jf2-VTJv5IPRlc/s320/DSC02029.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137566794871457298" /></a><br />We left Goa in late April, just as it was getting very hot. The Himalaya is the cure for the season Indians call "the hot". After a month in Nepal (getting visas, eating western food in Thamel, dodging Maoist demonstrations) we joined friends from Los Angeles, Tom and Yvana, and followed the pilgrim route from Delhi through Haridwar and Rishkesh to Gangotri, where the Ganga falls out of the high Himalaya. From there we trekked along the holy river to its source.<br /><br />It's a full day's walk from Gangotri to Gaumukh, the glacier that's more or less considered to be the source of the Ganga, or Ganges as western maps like to call it. We spent the night in a government-owned dormatory (barn) four kilometers from the glacier and walked the rest of the way the second day. The last kilometers of the trek are hazardous - rockslides created by leaping Himalayan Mountain Goats sent rocks crashing down onto the narrow pathway. At one point, while we thought we were safely hiding behind a boulder from a slide, a grapefruit-sized stone rocketed between my and Yvana's heads, no more than a foot from either of us. After that we got very serious about watching the rocks - and mountain goats, above us.<br /><br />It was worth the effort once we reached Gaumukh, where it's said that immersing oneself in the freezing cold water wipes away seven generations of one's families sins. I did it, and it's as cold as you might expect for water pouring out of ice, but it was so dry that the water evaporated as soon as I stood up and felt the warm sunshine. Tom and Yvana got the holy cleasing too, but Erin said she hasn't sinned as much as the rest of us and contented herself with washing her face.<br /><br />Somehow the pictures of me in the water got erased - you wouldn't have wanted to be around the evening I discovered this and accused Erin of doing it - accidentally, of course, but they disappeared right after I showed her how to delete pictures. She resents the implication and in fact I hope she never reads this blog - it's a subject that should die a quiet death... We've moved on.<br /><br />But we're not here to cast aspersions, afterall. I'm more interested in the sins I've apparently washed away for me and my family. As I see it, I've got a lot of sinning in the bank and I intend to spend it all before I pass from this mortal coil... and since I took one for the entire family I guess all past family grudges are cleared up, too. What a relief!<br /><br />The Indian beaches get the publicity but the Himalaya is the best part of the subcontinent for me. It was interesting the way the Hindu pilgrms got friendlier and friendlier as we got closer to Gaumukh, closer to the source of Ma Ganga, the river that flows from Shiva's hair...<br /><br />Gaumukh is disappearing fast, like all the other glaciers in the world. I'm very happy I got to see it - it was worth the two day walk.SFGaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275535996805520859noreply@blogger.com0