Loving

Compelling person rivets my attention. It is transcendent.

Later, when no longer with that person, thoughts of them appear. Illusion and indulgence.

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.

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.

Once today.
Maybe 3 times tomorrow.
A dozen the next day.
Too many to count the following day.
At the end of a week...

Life changed. Slowly slowly we start noticing the flowers growing in the cracks in the sidewalks.

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.

Limbo

Too awake to be of the world,
Too attached to be a sadhu,
So not committed to either.

Could enjoy proper debauchery,
But not debauched enough.
Could be a Bodhisattva,
But my hand's up Maya's skirt.

A Bold Diagnosis

I 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.

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.

"May I help you?" she asked.

I took a deep breath. "I'll bet you have a slutty tattoo on the small of your back," I heard myself say.

"Pardon?"

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.

She looked at me with contempt. I didn't blame her. "Are you here to see Dr. Merde?" she mono-toned in my direction.

"Yes. Parsons. Two o'clock appointment." I couldn't leave it alone. "And there's no shame in having a bad haircut." I winced.

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."

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?"

Must. Be. Careful. I focused on my hands in my lap and spoke as precisely as I could. "I'm... having... trouble... talking... lately."

The doctor nodded. "Something's causing you to speak abnormally slowly?"

"No... Not trouble talking, really... trouble with what I've been saying."

"Go on."

"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."

"When did you first notice this?"

"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?"

"Interesting."

"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."

"Hmm."

"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 love your receptionist's hair."

"What does my receptionist have to do with anything?"

"Never mind that... can you help me? Why am I blurting stupid, inaccurate tripe all of a sudden?"

Dr. Merde stroked his gray chin hairs and looked off into the distance. "So, before this... you weren't saying stupid things?"

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."

"Tell me, Mr. Parsons, what do you do for a living?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Humor me."

I shrugged. "Business. This and that. Whatever I can to get by."

More chin hair stroking. "Don't be offended, but do you tend to be, how to say... half-assed in your business affairs?"

"Half-assed? How do you mean?" I realized my question was a dodge.

"Yes, you know, missing deadlines, making promises you can't keep, staying out late before important morning meetings, that sort of thing."

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.

He wasn't fazed. "Yes. Quite. And your relationships... have you often let people down?"

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?"

"Interesting. Have you ever heard of acute hypermanuria?"

"No."

"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."

"I haven't had a rash."

"Yes. With acute hypermanuria, the, er, toxin, if you will, comes out in a different way."

I furrowed my brow. "It comes out in my words? What kind of toxin is it?"

"Shit."

"Shit?"

"Yes. I'm afraid you're full of shit."

A bold diagnosis. "Full of shit? That's a medical condition?"

"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."

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."

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."

"Why didn't they say anything?"

"Many reasons. Many, if not most, people probably like you. Another symptom is eagerness to please. But more likely, people have told you - when you're full of shit it's hard to hear the truth."

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?"

"No medicine, no... but there's hope for you still."

"What can I do?"

"It will be very hard."

"Harder than being a September 11th admirer? Please, tell me what I need to do."

"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."

"That's all?" I asked.

"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."

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.

He smiled sadly. "It's going to be a long recovery."

I'm 50 Years Old

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.

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.

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.

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.



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.

Sadness in Spring

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)

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.

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.

I love her.

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.

I love her.

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.

I love you.

Update

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".

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.

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.

A message for a friend

I think this speaks for itself...

Dear _____

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.

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.

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.

We do what we do, whatever it is, to have the experience of the present moment.

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.

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.

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?"

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.

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.

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.

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.

You asked, after all.

Love, Gary

Football Hooligan

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!


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...


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:

Steve Gerrard, Gerrard,
He runs over kids with cars,
His wife takes it up the arse,
Steve Gerrard, Gerrard.

Classy! But somehow funny - you had to be there.

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): "Feed the Yak and he will score!"



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!