I want to whine. I am tired of having everything figured out mentally, yet nothing resolved in the heart. I really think that putting something on an intellectual level is really a cop out; it's hiding from the reality of who I am while I try to wrap up who I want to be in my mind. That way I can convince myself that "I am working on it" and doing nothing to really implement the thoughts and actions that need to be implemented to become who I want to be. The Apostle Paul says it is such in such a great way, "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." (Romans 7:15)
I have been hiding. I occupy my waking hours with anything but me. I don't want to look at me. I don't want to mess with me. It is too overwhelming. I don't know where to begin, and what's more, just maybe it's too damned hard to be what I want to be.
Deep within I hear the words: "Just surrender. It's that easy. Stop trying and just surrender to what is. Let it be."
It seems the more you want something, the harder it is to get. Perhaps the key is "I want." As long as "I want" I am still seeking for myself. I just don't get it, do I? I want to be who I want to be for myself. If I become what I want, it is a badge of honor, to my edification. The self is everywhere there. It passed my mind just briefly tonight that I need to put my eyes on the "other" and forget this entity called "self."
Ha! easier said than done!
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
All That I Am
It has been a long time since my last entry. My favorite story about Hillel the Elder is when a gentile came to Hillel and asked him to explain the entire Torah while standing on one foot. Hillel responded quickly, “What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow: this is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn.”
After all of my reading, after all of my thinking, after all of my explaining, after all of my prayer, I have found, after all, that life is quite simple. All we need to do is live it. Everything else is explanation and not worth the effort to write, or the breath to speak.
The bottom line in life is unconditional love of God, the Source, the Creator, the cosmic consciousness, whatever you want to call it. I am a spark from the Divine. I choose to live as a spark of the Divine, to be peace, to be love. Anything else I can say is just commentary.
This is probably my last post. All you have read will some day go into oblivion. But I am eternal. I will continue to live and to learn. I will be love. I will be peace.
As the Reverend Jerry Williams sings:
All that is in me, all that I am, there's nothing I withhold from Him
All that is in me, all that I am, will glorify the Lord
After all of my reading, after all of my thinking, after all of my explaining, after all of my prayer, I have found, after all, that life is quite simple. All we need to do is live it. Everything else is explanation and not worth the effort to write, or the breath to speak.
The bottom line in life is unconditional love of God, the Source, the Creator, the cosmic consciousness, whatever you want to call it. I am a spark from the Divine. I choose to live as a spark of the Divine, to be peace, to be love. Anything else I can say is just commentary.
This is probably my last post. All you have read will some day go into oblivion. But I am eternal. I will continue to live and to learn. I will be love. I will be peace.
As the Reverend Jerry Williams sings:
All that is in me, all that I am, there's nothing I withhold from Him
All that is in me, all that I am, will glorify the Lord
Friday, October 9, 2009
I see Progress
Its been a wild and crazy month. There is just too much going on to talk about. On the spiritual front, I have been working on affirmations teaching me to love myself. I continually remind myself that I am a creation of the Most High God. I am in unity with the Most High God. The Most High God Loves me. - unconditionally. I must do the same.
Guess what. I am starting to lose weight. I have lost nineteen pounds in the last forty-five days. I am not dieting. I can think of five things that have contributed to this:
- the positive affirmations.
- the focus on being more positive
- I'm starting to relax.
- The injured knees have helped me and my body realize how self-destructive my eating has been.
- while I am not dieting, I am choosing better things to eat, eating slowly. Snacking is simply not as frequent as it had been in the past.
Remember Jon Gabriel? Remember I had thought about trying his method, bought the book, listened to the CD, etc., and gained 10 pounds. I decided that the method works only for those that have learned to love themselves. I switched my focus to learning just that. I think I'm learning to love myself, and the outcome, in part, is the weight loss.
Be Peace.
Be Love.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Living Mirrors
Yesterday was an interesting day. Somehow I had convinced myself that I had made progress. Yes, even after the last post where I exposed the proof of continued arrogance. Both Ann Albers, Byron Katie, Thich Nhat Hanh and the Dalai Lama tell us that other people are our best mirrors. Other people evoke or provoke aspects of our personality. If we keep alert, we can watch ourselves in that mirror.
OK, watch this. Last night I needed to refill the prescription for needles for my diabetic dog, Maisie. We have been injecting insulin into Maisie for more than a year, picking up a new supply of needles every 50 days, with rarely a problem. Sometimes, the pharmacist will ask me if I have a prescription for the needles. I explain its for the dog. “Oh, yeah, I see that. No problem.” and the pharmacist gives me a box of one-hundred needles.
Last night, the pharmacist challenged me, “I'll have to call the doctor. There are no refills left on the order.”
Its nearly 7:00PM and the veterinary office is long since closed. “Its for my dog,” I explain.
“I know its for your dog,” she says, “I will have to call the doctor to renew the prescription.”
I got angry. “Look, that prescription has said 'No refills' for over a year. Since it's for the dog, it doesn't require a new prescription.”
“Oh, wait a minute,” she says as she is typing into the computer. "There is a newer prescription on file. I'll use it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Nope, can't do it. I need to call the doctor.”
“OK, just give me a pack of ten needles to get me by until you can call the doctor.” (For some reason, they can sell a pack of ten needles without a prescription, but not a box of one-hundred needles.)
“OK,” she said as she pulled out a bag of ten needles. “Oh, wait! You don't need a prescription renewal for the dog. Do you still want the bag of ten, or do you want the box of one-hundred.”
I was confused and I was very irritated. Did I not tell her it was for the dog, and did she not confirm that she knew that? “Please give me the box of one-hundred needles.”
As I drove out of the parking lot, I realized I was still angry and thinking many negative thoughts toward the pharmacist. I also realized that I still have some nasty issues with judgment and arrogance. There is no way that I can justify the irritation I felt about the situation. The mirror worked! I saw myself as I was. Byron Katie's admonition came to mind, “Love what is.” I'm not going to change anything but my chemistry and my health by allowing anger to rule. So, now the question is, how do I restructure my thinking so that these silly situations don't cause so much turmoil within?
Be Peace.
Be Love.
OK, watch this. Last night I needed to refill the prescription for needles for my diabetic dog, Maisie. We have been injecting insulin into Maisie for more than a year, picking up a new supply of needles every 50 days, with rarely a problem. Sometimes, the pharmacist will ask me if I have a prescription for the needles. I explain its for the dog. “Oh, yeah, I see that. No problem.” and the pharmacist gives me a box of one-hundred needles.
Last night, the pharmacist challenged me, “I'll have to call the doctor. There are no refills left on the order.”
Its nearly 7:00PM and the veterinary office is long since closed. “Its for my dog,” I explain.
“I know its for your dog,” she says, “I will have to call the doctor to renew the prescription.”
I got angry. “Look, that prescription has said 'No refills' for over a year. Since it's for the dog, it doesn't require a new prescription.”
“Oh, wait a minute,” she says as she is typing into the computer. "There is a newer prescription on file. I'll use it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Nope, can't do it. I need to call the doctor.”
“OK, just give me a pack of ten needles to get me by until you can call the doctor.” (For some reason, they can sell a pack of ten needles without a prescription, but not a box of one-hundred needles.)
“OK,” she said as she pulled out a bag of ten needles. “Oh, wait! You don't need a prescription renewal for the dog. Do you still want the bag of ten, or do you want the box of one-hundred.”
I was confused and I was very irritated. Did I not tell her it was for the dog, and did she not confirm that she knew that? “Please give me the box of one-hundred needles.”
As I drove out of the parking lot, I realized I was still angry and thinking many negative thoughts toward the pharmacist. I also realized that I still have some nasty issues with judgment and arrogance. There is no way that I can justify the irritation I felt about the situation. The mirror worked! I saw myself as I was. Byron Katie's admonition came to mind, “Love what is.” I'm not going to change anything but my chemistry and my health by allowing anger to rule. So, now the question is, how do I restructure my thinking so that these silly situations don't cause so much turmoil within?
Be Peace.
Be Love.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Does anybody remember?
Does anyone remember what I wrote on August 24? How can you remember what you never read? Well, just in case...
If you did read it, perhaps you caught a very telling attitude in my final statement. I actually caught it immediately after I thought it earlier in the evening. But I was tired last night, I didn't feel like addressing the real issue, Here's what I said:
Did you catch the attitude? The assumption I made in that statement is that I was right, and someone else was wrong. That, my friends, is arrogance. Pride. Not that I was wrong about the situation, but that it was wrong of me to assume that the other person should learn from me and correct their situation.
The correct attitude would be to “love what is.” Sound familiar? Remember Byron Katie, Loving What Is? Rather than wanting something to change, I should just accept it, embrace it, and let life go on.
'Nuff said.
If you did read it, perhaps you caught a very telling attitude in my final statement. I actually caught it immediately after I thought it earlier in the evening. But I was tired last night, I didn't feel like addressing the real issue, Here's what I said:
I concluded, once again, that I can only change myself. I can't change any one else. The most that can happen, is that if I change, perhaps it can inspire change in others. But, don't count on it, I assured myself, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink
Did you catch the attitude? The assumption I made in that statement is that I was right, and someone else was wrong. That, my friends, is arrogance. Pride. Not that I was wrong about the situation, but that it was wrong of me to assume that the other person should learn from me and correct their situation.
The correct attitude would be to “love what is.” Sound familiar? Remember Byron Katie, Loving What Is? Rather than wanting something to change, I should just accept it, embrace it, and let life go on.
'Nuff said.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Don't drink the water.
In my younger years, I visited many bars all around the world, from Omaha, Nebraska to Monterey, California; Melbourne, Australia; Seoul, Korea; Chicago, Illinois; Atlanta, Georgia; San Francisco, California; Seattle, Washington; Long Island, New York; Tampa, Florida; San Angelo, Texas; Des Moines, Iowa; Ames, Iowa; Iowa City, Iowa; Minneapolis, Minnesota; and many, many towns in between these towns. There were a few bars that remain in my memory simply because of their unusual names.
In the early 70's, if someone shouted an insulting name in your direction, it was expected that you would respond in kind with, “So's your mother.” In Des Moines, there was a bar close to Drake University on University Avenue that took on the name, “So's Your Mother.” It was a fun bar; mostly Drake University students. My most “fond” recollection of the place was when a person with beautiful blond hair and a creamy white pant suit captured my fancy. I saw her only from the backside at first. I walked across the dance floor and tapped her on the shoulder to find out that “she” had a well trimmed red beard and very bushy eyebrows. “Uh, I'm sorry, I thought you were some one else.”
Well, there was one other memory from that bar. It was the musician that played there one night. The 1st string on his guitar was actually the “E” string from a bass guitar. It made for some very rich bass runs in his music. I figure the action on the guitar had to be very high to accommodate the thick bass string. Perhaps he crafted the nut and the bridge so that they accommodated the large string. I did not look at the guitar closely. I just enjoyed the music.
And then that triggers another memory; my apartment in Des Moines was a very small 6 ft by 10 ft room with a smaller room with a toilet and a small shower booth in the basement of a one-hundred year old mansion. The most interesting thing about the apartment was that it had a combination safe in the solid brick foundation of the house. The door was locked open—you could not close the safe because the locking pins kept the door from closing. The landlord told me that he did not know the combination of the lock
One night, when I didn't have the money for So's Your Mother, I removed the inner panel on the safe door, exposing the tumblers. I played with the tumblers, while listening to the Guess Who's “Share The Land” album, until I figured out what they represented in terms of numbers. Then I applied the “clear right; twice left; once right” rule to the numbers and successfully unlocked the safe. I was excited! Then for fun, I played a little further and figured out how to change the combination. I did it and successfully unlocked the safe with a new combination. I thought I was pretty damned smart. The landlord was impressed when I left him with the combination to the safe.
Also, I shared the same name as the leader of the Des Moines chapter of the Black Panthers. Many times, I received early morning calls telling me that the “pigs” had locked up so-and-so, and that I needed to take some action to get them out of jail. Since I was somewhat involved in the civil rights movement at the time, I was often sympathetic to the complaints that came my way. None-the-less, I was obligated to explain that I was not the person they thought I was.
Then there is the “Lift Ticket” bar in downtown Benson, Nebraska. Benson was a town once upon a time. Now, Benson is a suburb in Omaha, Nebraska. Its old town center still thrives as a commercial district in the suburb. Why was it called the “Lift Ticket?” I have no clue. The clientele consisted of the “hip” people in their late 20's and early thirties. I was a sound engineer for a band in those days and we played that bar frequently. One memory that remains from that experience was the day one of the band members called me crying. “Someone broke into the bar and stole all of our sound equipment." It was more than a thousand dollars worth of equipment. I was the only person in the band that was fully employed. I excused myself from the job for the day and met my friend at the bar. I quickly ascertained that I could find new equipment and have it set up and ready to go for the night's show. It cost me well over $4000 ( about two month's pay) but I was glad to do it.
The other memory from that experience was the night that a lady was trying to put the make on me right in front of her husband. I learned that she was a cousin to our lead guitarist. I discretely approached him about her. “Oh, yeah. Stay far away from her. She's a pack of trouble.” I had already decided she was nuts. His admonition only confirmed my suspicions.
And last but not least, a bar with a “south-of-the-border” theme-I believe it was in Omaha, too, “Don't Drink the Water.” The thing that stands out in my memory of that bar is simply the name. I have no recollection of the bar itself. Hmmmm. Maybe I should have drank the water.
What brought on this series of thoughts? Well, I was in a negative funk tonight, pondering what I could do about a situation that piques my ire. I concluded, once again, that I can only change myself. I can't change anyone else. The most that can happen, is that if I change, perhaps it can inspire change in others. But, don't count on it, I assured myself, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. Of course, “Don't Drink the Water” came to mind immediately after that. And here you are, a victim of my rambling thoughts.
In the early 70's, if someone shouted an insulting name in your direction, it was expected that you would respond in kind with, “So's your mother.” In Des Moines, there was a bar close to Drake University on University Avenue that took on the name, “So's Your Mother.” It was a fun bar; mostly Drake University students. My most “fond” recollection of the place was when a person with beautiful blond hair and a creamy white pant suit captured my fancy. I saw her only from the backside at first. I walked across the dance floor and tapped her on the shoulder to find out that “she” had a well trimmed red beard and very bushy eyebrows. “Uh, I'm sorry, I thought you were some one else.”
Well, there was one other memory from that bar. It was the musician that played there one night. The 1st string on his guitar was actually the “E” string from a bass guitar. It made for some very rich bass runs in his music. I figure the action on the guitar had to be very high to accommodate the thick bass string. Perhaps he crafted the nut and the bridge so that they accommodated the large string. I did not look at the guitar closely. I just enjoyed the music.
And then that triggers another memory; my apartment in Des Moines was a very small 6 ft by 10 ft room with a smaller room with a toilet and a small shower booth in the basement of a one-hundred year old mansion. The most interesting thing about the apartment was that it had a combination safe in the solid brick foundation of the house. The door was locked open—you could not close the safe because the locking pins kept the door from closing. The landlord told me that he did not know the combination of the lock
One night, when I didn't have the money for So's Your Mother, I removed the inner panel on the safe door, exposing the tumblers. I played with the tumblers, while listening to the Guess Who's “Share The Land” album, until I figured out what they represented in terms of numbers. Then I applied the “clear right; twice left; once right” rule to the numbers and successfully unlocked the safe. I was excited! Then for fun, I played a little further and figured out how to change the combination. I did it and successfully unlocked the safe with a new combination. I thought I was pretty damned smart. The landlord was impressed when I left him with the combination to the safe.
Also, I shared the same name as the leader of the Des Moines chapter of the Black Panthers. Many times, I received early morning calls telling me that the “pigs” had locked up so-and-so, and that I needed to take some action to get them out of jail. Since I was somewhat involved in the civil rights movement at the time, I was often sympathetic to the complaints that came my way. None-the-less, I was obligated to explain that I was not the person they thought I was.
Then there is the “Lift Ticket” bar in downtown Benson, Nebraska. Benson was a town once upon a time. Now, Benson is a suburb in Omaha, Nebraska. Its old town center still thrives as a commercial district in the suburb. Why was it called the “Lift Ticket?” I have no clue. The clientele consisted of the “hip” people in their late 20's and early thirties. I was a sound engineer for a band in those days and we played that bar frequently. One memory that remains from that experience was the day one of the band members called me crying. “Someone broke into the bar and stole all of our sound equipment." It was more than a thousand dollars worth of equipment. I was the only person in the band that was fully employed. I excused myself from the job for the day and met my friend at the bar. I quickly ascertained that I could find new equipment and have it set up and ready to go for the night's show. It cost me well over $4000 ( about two month's pay) but I was glad to do it.
The other memory from that experience was the night that a lady was trying to put the make on me right in front of her husband. I learned that she was a cousin to our lead guitarist. I discretely approached him about her. “Oh, yeah. Stay far away from her. She's a pack of trouble.” I had already decided she was nuts. His admonition only confirmed my suspicions.
And last but not least, a bar with a “south-of-the-border” theme-I believe it was in Omaha, too, “Don't Drink the Water.” The thing that stands out in my memory of that bar is simply the name. I have no recollection of the bar itself. Hmmmm. Maybe I should have drank the water.
What brought on this series of thoughts? Well, I was in a negative funk tonight, pondering what I could do about a situation that piques my ire. I concluded, once again, that I can only change myself. I can't change anyone else. The most that can happen, is that if I change, perhaps it can inspire change in others. But, don't count on it, I assured myself, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. Of course, “Don't Drink the Water” came to mind immediately after that. And here you are, a victim of my rambling thoughts.
Freedom. Real Freedom
When I hear or think of the word "freedom" the scene from Braveheart comes to mind, where William Wallace (played by Mel Gibson) is being tortured in an effort to make him renounce his freedom movement. While in excruciating pain, he signals his tormentors that he wants to talk. They bow down in front of his face to hear what they hoped would be a statement of capitulation. To their chagrin, Wallace screams to the top of his lungs, a long drawn-out rally to “FREEDOM!”
I could probably write at length about the feelings I have for freedom. I will just shorten those feelings to this: I would hope that I would have the personal integrity and strength to stand-up for freedom should it come to a point that we Americans should once again need to shed a tyrannical government.
For the moment though, I just want to tell you about the dream I remembered from last night. It spoke of one of the many aspects of freedom.
I found myself in a small farming community somewhere in the Midwest. There are many dieing towns with populations of less than one-thousand souls here in Nebraska. I suspect I had moved to one of them, for some reason. I needed a place to stay but the only place available was a small house in which three other people were living. As I walked into the rear door of the house, I found myself immediately in the kitchen. The old linoleum floor was cracking, and pieces of it were flaking. The floor was mushy under the feet, and it creaked with every step I took. There was a smell of musty damp wood. The refrigerator was an ancient gas refrigerator that clunked and clanked as it turned on. The stove was an old gas stove with the heavy iron grid work where the pots and pans would sit. The oven door did not have a glass viewing port. The clock on the stove had long since stopped from the grease and dirt clogging the workings and causing the motor windings to burn up. The ceiling was dingy from grease and dirt that had never been washed. There were no tables or chairs, but at the opposite end of the kitchen, in what should have been the dining area, was a dirty dark couch—my bed.
To the left of the entry way was a dark, short hallway leading to the two bedrooms. A large window nearly covered one wall of the kitchen. The window was covered by a filthy white, thin see-through curtain. The window was not a window to the outside; showed into one of the bedrooms. The occupants of the bed in that bedroom watched me through the curtain. The foot of the bed, was in fact, level with the base of the window and shoved flush against the window.
The two women dressed in night apparel lay on their bellies, actively watching me, giggling and whispering to one another, knowing that I could see them as well as they could see me. I sensed from them an attitude of arrogance with a question of whether or not I would be able to live in those conditions, with them always able to see everything I did in that end of the kitchen. I would have absolutely no privacy in that house. The two women kissed each other and waited for a reaction from me. I threw my backpack on the couch. I felt the challenge from them, and an attitude which said, “We are free to do whatever we want. We have no shame. Can you take it?”
One of my dogs barked, waking me from the dream. I laid in the recliner trying to make sense of the dream. I'm not sure if the dream made sense, really, but it started my thoughts on freedom. My character in the dream lived an open life. Having no privacy was somewhat of an annoyance, but I had nothing to hide; I did not do anything that would bring negative judgments on me. The situation was tolerable.
The two women, while they felt they had freedom, flaunted their life-style in defiance. The truth be known, they were not free at all. They could not change their life if they wanted to, because they had become slaves to their lifestyle, flaunting it in an attempt to say they had made a choice and therefore were free. The arrogance was a way to cover the fact that they no longer had choices.
Is it true then, that a man who lives in good conscience is a truly free man?
I could probably write at length about the feelings I have for freedom. I will just shorten those feelings to this: I would hope that I would have the personal integrity and strength to stand-up for freedom should it come to a point that we Americans should once again need to shed a tyrannical government.
For the moment though, I just want to tell you about the dream I remembered from last night. It spoke of one of the many aspects of freedom.
I found myself in a small farming community somewhere in the Midwest. There are many dieing towns with populations of less than one-thousand souls here in Nebraska. I suspect I had moved to one of them, for some reason. I needed a place to stay but the only place available was a small house in which three other people were living. As I walked into the rear door of the house, I found myself immediately in the kitchen. The old linoleum floor was cracking, and pieces of it were flaking. The floor was mushy under the feet, and it creaked with every step I took. There was a smell of musty damp wood. The refrigerator was an ancient gas refrigerator that clunked and clanked as it turned on. The stove was an old gas stove with the heavy iron grid work where the pots and pans would sit. The oven door did not have a glass viewing port. The clock on the stove had long since stopped from the grease and dirt clogging the workings and causing the motor windings to burn up. The ceiling was dingy from grease and dirt that had never been washed. There were no tables or chairs, but at the opposite end of the kitchen, in what should have been the dining area, was a dirty dark couch—my bed.
To the left of the entry way was a dark, short hallway leading to the two bedrooms. A large window nearly covered one wall of the kitchen. The window was covered by a filthy white, thin see-through curtain. The window was not a window to the outside; showed into one of the bedrooms. The occupants of the bed in that bedroom watched me through the curtain. The foot of the bed, was in fact, level with the base of the window and shoved flush against the window.
The two women dressed in night apparel lay on their bellies, actively watching me, giggling and whispering to one another, knowing that I could see them as well as they could see me. I sensed from them an attitude of arrogance with a question of whether or not I would be able to live in those conditions, with them always able to see everything I did in that end of the kitchen. I would have absolutely no privacy in that house. The two women kissed each other and waited for a reaction from me. I threw my backpack on the couch. I felt the challenge from them, and an attitude which said, “We are free to do whatever we want. We have no shame. Can you take it?”
One of my dogs barked, waking me from the dream. I laid in the recliner trying to make sense of the dream. I'm not sure if the dream made sense, really, but it started my thoughts on freedom. My character in the dream lived an open life. Having no privacy was somewhat of an annoyance, but I had nothing to hide; I did not do anything that would bring negative judgments on me. The situation was tolerable.
The two women, while they felt they had freedom, flaunted their life-style in defiance. The truth be known, they were not free at all. They could not change their life if they wanted to, because they had become slaves to their lifestyle, flaunting it in an attempt to say they had made a choice and therefore were free. The arrogance was a way to cover the fact that they no longer had choices.
Is it true then, that a man who lives in good conscience is a truly free man?
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