Samsara

Twenty years ago director Ron Fricke released Baraka, a film consisting of disparate visual vignettes from all around the world. The point of the movie seemed to be adding up the visuals into a holistic semi-whole. It was a gorgeous movie and a wonderful viewing experience.  In 2008, he released Samsara, a movie with a similar approach.

The title of the movie suggests what the holistic message might be. Samsara is a concept that seems to recur in multiple religions. In Zen Buddhism it refers to the world around us, which is rife with delusion and contention. When we are wrong-minded, we buy into it and create suffering. Another - more Zen-like - way of describing this is "the cycle of life and death". Hence, the initial brief images before the credits consist of related images: a sarcophagus, a mummy, lava erupting.

After this there is a shot of monks painstakingly using sand to create a mandala which (I'm willing to bet) is a depiction of samsara. (If not, I'd love to know what it is as I think it must be a key to understanding the movie's message). The film goes on to lay out some beautiful images, drawn from all over the world. The fractal-like shapes seen in the mandala are echoed in shots of highway systems at night and housing developments over the sea in (I believe) Dubai.

The film goes on to some beautifully shot but disturbing images: juxtaposing human-looking robots with images of the sex trade, seeing animals trapped in pens for feeding and then obese people eating the products of those animals at a fast food restaurant, people in slums and then convicts doing calisthenics with dance music tracked over it, the manufacture of weapons of war with tribal peoples holding the weapons.

If I'm correct about the meaning of the mandala the monks create at the start of the movie, then one of the last scenes is especially pointed. The monks wipe away the mandala they have painstakingly created. This would be the solution that Zen suggests for dealing with samsara and delusion. Don't.

Samsara is beautifully shot and is very interesting visually, although be prepared for some disturbing images in this amazing video essay.

Mumonkan, Koan 23: Think Neither Good Nor Evil

The Sixth Patriarch* [*Eno] was pursued by the monk Myo as far as Yaiyu Mountain. The patriarch, seeing Myo coming, laid the robe and bowl on a rock and said, "This robe represents the faith; it should not be fought over. If you want to take it away, take it now." Myo tried to move it, but it was heavy as a mountain and would not budge. Faltering and trembling, he cried out, "I came for the Dharma, not for the robe. I beg you, please give me your instruction."

The patriarch said, "Think neither good nor evil. At this very moment, what is the original self of the monk Myo?" At these words, Myo was directly illuminated. His whole body was covered in sweat. He wept and bowed, saying, "Besides the secret words and the secret meaning you have just now revealed to me, is there anything else, deeper still?"

The patriarch said, "What I have told you is no secret at all. When you look into your own true self, whatever is deeper is found right there." Myo said, "I was with the monks under Obai for many years but could not realize my true self. But now, receiving your instruction, I know it like a man drinking water and knowing whether it is cold or warm. My lay brother, you are now my teacher."

The patriarch said, "If you say so, but let us both call Obai our teacher. Be mindful to treasure and hold fast to what you have attained."

I sense several concepts in this koan, running from how to attain buddhahood to how to retain it to what you are supposed to do with it.

Myo is offered the robe, but Eno's words have a double meaning. The robe is only a symbol, so fighting over it is foolish. That's the reason it should not be fought over. Myo can't pick up the robe anymore than he pick up the insight he seeks. Nor can either be given to him. This reminded me of a passage from Bodhidharma's Bloodstream Sermon:

"Trying to find a buddha or enlightenment is like trying to grab space. Space has a name but no form. It's not something you can pick up or put down. And you certainly can't grab it." (source: The Zen Teaching of Bodhidharma, translator: Red Pine)

Myo cannot pick up what he is seeking, but he is illuminated when Eno advises him to look within ("at this moment, what is the original self of the monk Myo?"). Thus, Myo attains enlightenment.  Neither the robe nor instruction, if given, leads to enlightenment. This comes from within.

Eno fends off Myo's question about "anything else, deeper still" by again urging him to look to himself ("your own true self"). This is done independent of good or evil...or any sort of mental assessment of what true self means or represents. It just is.

Lastly, Eno urges Myo to "hold fast to what he has attained." Without doing this, a moment of enlightenment is just that: a moment. A brief flash of illumination and then darkness again. Enlightenment must be retained and inform us from then on if it is to have any real value. Knowing is one thing; retaining and making use of what you know is something else.

Paris (Day 3)

This was a big walking day for us! First we took the metro to the Tuileries with the idea of getting into the Musee de l'Orangerie, but it was unexpectedly closed. Since it was fairly early (at what time do people in Paris get to work?), we strolled the gardens and took a gander at the obelisk in the Place de la Concorde.

Then we crossed the Seine on the Pont de la Concorde and hit the Musee d'Orsay for a deep dive into Impressionism, Post-Impressionism, and Symbolism. By this time, I was already overwhelmed by the wealth of art Paris offers a visitor. No matter how enthusiastic one is, there's only so much art that can be absorbed in a meaningful way in such a short amount of time. Nevertheless, I could not stop looking.  Even when my back and feet were killing me, some amazing painting would beckon. Oh, to live in Paris for a while and be able to pop into the museums every so often, check out one wing or a few works, and absorb things more deeply! It's not fair!

After lunch, we strolled along the Seine, crossed back over on the ornate Pont Alexandre III (stopping to enjoy the amazing views), and checked out the architecture along the Avenue Winston Churchill, before heading up the Champs Elysees. Overall, we didn't take a ton of pictures on this day. I guess we just generally prefer to be free of the whole 'recording the moment' mania. Jim is better about this than I am, but taking a picture doesn't really make the moment more personal. Sometimes, it's better to just 'be'. Anyway, the Champs Elysees was obviously a part of the trip we were really looking forward to. And...well....

Let me just say this. The Champs Elysees is a wonderful walk, no question. Saw some crazy sports cars, got a sample of cologne, and enjoyed the people watching. However, I can't help but wonder if it's perhaps a little less impressive than it may once have been. The reason I say this is that the brands/stores along the way were not very different from what one would see on the Mag Mile in Chicago or what we saw on a main drag in Rome. I'm sure it sounds terribly jaded to - in even an oblique way - say 'meh' to the Champs Elysees (it's the Champs Elysees!), but perhaps one downside of globalization is that each country loses a bit of its unique charm. After all, there's nothing Parisian about Benetton, Nike, Hugo Boss, or the Disney store. Even brands with some legit French heritage (Louis Vuitton, Lacoste) are readily patronized just about anywhere. Or maybe I just don't get it because I'm not a hardcore shopper!

All musings aside, we enjoyed the walk that led us to the Arc de Triomphe. Totally impressive piece of architecture, and the view from the top was truly worth it. Paris is such a fantastic looking city in general, but to see it sprawling out before you from that height is breathtaking.

After all this walking and sightseeing, we were wiped out and - after dinner - sleep was a well-earned luxury!

House on Fire

Zen Master Linji

Something I enjoy very much is reading with the windows open, seeing the light and feeling the breeze, and hearing trees moving in the breeze or children playing outside or birds singing. Maybe sipping some wine too. I'll pause in my reading, look out the windows, and get this sudden feeling of deep, deep happiness. I don't need to do anything. Although I'm very alert, there's no need to analyze or plan or think. I just sit there and soak in the moment like it's a warm bath. This is when I am the most happy.

Sometimes there also is a sadness that creeps into these moments. I'll suddenly think how the moment must pass. Light will fade, warmth will pass as winter comes, windows will have to close, children will grow up, trees will die, and so will I.  Everything eventually ends. It seems terrible that so much life and beauty should be so temporary. It doesn't dilute the moment for me, but the reaction always struck me as curious.

Years ago, I found a wonderful book called Zen Essence: The Science of Freedom edited by translator Thomas Cleary. It contained insights Cleary pulled from the writings of various Zen masters over time.  There is one from Zen Master Linji (? - 866 CE) that encapsulated and spoke about my feeling of sadness about the impermanence of things:

There is no stability in the world; it is like a house on fire. This is not a place where you can stay for a long time. The murderous demon of impermanence is instantaneous, and it does not choose between the upper and lower classes, or between the old and the young. 

If you want to be no different from the buddhas and Zen masters, just don't seek externally.  The pure light in a moment of awareness in your mind is the Buddha's essence within you. The non-discriminating light in a moment of awareness in your mind is the Buddha's wisdom within you. The undifferentiated light in a moment of awareness in your mind is the Buddha's manifestation within you.

All things around us are on fire, on fire with impermanence. They - and we - will all die away or end. All that they can give us or that we have is this moment, even if it's only for a few minutes or a couple hours.  This is why direct perception is stressed in Zen. The flames comes and things change, but if we do not seek beyond the flames we can learn from each moment we have. If we do not, there is nothing else to have that is real.

I return again and again to this concept of the house on fire in my Zen thinking. It can be applied to our experiences, relationships, and view of ourselves.

Paris (Day 2, Part 2) - Pompidou Centre

Pompidou Centre

As everyone knows, Paris was the hub of the art world for many decades. So traveling here means museums are going to be on your itinerary. This is where Jim and I ran into some problems. Jim is fine with museums and looking at art, but our opinions about art diverge a lot as we get into modern and contemporary works. Further, if left to my own devices, I could have happily spent all nine days gliding around the various Parisian museums and galleries, soaking up art. Jim is not interested in standing around all day looking at paintings.

Many say the secret of a successful relationship is compromise, and I suppose we were a model of this during our afternoon at Pompidou Centre. After cruising the modern art floor (probably too much time for Jim's taste), he was in no mood to check out the contemporary art floor. On my side, I would have spent much more time on the modern floor and then happily have tackled the contemporary stuff.  This is the inherent flaw in compromise. While everyone gets to influence the decision, the final decision doesn't make anyone really happy.

Personally, I think Jim and I should have seen this coming and planned for it. Just because we're a couple doesn't mean we do everything together. We're a couple, not Siamese twins! On a trip like this, why not have a day where we take off on separate trajectories? It certainly wouldn't have taken much thought to find something Jim would have enjoyed more than several hours of Matisse, Mondrian, and Braque. At the end of the day, we could meet at some great restaurant for dinner to regale each other with our adventures. So much better for everyone! Oh well, hindsight is 20-20.

Le Luxe I, 1907
Henri Matisse
Oil on canvas, 210 x 138 cm

If you're not a Matisse fanboy (or girl), I suggest you stop reading this post right now because I promise there is nothing of interest here for you.

I learned a great deal seeing some Matisse works in person. But then one always does learn more about art by seeing the real deal rather than pictures in a book or magazine. Photos often fail to get the colors exactly right, rarely convey the scale of the piece, and usually lose the texture of paint application. As a result, it's not wrong to say that a photo of a painting can be visually inaccurate.

The Matisse paintings at Pompidou Centre are an example of the inferior viewing experience provided by photographs of art. In photographs, Matisse's work takes on a solid, colorful appearance. Sort of like icons. The actual works are not this clean or simple. The colors are there, but the roughness of the brushstrokes are surprising if all you've seen are photos.

Matisse - like many modern artists - wasn't especially concerned about polish. Often, he wasn't even concerned about covering his entire canvas. You can see the lack of overt finesse in the way fields of color are sometimes not blended. There are also many places on his canvasses where brushstrokes were low on paint and leave most of the canvas or underlying color exposed. It appears Matisse made little attempt to hide these artifacts of his painting process.

I also wonder about how Matisse prepared his canvasses (or if he did). Standing before the actual works, you can see that some of the exposed areas are filthy. Not sure if that's due to a lack of priming or an issue with the history of the paintings. Also, in many works, Matisse's fields of color are cracked, which seems odd given the relative youth of these paintings. Not sure what that's all about, but it's interesting information to have in understanding the works and how they were made.

And this was just my experience with Matisse's works! The Pompidou's modern art floor had plenty of Cubism, Surrealism, Color Field, and installation works, including a Rothko and a Mitchell. Just too much to appreciate in a few short hours!

After we left the museum ('escaped' might be the word Jim would use), we went for dinner at a cafe just down the street. We were both dead tired by this point and were happy to relax with some wine and watch the world go by.

Jim enjoying a well-deserved meal and rest!

Paris (Day 2, Part 1) - Montmarte

Sacre Coeur

We woke up well-rested and ready to dive into Paris with a vengeance! The morning was to be spent in Montmarte which, to us, is the place where Amelie lives. If you have no idea what I mean by that, then you must see the French romantic comedy Amelie with Audrey Tautou.

We started by heading up to the Basilica of Sacre Coeur, which is positioned impressively on a high point in the city. The views from the basilica were amazing, with all of Paris stretching out below. The interior was equally impressive and, again, there was a mass going on while we walked about the basilica.

Although I enjoyed the basilica's statues, art and ambiance, I had a problem with the way money was being pulled out of visitors. Okay, I should reword that. Nothing was 'pulled out' of anyone; it was all donations. However, I've been to the Vatican and seen the immense wealth the Church has, so I find it hard to swallow placards suggesting donations are needed to keep the basilica going. And when these placards and donation boxes are situated below a five foot tall - apparently solid silver - statue, I have an even tougher time with it. Of course, we don't want people melting down art for operating funds, but there was a lot of other revenue streams flowing in this church. There were the usual spots one could make a donation and light a candle to a saint. Plus there were machines with commemorative coins for sale and a 'gift shop' of sorts. There's a part of me that cannot get past this overt commercial aspect in what is allegedly a house of religious worship.

Okay, point made. 'nuff said. The basilica was quite beautiful and we enjoyed seeing it.

St. Pierre de Montmarte, spookified

Outside, we saw the mountebanks begging for alms and then made our way past St. Pierre de Montmarte, which seriously made me think of a haunted mansion. Check out the photo. All I had to do is give this photo a slightly darkened black and white and - voila! - instant spooky home of the undead vibe. Gotta love that gothic(?) architecture!

We spent the rest of the morning enjoying Montmarte. First we jumped into the Place du Tertre, where we took in some of the local art, admired a few shops, and sat just outside a little restaurant to people watch and partake of escargot and snacks. It was always good to find time to sit during our stay in Paris! After thinking about entering the Dali Museum but getting a distinctive 'tourist trap' feel from the place, we headed down the Rue Lepic towards the less touristy part of Montmarte and made our way to the Montmarte Cemetery.

At the grave of Emile Zola

The Cemetery was enormous and jam packed with mausoleums from the 1800s, some of them absolute towers. Loads of sculpture, mossy tombs, and shady lanes made the place very atmospheric. There was even stained glass windows on some of the tombs. It could totally have been the set for a vampire movie. Aside from the graves, there were plenty of wild cats running around. I tried luring one over, until Jim suggested they were probably crawling with bugs and might not be the friendliest critters to ever walk the earth. Pet Semetery?

There are plenty of famous people buried in the Montmarte Cemetery. I believe Jim Morrison is one, but I wasn't all that keen on seeing his grave.  We did located what I thought was the grave of Alexandre Dumas, until I remembered that the fils after the name means it was his son. But, while I didn't get to see the grave of one of the greatest romantic writers ever, I did get to see the grave of the master realist: Emile Zola.

Literary Geek Moment #1 of this trip!

Paris (Day 1) - Sunday at Notre-Dame

Arriving in Paris in the afternoon was a good thing. We'd slept a bit on the plane so facing the prospect of staying up until night wasn't as bad as it might have been. Unfortunately Paris is dead on Sunday, and we could not find any restaurants that were open...except American fast food. Let me tell you there could not be a less enchanting first image of Paris than to see a well-dressed French man sitting pensively at an outdoor cafe....that was a KFC.

So we sucked it up and consumed caloric content from McDonalds. We were staying at the Place de la Republic along the edge of the Marais, and the square was fantastic for people watching (plus the metro access was phenomenal). So we got some energy before exploring.

By the way, have you ever noticed that famous French novelists had a habit of almost always naming the streets their characters walk down? I haven't picked this up in other country's literature. It's like these authors draw you a map. You feel you could walk the route Jean Valjean and Cosette used to escape from Javert into the Petit-Picpus convent. Or the path D'artagnan took towards the Musketeers barracks. Or follow one of the winding rambles of Claude Lantier from The Masterpiece. Trusting their genius, I will adopt this convention in my Paris posts!

So after our...is there an ironic synonym for 'meal' I could insert here?...we went walking. We took the Rue du Temple toward the Hotel de Ville and then walked along the Seine. While almost everything was closed and shuttered, we could still enjoy the architecture and get a feel of the Parisian vibe. Old Paris has an odd but appealing mixture of grit and historic ambiance. It was a bit jarring against what 'Paris' was like in my imagination but, once I connected with reality, I quickly warmed to it.

We crossed the Pont d'Arcole, evaded hoards of 'deaf' gypsies, and found ourselves on the Ile de la Cite. Passing a dozen tourist trinket shops, we arrived Notre-Dame. I didn't take many pictures of the church itself as there are loads of brilliant stuff to be had on the Internet. What I liked best about the church was the intricacy of the facade. All those dour looking priests and saints and such! (Click on photos to expand them)

The inside was magnificent, naturally, and there was a mass going on so the singing and the sermon lent atmosphere to the medieval interior (fortunately the sermon was in another language so we could relegate it to background noise).  Loved the art on the ceiling with the giant white bird flying from a white bearded God to a Byzantine-looking Jesus. There was also this atmospheric smoky quality to the way the light passed through the air. Maybe from all the candles that are lit? And of course there was lots of stained glass, statues, woodwork and mystical niches to be seen. 

We spent a good amount of time inside Notre-Dame but, to be honest, Jim and I are not the 'let's see every church in Europe' types. Yes, the history and architecture are amazing, but we prefer to pick the highlights and move on to other activities.  Once we left the church, we  checked out the Square Jean XXIII behind Notre-Dame. There was a garden with plenty of roses in bloom. We sat and watched people (and the absolutely enormous Parisian pigeons trying to mate) before wandering across the Pont Saint-Louis to Ile St. Louis and then across the Pont Louis Phillippe back into the Marias.

We found plenty of cool little back streets, which we slowly wandered about in as we made our way back to the hotel. I can't really remember where we ate dinner as, by this point, I was all about wanting to get some sleep. I think we just ate around the back of the hotel at a little bistro we could see from our window. Then it was back to the hotel room for planning which activities we would undertake on our first real day in the City of Lights. And then...sleep!

Paris!

No, not a photo I took!

At the end of June, Jim and I took our first trip to Paris. Aside from having tons of history and culture, Paris is home to some of my favorite artists and writers. Matisse made his mark here, as did other giants such as Picasso, Monet, Dali, and countless others. Great artistic movements, such as Impressionism and Fauvism, were born here. As for literature, there's Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, Albert Camus, Jean-Paul Sartre, Emile Zola, Andre Gide, and so many others. Being part French, I was excited to visit the land of some of my ancestors.

As on most of our trips I'd made a laundry list of things to do and see, knowing that we could not possibly do it all. However, I feel it's best to have options and run out of time rather than run out of things to do. We were on the go almost all day, everyday. While we worked the metro system, we believe walking is the best way to absorb a city's spirit. Plus Parisian cafe-style restaurants make people watching easy. Long story short, we had a fantastic time in the City of Lights and we were totally wiped out by the end of the trip.

Some broad takeaways:

• Rude French People - I didn't find people in Paris rude. They could be abrupt, but that's often true of people in Europe generally. I think this is a myth propagated by tourists who earn the rude treatment they receive.
• Ugly Americans - Not so much, but I could often spot Americans based on their clothing. Our "come as you are" attitude towards attire stands out in fashionable Paris. Ultimately, however, I think the British dress worse than we do.
• Through the Eyes of a Cell Phone - There are a lot of people who experience the world through their cell phones. Whether we were on top of the Eiffel Tower, in front of the Mona Lisa, or sailing down the Seine, there were people who didn't look at anything. They just took pictures or a video and then moved on. Insane! 
• The Fashion Capital - Paris lived up to its reputation for fashion. The men are gorgeous, even when they are roughing it. They exude an effortless chic, and I was eyeing their clothes and shoes for ideas about how to polish my appearance. 
• Great Wine - The wines were wonderful, and we enjoyed them with almost every dinner (and a few lunches).
• Great Food - Good marks here, including treats from the bakeries scattered all across the city. That said, in my opinion, the French don't 'get' pizza. At all.
• Romance - Yes, it is romantic in Paris. Jim even gave me a kiss while we were walking through a park from the Eiffel Tower at night!

I'll be posting photos of our travels over the next few weeks.

Back to Las Vegas

Haven't been posting for a while, due to lots of travel. Had a trip to LA for business, we just got back from Paris, and at the very start of the summer we took our goddaughter and a friend of hers to the Bellagio in Las Vegas to celebrate their college graduation. So I need to get back in the saddle, so to speak.  I did a post on LA, so let's tackle Vegas.

We wanted to give our goddaughter and her a friend a real experience, so we started off with the stretch limo to the airport. However, the fun really happened in Vegas where our guests partied hard for the weekend. For Jim and I, there was the usual gambling, eating, and shopping. The girls and I rode the New York, New York roller coaster. I couldn't get Jim to ride it though (last time it banged his head around pretty hard). So instead, I coerced him into doing one of those video, lip syncing booths in the arcade. By the time he realized I would likely post the resulting, it was too late (insert scheming, villainous laugh). Of course, I was thwarted by the proprietary software used to create the video. I'll have to cam it.

Anyway, the highlight of the trip was taking the girls to see Mystere, as they had never seen any Cirque. We had a surprise treat in that Jim became an inadvertent part of the show. Some people question whether those audience members randomly selected to participate in the show are plants in the audience, but I can tell you they are definitely not. Jim would never have volunteered for this sort of duty.

Before the show started, the 'clown' was wandering through the audience messing with people. He started tossing popcorn at people for them to snap up with their mouths. When he came by Jim, he tried a few times but remained unsuccessful in getting him to catch the popcorn. Poor Jim had to take the brunt of the clown's frustration, as he dumped his popcorn all over Jim!

Then he went off and got another, much larger, box of popcorn and came back over. After a few moments...dump! It was really very funny, and it was perfect that it happened to Jim because he's not the kind of guy who likes to be 'center stage' like that. Still he bore it like a trouper.

So we had a great deal of fun in Sin City and managed to give the girls a great weekend after four years of hard work.

Inventing Stories: People Watching Cubed

I just got back from a business trip to Santa Monica, where I was on my own most evenings. On the way to the airport my limo driver had recommended I try the King's Head Pub on Santa Monica Boulevard, so one evening I went there for dinner and a beer.

It's a great location with outdoor seating, and I totally enjoyed kicking back with a beer. The food was awful, but I also know I hate British 'cuisine' pretty much across the board so I didn't expect I would like it. The beer was good enough for this non-beer drinker to order a second and people watch.

Something I used to do a long time ago while people watching was to let my imagination run wild and invent stories about people that passed by. Lots of people's look and bearing just inspires it. I found myself doing this.

One woman wandered by, looking disoriented and kind of messed up. I imagined she had lived her whole life in the shadow of a controlling and/or cruel person. Someone who always undermined her self-esteem. This person had died five hours ago, leaving her free to be herself and live her own life for the first time. She was shocked and confused by the freedom of running her own life and had gone outside to walk, trying to wrap her mind around it. Lost in thought, she is pure potential...either for good or for evil...

I saw a man about my age park his car. He wore a yamaka, had a heavy briefcase, and looked tired and worn out. Hard, hard day. I imagined he had existed very predictably like this for years, working hard and coming home every day. Today, however, when he got home something dire would be waiting for him. Not sure what, but whatever it was it would force his life into a completely new and difficult direction. Destiny was about to take control of him like a tornado. He would lose his job, many of his friends, etc. Months or maybe even a year from now, he would emerge from it with a new life and as a completely different and happier person.

Two young guys with wire thin bodies and huge afros walked by. They were just arriving in California after hitch hiking from where they grew up in Oklahoma (or some place like that). They were musicians and they were here to make their fortune. Their music is something innovative in mixing genres, and they will achieve a following of note but never quite take off into 'star' territory. However, they will influence a lot of people and end owning the 'it' music club in Los Angeles. Always cool and sought after, even into their seventies. Their tell-all memoirs will be a 'must read'.

A couple walked by. He had a dorky/ex-con look with weird tattoos, and she was goofy in a hippie kind of way. They were walking with their arms around each other. I imagined that they were both really inept at life, disorganized, and often getting into trouble with the law. They could never quite get their lives together and be happy, but they had each other and understood each other. Despite the fact they would probably always be unhappy on some level and that each of their families hoped for nothing more than they'd break up with the other person, they had that core of their life which made it possible to deal with anything.

I don't know how many people I did this around. It seemed like over twenty. I was there forever, and it made me happy to resurrect this little game. It could be the theme for an anthology of short stories or something like that.

Gustav Meyrink - "The Green Face" (1916)

I was not familiar with Gustav Meyrink when I added his novel The Green Face (Mike Mitchell, translator) to my late winter/early spring reading list (which as you can tell is stretching into late spring/early summer!). I added him for the same reason I added Joris-Karl Huysmans' Against Nature and Georges Rodenbach's Bruges-la-Morte. They are all works that I learned of while reading about artists of the time. They also seemed a bit obscure and were part of (or led up to) some of the artistic/literary movements of the early 20th Century.  In the case of The Green Face, the movement was German fantastic literature or occult fiction.

The plot and characters of The Green Face have an air of early 20th century spiritualists. You know, the people you sometimes see in movies set in the 20s: upper middle class intellectuals into seances and Egyptology. The characters in this book are drawn together by their various attempts to find spiritual knowledge or truth.

The main character, Fortunatus Hauberrisser, has come to Amsterdam amid a flood of people displaced by WWI, although he himself is quite well-off financially. While the war has ended, there is an aura of dread throughout the novel, a sense of an impending apocalypse. This dark foreshadowing for Europe is one of several recurring themes and it, as well the discussion the characters have about it, definitely speaks to the post-war angst that underpinned so much of the philosophy, literature, and art of the first third of the 20th Century.

In the first chapter of the novel, on a whim, Fortunatus enters a shop called Chidher Green's Hall of Riddles. During his visit - while in a semi-dream state - he encounters a man with a green face who launches him into a quest for spiritual understanding and knowledge. Meyrink's very clever first chapter uses the magic shop scene to lay out several other themes the author addresses in The Green Face: the way whim and chance play a role in spiritual searches and that the search for truth is a kind of 'hall of riddles' where nothing is as it seems. Another theme that emerges in the shop is laid out when a shopkeeper shows Fortunatus how to do a magic trick. Despite being shown, Fortunatus thinks "he would never be able to do the trick himself". Meyrink spends a great deal of time in the novel proposing that we must all come to truth ourselves.  It cannot be imparted or taught to us by others. That said, Meyrink recognizes that a word or idea from someone person can be useful - even illuminating - but only if it comes at the exact moment we need it and we are ready for it. Hence, preaching and proselytizing are a waste of time.

Meyrink's characters run the gamut of various forms of religious and spiritual belief, and Meyrink himself apparently dabbled in a wide variety of religious and occult thinking himself. One of his interests must have been Zen Buddhism, because there is a lot of Zen philosophy marbled throughout The Green Face. For example, his theme that each of us have to find truth for ourselves is a bit Zen philosophy.

There are many other examples. The character of Swammerdam describes his search as being about seeking and "inner voice" whose role is to provide "mental balance, the achieving of clarity, ...the way upwards, from insight through rational thought to knowledge through direct contemplation." Fortunatus (in chapter twelve) engages in sessions of what seems very close to zazen to achieve understanding that otherwise eludes him. Lastly, the notion of enlightenment is brought forward in chapter five, when the character Eva has a moment of illumination:

"It was as if a curtain had been rent in two, and Eva was blinded by the light of a new insight. Those last few words had told her more about the goal of human existence than all the religious systems in the world could have."

Another example, in chapter six, comes from an epiphany Fortunatus has when he sees a beekeeper:

"...he realized how the world would glow anew with a magical radiance if he should ever manage to see all the things that habit and routine had robbed him of speech in a fresh light."

What this last quote refers to is the Zen idea that when we are not in touch with the moment, when we overthink and become lost in analysis and interpretation, our thinking is not clear but deluded. It feeds on itself and carries us off into confusions and concerns that we create in our own mind.

At the end of the book, the searches have intertwined and come to a head during an apocalypticse disaster that befalls Amsterdam. The entire city seems to go crazy, while supernatural storms tear it apart. Fortunatus, although it's not really clear to me how it happens, reaches some sort of understanding with himself in the middle of this. At that moment, he begins to see two worlds at once. One is the 'real world' and the other seems to be ancient Egypt. The final achievement or enlightenment Fortunatus reaches appears to be the ability to exists in both worlds - the 'real' and the spiritual - at one time. In some way this may be Meyrink's ultimate message.

As such, The Green Face is about the search for spiritual truth, both as a story and as a guidebook. Unfortunately, things get a bit arcane in the last several chapters and I admit I lost some comprehension of where Meyrink was going.  Despite the sharp increase in mystical mumbo-jumbo though, the novel remains engaging due to his truly cinematic and Dantean descriptions of the unraveling of Amsterdam. So the novel kept my interest, but it definitely demands effort and thought in figuring out what it's all supposed to add up to.

I admit that The Green Face took some time for me to get through, and the characters often got a bit talky. On the other hand, part of what slowed me down was my interest in parsing out the thinking of the characters. I found it fairly interesting because this is one of the few novels I know of that mixes the supernatural with a fully modern philosophical vantage point. I found it an interesting read and worthwhile to dig into and ponder over, and I'll probably investigate other works by Meyrink in the future.

PS: There is a fantastic line in chapter two where Fortunatus' friend Baron Pfeill is on one of his many monologues. He characterizes spiritual scholars of the (then) present day as having "thrown away the kernel and kept the husk". Here are some other memorable lines:

• "The feeble-minded think the flash is the important part of an explosion."
• "The difference between one person and another is greater than that between a person and a stone."
• "It is the ambiguity of language that separates us."
• "What is right is always the opposite of what the herd does."
• "I am not going to weedkill things in other people's gardens that won't die of their own accord, but in my own I can do as I like."
• "...it is better to pick a bitter fruit of your own choice, than to take another's advice and find a sweet one that is too high on the tree."
• "The valuable thing was not the completed painting, but the ability to paint."

First bike ride of 2013!

18 miles. Of course, I fixed my odometer so now I won't need to use my blog to keep track of mileage. With 50s expected for the Memorial Day weekend, however, I doubt I'll be adding any mileage soon.

Zen Buddhism and Objectivism

Am I serious? Yes, I am. Zen Buddhism and Objectivism are totally compatible. This, despite the only quote I know of where Rand (dismissively) references Zen Buddhism. As you can tell, it was one of her entertaining, thorny moments:

"I suggest that you take note of the following fact: by rejecting reason and surrendering to the unhampered sway of their unleashed emotions (and whims), the apostles of irrationality, the existentialists, the Zen Bhuddists, the non-objective artists, have not achieved a free, joyous triumphant sense of life, but a sense of doom, nausea, and screaming cosmic terror."

Oh Aynnie, you cheeky imp! Of course, maybe she sensed the connection between Existentialism and Zen Buddhism that I also picked up (see Zen Buddhism and Existentialism), but otherwise I have no idea how she found apropos to toss Zen Buddhism into this mini-rant of hers. "Rejecting reason"? "Surrendering to the unhampered sway..."? Rand clearly had no idea what Zen Buddhism is about. Nor does she know how to spell it if you check the quote. Ah well, maybe that's the fault of a bad webmaster. 

So why do I think the two schools of thought are compatible? Here's what the Ayn Rand Institute website has posted from Rand as a quick and dirty summary of Objectivism:

"My philosophy, Objectivism, holds that: 

1. Reality exists as an objective absolute - facts are facts, independent of man's feelings, wishes, hopes, or fears. 

2. Reason (the faculty which identifies and integrates the material provided by man's senses) is man's only means of perceiving reality, his only source of knowledge, his guide to action, and his basic means of survival. 

3. Man - every man - is an end in himself, not the means to the ends of others. He must exist for his own sake, nether sacrificing himself to others nor sacrificing others to himself. The pursuit of his own rational self-interest and of his own happiness is the highest moral purpose of his life. 

4. The ideal political-economic system is laissez-faire capitalism. It is a system where men deal with one another, not as victims and executioners, nor as masters and slaves, but as traders, by free, voluntary exchange to mutual benefit. It is a system where no man may obtain any values from others by resorting to physical force, and no man may initiate the use of physical force against others. The government acts only as a policeman that protects man's rights; it uses physical force only in retaliation and only against those who initiate its use, such as criminals or foreign invaders. In a system of full capitalism, there should be (but, historically, has not yet been) a complete separation of state and economics, in the same way and for the same reasons as the separation of state and church."

Zen Buddhism is absolutely in agreement with points 1 and 2. The Zen practice of zazen is used to discipline the mind (I suppose you could say to free reason) for the purpose of being more 'in the moment' and to avoid deluded thinking. This keeps one anchored in reality - not as we perceive it, which can be distorted by whimsical perceptions and emotions - but as it really is. So, in a way, Zen Buddhists recognize that reason can be clouded, but we have a way to filter this out (which Objectivism does not provide). However, from a metaphysical and epistemological standpoint, Zen Buddhism and Objectivism are largely in sync.

As for points 3 and 4, I'm not sure Zen Buddhism really deals with these explicitly. However, I wonder if it's correct to say that we take her point 2 much more literally then she does herself. Understanding reality is our source of knowledge and guide to action. When one is truly in touch with reality, therefore, we are likely to behave in the way that best accords with it. So if her points 3 and 4 are, in fact, correct then an enlightened person would probably act in that way. However, they would do so by default based on having disciplined their mind or reached enlightenment, not because they read that it was right in a book on philosophy, ethics, economics, or politics.

Maybe, just maybe, Zen Buddhists out-Objectivize the Objectivists?

French Symbolist Poetry

It's still National Poetry Month and Jim and I are planning a trip to Paris, so it seems appropriate to find an example of French poetry to post. I came across this piece on a website which had it labeled as symbolist poetry. Not sure if this is correct or not, but since I've been reading and posting about symbolism I figured that makes three connections! Plus, I love the vibe of this poem. The translation is by Alex Gross.

Dommange's poem was apparently set to jazz music at some point. Not sure if that was contemporary with the piece or later.

Jazz In The Night

The dance, on the flaming park casts its multi-
colored flowers, the trees are singed,
irradiated, and the sonorous roaring of
crazed and homesick blacks

Nervous tangos, harsh brass, choke the soft
rustling of satin that paws the grass.

What exhausted smiles, by the shadow
of complicit copses, beneath the
surprise of kisses
consent and swoon. a saxophone
weeping long and very tender
plaints, sooths with its breathless
rhythm the excitement of furtive
embraces.

Passer-by, pick up this handkerchief, fallen
from a warm bosom this evening,
hidden under the ivy.

Two red lips signed it in the make-up
of their cool design, delivering up
its secrets for you , the perfume of
a naked throat and the mouth of
an unknown woman.

- Rene Dommange (1928)

"Ego Tripping" - Nikki Giovanni

One of my favorite poems of all time is this one by Nikki Giovanni. I read it for the first time when I was just out of college, had come out relatively recently, discovered acid jazz and hip hop, was doing open mic readings, and moved into the city to live on my own for the first time (college doesn't really count). Nikki Giovanni was just one of many mind-opening ingredients in a potpourri of inputs that mentally made me over during that time. It was one of the most exciting times of my life, and every time I read this poem the images and feelings I had then come back to me.

While some might claim this is a poem for African Americans or women, I totally felt it was about me embracing life and enjoying it by stealing god's car and driving away while blasting music with the top down!

It's a good set of feelings to remember. Thanks Nikki!

Ego Tripping (There May Be a Reason Why)

I was born in the congo
I walked to the fertile crescent and built
    the sphinx
I designed a pyramid so tough that a star
    that only glows every one hundred years falls
    into the center giving divine perfect light
I am bad

I sat on the throne
    drinking nectar with allah
I got hot and sent an ice age to europe
    to cool my thirst
My oldest daughter is nefertiti
    the tears from my birth pains
    created the nile
I am a beautiful woman

I gazed on the forest and burned
    out the sahara desert
    with a packet of goat's meat
    and a change of clothes
I crossed it in two hours
I am a gazelle so swift
    so swift you can't catch me

    For a birthday present when he was three
I gave my son hannibal an elephant
    He gave me rome for mother's day
My strength flows ever on

My son noah built new/ark and
I stood proudly at the helm
    as we sailed on a soft summer day
I turned myself into myself and was
    jesus
    men intone my loving name
    All praises All praises
I am the one who would save

I sowed diamonds in my back yard
My bowels deliver uranium
    the filings from my fingernails are
    semi-precious jewels
    On a trip north
I caught a cold and blew
My nose giving oil to the arab world
I am so hip even my errors are correct
I sailed west to reach east and had to round off
    the earth as I went
    The hair from my head thinned and gold was laid
    across three continents

I am so perfect so divine so ethereal so surreal
I cannot be comprehended except by my permission

I mean...I...can fly
    like a bird in the sky...

- Nikki Giovanni

More Poetry Inspired by Art

La branche de fleurs, 1906
Henri Matisse
Oil on canvas, 40 x 31.8 cm

Here's another poem I wrote back in 1999 that was inspired by a work or art. This time my muse was Henri Matisse and a much less well-known work of his: Branch of Flowers. There's no quality photos of this work, so I snapped this photo from a Matisse retrospective I own (so the quality is not the greatest).

Matisse is one of my favorite artists, largely due to his use of color, and it's pretty obvious my own approach to art references his style pretty heavily. I also admire how his work evolved over the course of his life, and that he tried new things. Also, his creativity was unstoppable. Late in his life (I believe he could no longer work at an easel), he switched to cutting out colored paper and creating collages. He had an innate need to visually express himself.

Branch of Flowers

Laughing vivacious
she pauses
eyes lowered
over a branch
of magnolia blossoms
as delicate
as her hand
as white
as her skin

Thoughts in her face
and magnolias
joined and freed
to fly forever
in my memory
like birds

- Peter Cholewinski

"You can't be afraid to suck..."

Three Jonquils, 2013
Peter Cholewinski
Oil pastel on paper, 22.9 x 30.5 cm

For the first time in a while, I spent some time drawing. It was mainly to preserve some sense that I'm trying to keep at my work with oil pastels. I did a few contour drawings of some jonquils Jim had picked from the garden and put in a vase, and then I tried my hand at an oil pastel. The result is posted here, and I'm not at all happy with it.

So why am I posting it?

Mainly because it's less important that I did something good than that I did something. Drawing is like building your biceps; you gotta work at it. I'm quite 'out of shape' as an artist, and a crummy workout is always better than no workout at all. So I'm glad I pushed myself. Yay me!

The other reason comes from some advice I got from my friend Gretchen, who is a real artist (and a videographer to boot). Back in 1999, I enrolled in studio painting and began working with oils for the first time. I didn't have any idea what I was doing, and it was exciting. After my first dozen pieces, I remember being very frustrated and complaining to Gretchen that everything I was doing sucked. She told me: "Look, you can't be afraid to suck. If you are, then you'll never learn anything." Realizing she was right, I stopped whining and being precious and pushed on.  No pain; no gain. I continued to churn out crap, but I was getting critiques and being exposed to different techniques. Practice helped and I was building my oil painting muscles. A year or so later, I had a picture in a show - a good one - and sold it.

So here's the reason for the post. What I learned from acting on the 'you can't be afraid to suck' advice is that sucking or, to be more specific, failure is just fine as long as I learn from my failures. Posting this is a way for me to even more objectively react to my work. So, let's get to it.  What's wrong with Three Jonquils?

• Composition is poor - There is no dynamism here. The forms have no energy and do not interact with each other. This gives the piece a flat feel, like it just sort of sits there and makes it impossible for the piece to 'grab' the viewer.
• Background is too much - It overpowers the subject and, even worse, there is no relationship between the colors chosen and the subject. I tried to use complements (red behind the green stems and purple behind some of the yellow flowers) but the tones are somehow off. Too dark and rich. The background also lacks the variation in color and intensity needed for it to breathe. 
• Flowers and stems lack finesse - There's not enough variation in color in the petals, and there's no suggestion of form aside from the outlines. The darker background should have been used to provide this outlining, but it was not. The lowest of the three flowers is best, and the one on top has some electric green along the petal edges that is the beginning of something interesting. But it doesn't go far enough. 
• Trite colors - Not enough mixing and shades/hues to deliver something other than 'GREEN stems' and 'YELLOW flowers'. This is probably due to me using different pastels from the ones I used on Blue Vase. This is a big failure for me, since color is probably the best thing I bring to the table as an artist. If I miss there, then I have little chance of success.

Bottom line, a sense of looseness or play would have gone a long way to making this piece interesting and/or dynamic. As it is it's sterile and dull. So I need to play with the new oil pastels I have, get to know how they work and blend, decide if I like them as a tool, and also just draw more to redevelop that sense of confidence and looseness that comes with being an 'in-shape' artist.

"I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud" - William Wordsworth

William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850) was one of the poets who ushered in Romanticism. Very much inspired by nature, he was a big influence on Transcendentalism in the United States. He also avoided the elevated language of the poets of his day, believing plain-spoken language made the best poetry. To him, poetry was not an academic pursuit but "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings". As we approach spring, he seems like a good voice to share for National Poetry Month.

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of the bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company;
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Last Summer in the Hamptons

This is the second Henry Jaglom film I have watched (Deja Vu was the first), and I enjoy the rough but immediate feel of both these films. Deja Vu seemed very cinema verite, while Last Summer seems less so. That could reflect that the approach works better in this film or that it was more scripted. Not sure which.

It is very talky, and that does tend to make the movie a bit slow in pacing. However, I like how his movies unfold. The standard plot devices and progression are tossed aside in favor of characterization and interplay between the characters. This makes the film far less predictable and truer to life. It also allows for the characters to be understood as you get to know them, and even for certain aspects of them to remain unresolved.

For me the key to the movie is the first scene - the one before the credits start. In this scene the eldest member of the family consuls her granddaughter about how to make sense of a part she is playing. I'm paraphrasing, but the essence of it was that acting is learning. It's about what happens to you from the moment the scene starts to when it ends. I drew this as a parallel to the entire movie. Each character (and really all of us) are going from scene to scene in life, and perhaps the trick is what happens between the start and end of each scene. The one thing I'd love to learn the meaning of the word the grandmother uses to describe the annual event at the house. No one in the family knows, but I bet Jaglom does and it probably is a big key to understanding his aim with this movie at a deeper level.

Jaglom has created a movie that is an atom smasher...with characters as the atoms. If you like the idea of seeing flawed, intelligent, creative people interacting, combusting, and arriving where they arrive, then you'll love this movie. If you need something a little bit more linear...you'd better pass.

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674) is relatively minor 17th Century English poet. I was exposed to him during a wonderful course I took in 17th century English literature at college. While Herrick certainly isn't as critically lauded as the metaphysical poets like John Donne, I found his work refreshingly lyrical compared to the sometimes ponderous works of some of his contemporaries.  This one seems especially apropos for celebrating poetry during National Poetry Month.

His Poetry His Pillar

Only a little  more
I have to write;
Then I'll give o'er,
And bid the world good night.

'Tis but a flying minute
That I must stay,
Or linger in it;
And then I must away.

O Time, that cut'st down all,
And scarce leav'st here
Memorial
Of any men that were!

How many lie forgot
In vaults beneath,
And piecemeal rot
Without a fame in death!

Behold this living stone
I rear for me,
Ne'er to be thrown
Down, envious Time, by thee.

Pillars let some set up,
If so they please;
Here is my hope,
And my pyramids.

- Robert Herrick

Poetry Inspired by Art

Still Life Before an Open Window: Place Ravignan, 1915
Juan Gris
Oil on canvas, 166 x 89 cm

During National Poetry Month I post pieces from some of my favorite poets. I also dig into my journals for stuff from my past. In early 1999, I did something that I'd never done up to that point and which I have never done again: used great works of art as inspiration for poetry. 'Premonition' came very quickly (in only two drafts) as a result of my response to this painting by cubist Juan Gris, and it was published that year in a small press publication.

The photo here is big enough so that if you click on it you can see an enlarged version.

Premonition

No more wine or bread

Headlines of insanity

Marguerite plays violin -

a sombre vibrato

falling from our balcony

with autumn leaves

to the crowded boulevard

unheeded

For a moment

the boulevard

the town itself

this sunset and empty wine glass

the violin and newspaper

our crisp white tablecloth

pulse with a nausea

of some madman's creation

- Peter Cholewinski

Ben Ehrenreich - "Ether" (2011)

More literature by living people!  I first came into contact with Ehrenreich's writing in the pages of Bomb, which published his short story 'Boys' in its Fall 2012 issue. This story spoke to me in a way similar to Amy Herzog's 4000 Miles. There was no specific plot, but strong characters within interesting situations created what I call an emergent theme. An emergent theme happens when the scenes and/or plot of a story don't build in a direct manner to anything, but as a whole they convey something. Sort of like the joke about a Monet painting: up close (or in its integral parts) it's a big old mess, but when you view the painting as a whole it has meaning.

So I added Ehrenreich's novel Ether to my late winter/early spring reading list. Just finished it a week or so ago, and I was disappointed to find that the power of the short story was not to be found in this novel length work. The style and quality of writing is very much the same, but it feels as though Ehrenreich simply doesn't need a canvas as large as a novel despite the fact that, at 183 pages, Ether barely qualifies as a novel.

Too much of the book is spent introducing characters and jumping between their stories. This kaleidoscopic approach could be enthralling, except that Ehrenreich does not develop any of his characters at all for a good 100 pages. They remain two-dimensional vignettes without any sense of how they will fit together. Could this part of the point? I suppose, but it renders his novel uninteresting and directionless. If it is the point, he did not need 100 pages to convey it. In fact, the only reason I continued reading during the middle half of the novel was that I liked Ehrenreich's prose.

By the time the characters started coming together and I understood what the character of the stranger was, I have to admit I was reading to get to the end. While my attention was not as acute as it should have been as a reader, this ultimately is the author's fault because he failed to set the proper pace. More importantly, I did not find much substance in the last third of the novel in terms of what Ehrenreich did with his premise. There was simply no pay-off to merit the long set-up.

The novel is peppered with interesting devices, such as the omnipresent TV cameras that suggest something about what Ehrenreich is dealing with in Ether. I also liked how the author made himself one of the characters and placed himself in discussions with one of the characters he created. Again, this related to the emergent theme. However, none of this - or the novel itself - ever really went anywhere especially interesting or powerful, and so these devices came off as gimmicks and not the evocative elements they could have been.

I still came away thinking Ehrenreich's a talented writer, as his craftsmanship is plain. However, such skill must be placed behind subject matter and characters that have greater depth or meaning. Otherwise, an author runs the risk of writing a long greeting card: nicely worded but ultimately not deep, relevant, or memorable.

Another Poem With Zen Flavoring

April is National Poetry Month, so it's great that I seem to be on a roll. Surprisingly, I've written another piece that makes use of Zen learning. Sometimes poetry happens most easily when you just let it flow.

Away With Words

You share your revelations -
pearly wisdom divine -
but they run like rain on roofs
when the epiphanies are not mine

The light of answers given
is visions darkest curse,
and enlightenment only heard
leads to its reverse

The lotus of a patriarch
is nirvana of little use,
for we bloom within experience
and cannot receive the truth

- Peter Cholewinski

Man Of My Dreams

No, this is not about Jim. Of course, you'll know that by the tone. Just like the last couple pieces I've written, the seed of this poem was a dream.  I woke from it mentally composing the first several lines of this poem.

After the long dry spell I've had as a writer, I have now written three poems in a month! Also, I don't think I've ever written so many rhyming poems at one time. Maybe just getting back in the swing of things?

Man Of My Dreams

Might of a lion
speed of gazelle
What you desire from me
I cannot tell

Muscular arms
carry me away
as I'm penetrated throughout
by the gentlest gaze

I scent a mate
or perhaps I'm beguiled
by the musk of conquest
that returns to the wild

Might must be free
speed never tamed
and our word wary tongues
leave all unexplained

Animal instincts
see predator and prey
You never say "I love you"
I'm running away

- Peter Cholewinski

More on Everyday Zen

I believe in a few other posts I've touched on the idea of everyday Zen. Everyday Zen is a term I use for the ability to extend the mind state achieved during zazen into normal life. It's the idea is that someone who is truly enlightened should be able to stay in the moment and avoid delusion constantly. Eventually, such a person might be able to exist within an enlightened mind state all day, everyday.

Here's one of the experiences that led me to the concept of everyday Zen.  Years ago, I was meditating on a warm day with the windows open. I was enjoying the sound of the wind and the birds singing. So peaceful! Suddenly, one of the neighbors started blasting some lame music. At first, I was totally annoyed. I was about to get up and shut the window when I thought: "Wait a minute! If I'm really in zazen, why should this music bother me? If I'm in the right mind state, shouldn't I should be able to sit in zazen even with someone blasting death metal music right in my ear?" The idea made a big impression on me, and I left the window open.  Sure enough, I was able to get into zazen again. Not easily and not for long, but then that just means I need more discipline.

To be able to exist in the right mind state in all situations obviously requires tons of discipline, and I am nowhere near being there.  However, as I've thought about this idea and tried to bring what I've learned in zazen to my daily life, I find I have learned how to summon right-mindedness. It isn't everyday Zen; it's more like a sign that I'm learning what the right mind state feels like and to change my behavior when I'm in the wrong way of thinking.

For example, the other day I was on a conference call where we were debating over a topic. During the call I realized I was very tense, and I did not feel comfortable with myself or the way I was coming across at all. I recognized I was in a bad mind state. Since I was alone and dialing in from home, I had the freedom to mute my line and check out of the conversation for a moment. I closed my eyes and, in a matter of seconds, cleared my head as if it were a blackboard that I'd run an eraser over. I was relaxed and my thinking much clearer. I got back into the conversation and was amazed at the difference I heard in my voice. I sounded calm and assertive.  Also, while I hadn't stopped caring about the conversation, I'd disconnected myself from the outcome. I made my points, offered my ideas, debated as necessary but also let myself go with the conversation. There was a peaceful detachment that - I think - made me more effective, less stressed, and much happier overall.

Another example also came from a day when I was working at home. I'd finished lunch really quickly and was about to go back to work because "I had nothing better to do". Instead, I made myself take the full hour off. I just kicked back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling not really thinking about anything. Afterwards, I realized that - impromptu - I'd achieved something of the emptiness I can achieve in zazen. When I went back to work, I was fresh and much more relaxed. "Nothing better to do" indeed!

Naturally, working at home is a much easier place to make such observations and the related corrective actions. Everyday Zen would require much more skill and awareness. Perhaps if I can keep learning, I can eventually get to everyday Zen...

Spring is Here!

May not seem like it. We have 30 degree highs, and there's still snow on the ground. But this is northern Illinois, kids.

The harbinger I depend on for predicting the arrival of warm weather are the appearance of snowdrops. These little clumps of flowers are hardy enough to precede even the tulips in breaking out of the ground.  Snapped this pic of a clump that comes back every year just outside our back door.

Bike riding weather is not far away!

Wind and Stone

I'd previously posted a poem I wrote a while ago called Ghosts. In this poem I compared writing poetry to being 'a spellcaster'. Part of me has always found something supernatural or magical about the creation process, and poetry - especially when it has rhythm and rhymes - can have the cadence of a spell being chanted. This poem came to me as an image when I was either falling asleep or waking up. Of course, this just fires my imagination as these 'in between' times are associated with magic and witchcraft in mythology.

Wind and Stone, which I just finished today, has nothing to do with either magic or witchcraft. Instead, it's one of the few times I've been able to work a concept from my Zen studies into a poem. That, and the fact it's the second poem I've written in less than a month, makes me happy.

Wind and Stone

Saharan winds
carry the scent of burning feathers,
promising rebirth
where the sand and sky blurs

Wary of mirages,
I built my oasis upon this crag of stone;
amid the sand and grit,
I need not crave nor atone

Decade after decade,
caravans cross the landscape
like dunes seduced by the wind,
forsaking permanence and shape

Sun burnt and leather-cracked,
they exalt in an endless journey,
while I mistrust visions
which as mirages ever fly before me

Departing at dawn
they quicken their pace,
unaware that we are destined
to find ourselves in every place

- Peter Cholewinski