Awkward hair phase.

  It took me probably over a year and a half, maybe even closer to two years, to get my hair to the length it is not, which is about shoulder/middle upper back-length now. Looking back, it doesn't seem that long and in fact, I've forgotten about so much of the time spent getting to this point; it's funny, in retrospect, just how many times I've threatened to cut it all off and go back to nothing. Well, very short and monk-like anyhow.

  It wasn't easy but it's worth it, if nothing else for the experience, because I'm pretty sure I'll probably lose a good bit of it at some later point in my life, thanks to genetics. It honestly constantly surprises me that my hair is capable of growing this long, so for me it's been an experience in all things yoga-like: patience... mostly patience, actually. And acceptance.
  I went through a lot of the aforementioned "awkward hair phases" during the process and looking back on them they make me laugh too, not just because of how they look but because those were not just awkward phases in my hair growth; they were awkward phases in my own growth. I'm not the same person I was then, if you know what I mean. If not, I simply mean that sticking to the experience teaches you a lot about yourself. To me, having long hair is more a sign of wisdom I've accrued in growing it, not at all for the sake of fashion or because I "look good with it".

  It's who I am right now. I have long hair. One day I will have short hair again, when it's time to. Or I won't.

  One just never knows what's in store..

Predilection

  You know, I have something to say. Obviously, because I have this blog set up but in all seriousness, this is about the celebrity of talent.

  I may have certain natural talents, as we all do, and I may be naturally fluent with words and gifted in such a way to arrange them attractively at times. But, that's it. I'm not more talented than you and it does not define my self worth. Just as someone who is skilled at carpentry is drawn to it either early on or at some random point later in life, I was slowly drawn to writing as my means and end. Eventually I started to listen up and really pay attention and slowly, eventually, I began looking deeper into life and using that as my infinite source of inspiration. There's no further magic in it but a little bit of luck and a decent helping of determination to make it a "thing".

  I say this because I'm insanely modest about such things, and don't like the attention, truthfully; but, I've been reading some things and hearing a lot of people say how they can't write because they're not good at it and this and that, and it doesn't stop at just writing: It goes for everything. Sometimes we just find something that aligns with us and we pick it up so easily because we already have some sort of natural predilection towards it. But that does not make those who do not have the same affinity for it any less vital; they could easily be writers if they tried. I hold with the mindset that anything is possible, if you want it badly enough and if you put your whole self into accomplishing it.

  I just don't want people discounting themselves when it's ridiculous to do so in the first place, and not only that but it excuses one from challenging themselves and being well-rounded all over as an individual. A case in point would be asking an adept at a certain craft or trade for advice on how to approach something, and then using that and successfully completing or achieving it. It can be done, anything; it's just a matter of believing in yourself and your limitless possibilities.

  So ends my rant for the night, on a positive note, at least. So, get out there and do something you never thought to yourself you couldn't do, and surprise the hell out of yourself. Cheers.

Buy the ticket, take the ride

  There's a part of me that believes that this path chose me, and not the other way around, though I have no way of really knowing because it's all subjective anyway. Whatever it is that you believe in, shapes your beliefs. I, personally, have always put more faith in the mystical spectrum of things, trusting my instinct and feeling my way through life; to me, there is no other way, and it puts me in a tough position to successfully understand where others are coming from but this isn't about beliefs, it's about walking the path that, depending on your beliefs, chose you or vice versa.

  The path in question is that of being a writer; I saw a quote from Kafka recently that says, "a non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.", and it blew me completely away. It's true, of course, and I haven't been writing. Without its releasing quality, things change inside me gradually and left alone for a long enough timeline, permanent shifts and changes in psyche follow suit. Before you know it, you're not sure you've ever been a writer and have lost yourself once again, deep in the woods of your own heart and soul.

  And this leads me to believe that this path has chosen me, just how naturally it came to be. And lately, I am that monster.

  It goes in spells though, creativity; it ebbs and flows. Periods of intense mental lethargy follow periods of intense productivity, perpetually chasing after one another like Ourobouros and its tail. It's frustrating, and even though I'm no Stephen King with even a single published book, the times they are 'a changing, and there unfortunately are not a lot of people who have or take the time to sit down and read a book. So, despite there always being those (like myself) who realize the power of holding a great book in their hands and appreciating that over any other medium, one cannot fall behind the 8 ball when so much of everything is digitalized these days.

  My dilemma is this: I like analog. I like doing things by hand, the old way or the hard way or whatever you wish to call it. I journal. I entertain myself with my own internal life and have a stack of personal manuscripts filled with time and energy, tracing my writing "career" back to its inception. My life in books, as a book. But none of it will ever be published. It's not for anyone but me. This, however, this is for everyone. And no matter how much my pride goads me to write an epic novel in the vein of Dostoevsky or a grand philosophical tale that would make Nietzsche proud, this is all I have for now. And that's enough.

  I'm getting a little more discerning as I go, now taking more time to finish thoughts and create cohesion than before, though I still hold fast to my sentiment of the rawest original thought and feeling as being the best, and most genuine. For the sake of my readers, I will be constantly keeping up with my checks and balances to keep evolving my craft with my own psycho-spiritual development.

  Like so many other things, it's a constant work in progress. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

Forever time.

In my mind, I'm freaking out: I have to be somewhere, doing something by a certain time. We're losing daylight. Hurry up. Wait. Get even more agitated because I feel the universe closing in on me. 

Time exists because we created it but nothing more can be said about that, or done. As with so many other things, it just "is what it is". But that does not mean that we are totally defenseless against it; we can post up and breathe, reclaim our precious seconds and minutes in silence. 

Work with what you have available to get done what absolutely needs to and damn the rest for another, better time. We're only human and there is only so much of it to work with in a day, after all.

Nietzsche-Peachy

To me, the most life-affirming thing is to have soul conversations with similar human spirits. Makes you feel a little less insane and maybe validates your existence and what you're about, just a little.

For instance, sheeple. You know, the unawakened, unenlightened. Those who go about their sleepy existence thinking that this is it, this is as good as it gets and this is how things must be everywhere. Television becomes a deity worshiped on asscheeks around the world. I'm not saying everyone has to share my disdain for how spiritually retarded we've become as a human collective, I just want questions to form in your mind when faced with authority or social injustices and I don't want you to just go along blindly with the popular opinion. Have one of your own! Even if it's not to have one.

What is it that causes one person to wake up, and another remain asleep? Is it choice? Or something else? A condition of the heart, perhaps: A hardening, a great constriction of the thing to hang on to what it holds so true, so dear; a defense mechanism for a world out of sorts.


  I've gone back to reading Nietzsche lately, so you'll have to excuse my recent philosophical bent. The man is my idol, however, and not only that but my literary guru, to boot. Most everything I learned about myself, I learned largely in part thanks to him. No bullshit. Reading him changed the course of my life permanently and I am ever so thankful for this world that produces such people who open our eyes and inspire us, especially when we're bombarded incessant;y every day with the mediocre and inconsequential. Nothing matters. Nothing we're told does, or should, anyhow.
  What matters is going home at the end of the day to something or someone you love, and doing what you do for the betterment of yourself and others, not just wasting away on a little cloud of consumerism and fantasy everyday that everything is just ok. Denial gets tricky, best not to mess with it.

  Mr. N and I disagree on a lot of surface things but it's never the surface I'm really concerned with. Something as simple as having a conversation with someone is enough, sometimes. Some study the words spoken, others the tone and timbre; still others, myself included, lose sight of the words immediately in favor of what lies behind them. It's very much like deciphering code.
  Well, in a way it is a code. Our psyches are so efficient and skilled at erecting our grand defensive archetypes that many times we aren't any the wiser about it until one day we are. A lot of times, I don't even listen to what's being said; I space out studying the space the words are coming from and the feeling behind it. It stands to reason then that this is why I've never been a "lyrics person", when it comes to music; for me, what strikes me first and foremost is the feeling driving the piece. What the group is saying, because each member (provided these are real musicians and not some poppy piece of bubblegum shoe shit no talent ass-clowns) is telling you a story.

  This is a huge digression but the nature of my writings have always been a bit rambling and more akin to something conversational (believe me, if you've ever gotten me into a conversation of something I'm really passionate about, you'll hear my neediness assert itself proudly), so they never really have a clear destination most times anyway. But I was talking about music, and for the aforementioned, this is probably the reason I always aligned myself so readily with metal music, though I truly love all types. Like attracts like, and I am attracted to intensity of thought and feeling, to speak to my own. Not saying The Eagles lack this but I'm a true junkie and metal has given me the only fix strong enough to give me that little taste of death they all go for.

  There is no logical conclusion to this entry, but there never was one intended. I just wanted to write a few things and talk about something I was fired up about and inspired enough to write myself (publicly) out of the funk I've been in. Any of you who read me regularly will probably notice it's been a little while since I've posted anything. Well, yeah. For me, the creative process is very cyclical, and just as the moon and our own biorhythms go, my creativity is largely at the whim of waves and mercy. But, it is most importantly a craft, and as such, should be practiced ad nauseum, until it's like breathing.
  I also wanted to mention the actual web site I'm working on (that I largely procrastinated on for months, it seems) is in the works (really) and is beginning to take on some form. I don't know if perfectionism comes with being of a creative mind but it really does get terribly frustrating sometimes, and very unproductive but shit's getting done, and I'm getting excited about it, most importantly. This blog was ultimately just a starting point, a dip of the toes to test the water before jumping in head first, and it's gone amazingly, thanks to you.

Thank you,
Shane

Don't just do something, stand there...

… is how I often feel. I have plenty of good ideas of things I'd like to do but when it comes down to it, there's always plenty of things to stop me in my tracks. I'm sure that I'm not the only one for whose aspirations and actual  involvements don't equal out but I want to be that person who does things, rather than just talking about it, because, when you're doing it (and if it's for good reasons) then there's no need to waste the time or words talking about it; you're too busy doing it.

  Putting a time limit on things makes it troubling too, like everything needed to be done yesterday and you're not expecting to live through the week. shit does definitely happen but provided it does not, fatally, then you've got your whole life to get things done. Don't sweat it.

  I look at the time spent in front of this screen machine and am loathe to admit the amount of time spent  wasted, wasting away and just looking up the next material item to fill my life but only temporary.

  Ah, to be alive..

in the beginning pt. 2

“Buckin’ Muck Fulligan..”. He was obviously a little agitated, and confused. Ulysses was the recent topic of discussion; you know, Joyce? And what else would you expect working in a psych ward.. I mean, have you read it?  Phineas Poe told him about it, the crazy nut. Actually, there had been word of it from scholars and other pretentious hipster-types who liked challenging pieces of literature to read (because it makes them feel edgy). We all have something to prove, don’t we?

I guess I should take the time to explain who him is. Notice it’s not capitalized, because it’s not that Him; him. Shane. Me. It happens that I sometimes talk about myself in the third person; not really sure as to why that is, though…  It’s probably not life threatening but thanks for the concern ahead of time, just in case it is.

So I’m writing a book, or in the process of writing one, and it’s just not as easy as it seems, let me tell you. It’s never been very becoming of me to make up stories with elaborate plots, because really, I lack the imagination for that; the certain type required, that is. I’ll likely never create life on a planet like Arrakis or spin epic tales of Middle Earth but one thing I do have is the incredible ability to point out the obvious. Well, what’s obvious to me anyhow, so that’s what I’ll do.

       Reality is often kooky enough that you can make a really neat story out of it; I’m living it every day, and so are you. You just may not be aware of it. You’re in it right now, in fact. It’s not witchcraft, it’s fictional reality (thank Slayer for that one). But on a serious note, we’re in this together, you and I.

        

        Let’s get started.

There are many forks in the road but they all eventually lead you back to yourself, whoever that would be at the time (as in the present). I’m almost 30 years in, and the changes are beginning to take place. I can feel them, subtle yet gross; the return of Saturn in all her Copernican glory. She’s returned to teach a very important lesson but I never excelled at doing my homework, so I might be in a slight bit of trouble here; I really would not care to repeat the last 30 years over again. Not that they were bad, it would just be nice to have learned all the hard lessons and passed the test with flying colors now. Life. 

Some call it karma, others call it, well, whatever. There is always some consequence, perceivably good or bad, to each and every decision or choice we make in life; you know the story. Some people just can’t get out of their own way; some of the time I am this person. Some don’t produce enough forward motion to even have a way, just floating along eating bits of particulates and gorging on sunshine; most of the time this is where I’m at but everything grows into something, and it’s not always bad, so I try not to get too down on myself anymore and just keep making some semblance of forward motion. 

This does not, however, necessarily constitute as having learned a hard life lesson; for that, it’s the big things in life we have to look at, such as why you might always have the tendency to drink a little too much when you go out, knowing you have to drive, or who you associate with. Even what brand of toilet paper you buy or the way wipe your ass could mean the difference between loving yourself and just not giving a shit; or, also, it could possibly just be that toilet paper is not really something that important to most people. And in essence, it’s not; what I’m trying to get across is that nothing is so small that it is inconsequential, and to overlook even the smallest things is to overlook certain aspects of yourself. 

It’s our minds that are sick, not the world; what we see and know of it acts only as a mirror, of sorts. You know, like the old saying “you get out of it what you put into it”; that kind of thing. Sure, it’s fucked (the “world”) but we do it to ourselves nine times out of ten; it becomes a problem of an inaccurate perception then, a choice of living malevolently, not towards everyone else necessarily, but yourself.  

Think things are bad on the outside? Try looking into the hearts of man, or your own. Your true self, especially the ugly parts you know you can’t run away from (permanently). That’s where the real terror lies. That’s also where the conclusion is reached that it’s useless to fight it. That helpless feeling? That’s the battle waged between reality and the idealistic ego; it’s telling you that something’s wrong, and you know it is because you can feel it but it’s ominous in its omissions and you never quite get the full picture until it’s too late: Things tend to reveal themselves to us once we’ve dropped our preconceptions of them.

A mind has to want to change, the owner of the mind has to want to change it. And it’s a lot of work. It’s a lot of damn work. 

I thought about writing a book; instead I’m left with what’s turning out to be the memoir of a life not yet lived. Happens. But having a creatively neurotic, slightly overactive imagination is not the worst thing that can happen to you, oh no. For that, the prize goes to becoming aware of this fact, and trying to go on leading a socially accepted version of what a normal life is every day. At first, reality loses a bit of its lustre, and there’s usually a very dark period that comes when one is being wrenched out of their little sleepy dreams and into the big, bad world.  

Now, by this point you’re probably wondering just what the F am I babbling on about, and is there any purpose to all this nonsense? Well, no. Not really. I mean, there is but it follows its own formula generally but it’ll all make sense in the end.. Hopefully. I mean, give me a break; none of the writers I look up to put out all zingers; this is the awkward creative adolescent phase I’m stumbling through and will continue to until I’m about 87, when, I will have produced my life’s work. Hopefully. 

everything in its right place

It's been a little while since I wrote anything resembling my thoughts on here, and I'm not really sure what the hold up has been. I guess I burned myself out a little, or needed to take a step back from it and see what I was doing here. The act of writing is a private and powerful one for me, as it's a direct link into my heart and mind, and so constantly putting myself out there for the sake of views not only compromises the quality of my material but my own personal well-being.

It's ironic, really, that as private a person as I am, I write so frequently and put myself out there without a second's thought most times. It's almost like once it hits the paper, it's no longer real to me, or at the very least no longer holds any relevance to my life; it's dead. A moot point. This is why it's such a powerful adaptive tool for me, and not just a hobby.

You cannot impose a time limit to a work of creativity; it being an organic process, it should be expected to come in ebbs and flows, subject to waxing and waning and dry spells. I like to defeat myself by acknowledging how I STILL have not written a book and do not even write on a regular basis, and that I should be sending my stuff out to small magazines and such to be published.

I'm a big believer in things happening for their own reasons and in their own time, so this is not something I'm comfortable with, or even capable of, rushing. It will happen one day when my own personal stars align. If it does not, then it doesn't change one single thing about who I am as a person. This is who I am, and my writing is a direct reflection of that. With it, I can let myself be me without fear of internal judgements or criticisms.

I'm happy with where I'm at right now and look forward to continuing to grow in power and scope, until one day my masterwork is fully realized. until then, here's another blog post.

-Shane 11.3.13

a part of a whole

Evolution really fucked us up. Getting all dolled up on Sundays and days of the week to go play make believe with that imaginary friend no one ever had the heart to tell you wasn’t real. It’s sad. Makes my heart heavy for people but especially for the little ones who are raised on spoonfuls of the stuff; they don’t even have a choice. The idea of true freedom sounds nice but it isn’t quite apparent when you consider the fact that someone who is not competent to make their own decisions o form their own beliefs, is fed and taught what they’re to believe. 

Why?

Why do people do what they do? No one seems to have any idea. I guess it’s just what you do, like going to college, getting married and having a family with a house a dog and a big yard. The reality of that is, the whole time in college was wasted getting wasted and having license to be sexually promiscuous (and that’s where the family comes from), then getting married as a way to try and make amends to yourself or someone else that has too large of a role in your life and decision-making process. Making another mistake will not cancel out the first one.

Add to this now the little love nest, the ideal home for your idyllic family to blossom in and how it straps you to the bone with payments you begin to fall behind on, because those aren't the only bills anyone has. Remember college? Yeah, you'll be paying that one off for a long time and all other manner of fun distractions rape your credit card bills every month until you're right where "they" want you. 

Because of tensions regarding a shortage of money, your marriage becomes a battleground for resentment and bitter fights which will one day lead to divorce and another child with a broken home, making you question why you ever got married in the first place, and of course you know you never should have.

This is the American dream, just not the way you were led to believe it would turn out.

Now, I have a grand tendency to generalize things in very broad strokes. I’m not talking about ALL people, just about 95% of them, give or take. Some semblance of security is important though, so I don’t want to be the one to tell you it’s all wrong; if it gets you through a rough time or a rough life then brother, sister, by all means go for it. It just confuses me a little, and I think it’s a good idea to have a solid idea why, rather than just doing what a lemming would do. It’s global, almost at a pandemic level and with no signs of slowing. Far, far away I would love to live outside the boundaries of this infernal death machine, this rat race march of lemmings off unspeakable fucking cliffs to impale ourselves on the spires of greed.

No one's perfect and that's what I mean when I say we're all in this together. We're all fucked, so no matter what, we share that common bond. It's time to wake up now. Turn the TV off, because you don't need any of that shit they're trying to sell you and if you do, then you can go and get it on your terms. Money talks, and bullshit walks. Since we're the ones with the strings coming out of our legs and arms and asses, it's about time we gave a real show that no one's buying into or paying out for...

infection detective

  There wasn't a drop of blood left in his body but the man continued on, or at least as it appeared, living. Existing. But there was no breath coming in or leaving his body; he appeared to be caught in a state of suspended animation, it seems.
  Not one scientist, doctor or other rational-minded individual present could explain the phenomena, though each one was viewing the spectacle with their own eyes, and so that it was actually happening, had happened, could not be refuted. Stunned, all anyone could do was sit and watch and wait, but for what no one rightly knew.
  Perhaps the man would fall over onto his side, all color having gone from his skin and close his eyes in the big sleep. Or maybe he would simply crumble and turn to dust before them; at this point, nothing was out of the question.

  Very little is known about the man, where he came from or how he came to be in such a state; throat opened neatly across, having spilled its contents over the front of the man, saturating him in a hideous red, sticky film, the blood having been dry for an indeterminate amount of time. It would seem he simply just materialized on the front steps leading to the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta.
  The place has gotten enough media attention having been in The Walking Dead, so that it was some sort of publicity stunt by some hardcore horror nut had not been overlooked. But, there was something different about this, not ominous in the least, though understandably unnerving; It seemed more akin to an intense demonstration of something, to show someone what they had not been seeing.


  That day, nothing was clear and answers were sparse but in the coming days and weeks and months, more information began to come out and shed some light on the strange occurrence and feed the public's insatiable curiosity.
 
  The body was of a 38- year old man of solid build who, at first, had appeared to be homeless, wearing dirty rags and looking quite disheveled, as there had been no forthcoming information on the subject (his age was determined through saliva samples) to that point. Eventually news broke of his identity as a former student of film and avid Hatha yogi, having left his studies early on to travel to India in order to pursue his true interest.
  Little is known of what or who he studied with while there but it has been a popular speculation in certain circles that the man was a true adept, and had reached the highest point of his practice in meditation and was no longer privy to our understanding of the natural world, or how things should function in it.  Further mumblings, later developed after having learned of the body's mysterious disappearance from the morgue it was taken to, reasoned that the man was not even there in the first place; that he was simply a projection of his celestial body, having turned back into the particulates of light that he, all of us, had manifested from originally.
 
  He returned to stardust, but whatever message he may have been trying to send had been lost in translation, pining over the physical details of the matter. I guess, in a way, he had gotten his message across though, in that there are things in this life one can never understand by looking outside with reasoning eyes.
 

in the beginning...

  “Buckin’ Muck Fulligan..”. He was obviously a little agitated, and confused. Ulysses was the recent topic of discussion and what do you expect working in a psych ward? You know, Joyce? Phineas Poe told him about it. Actually, there had been word of it from scholars and pretentious hipster types who liked challenging pieces of literature to read, which made them feel edgy. We all have something to prove, don’t we?

I guess I should take the time to explain who him is. Notice it’s not capitalized. Not that Him; him. Shane. Me. It happens that I sometimes talk about myself in the third person, not really sure as to why that is… it’s probably not life threatening but thanks for your concern.

So I’m writing a book, or in the process of writing one, and it’s just not as easy as it seems, let me tell you. It’s never really been becoming of me to make up stories with elaborate plots because really, I lack the imagination for that. The certain type required, that is. See, reality is kooky enough to make a really neat story out of; I’m living it every day, and so are you. You just may not be aware of it. You’re in it right now, in fact. It’s not witchcraft, it’s fictional reality. Thank Slayer for that one.

There are many forks in the road but they all eventually lead you back to yourself. 

---

So, that is an abandoned beginning of the book I haven't wrote yet, the title of which I am leaving out because it's fucking awesome and I don't want any of you motherfuckers stealing my shit. Bahahahaha just kidding... but seriously, it's a secret until it's finished. Let me know what you think! LEave me some feedback on FaceBalls, I mean Book, or something similar! I'm not writing it strictly for my sole purposes, after all..

-Shane

therapy.

1.

Therapy. 

Death metal and violent video games style. 

Hey, I spend the other remaining hours of each and every day mindfully, or at least attempt to, so a little mindless self indulgence once in a while never hurt anyone. Sometimes that’s all it takes, all a person needs is some fun.

Getting playfully plastered with your best friend, circulating the wonderful toxin around In your body, enough of which to kill that bug that’s taken residence up your ass, loosen the knickers a bit. 

We’re generally way too up tight; not saying getting drunk is always the best therapy but for someone like me, it is. I’m not a drunk or an addict or a junkie, I just like to get out of my head and have some fun on occasion, alcohol being the best answer, most times. It’s not always pretty, but with the right people and the right place, it can be a thing of beauty. 

It becomes less a social experience than  it is a shamanic one, feeling as if I’m taking part in some ancient ritual, passed down through generations, with its intent in contacting the other side. I feel that way because it is that way. You could look at the science of it and bore yourself to sleep or you could look at the spiritual science behind it, the one our Western minds can’t touch. 

2.

Ritual. Loud music and chalice style. 

A seance of slurred words and liberated bodies, freed from anxious shackles. Psychic bondage. 

Getting freer now, movements become more exaggerated, staggering and swaying. Dancing. Bobbing to the beat either in your head or outside of it, caught up in a feeling, emotion takes over. This is where it gets tricky.

To those who aren’t comfortable with their inner worlds, drama ensues; loud, emotional outbursts of jealousy and anger. One shouting voice becomes two, then three  or more in but a matter of seconds. The fight response dominates and everyone is suddenly very brazen, more so than usual. This is an unusual circumstance. Conversations become passionate, heated; logic gives way to charisma and you see the person behind their mask. Some masks are better left on, however; take heed and pick your drinking partners carefully.

To those who are more comfortable in their inner worlds than the outer, the experience is perceived very differently. Insight deepens, the heart expands and shines bright, healing light on all those it touches. Blood vessels dilate, the pulse evens out and the edginess you carry around as your shield dissipates; there’s no need for it here anymore. You’re free. You’re safe. The negative becomes numb so the positive can come forth. Shy ones and quiet ones experience it this way, the thinkers become the feelers the know they are. Relax, little one, for you can breathe easy now in this acceptance, for we are all drunk here, let that be your shield for the night. Find your security in yourself again, speak your mind and heart, let yourself be truth. 

3.

Theory. Armchair philosopher style. 

For therapeutic purposes, it’s best to choose a partner matching your own temperament, such as two reserved types or two un-reserved types. This lends to greater understanding and appreciation of each other’s thoughts/feelings and lessens the chance of misunderstanding, which greatly improves the positive impact of this work. 

Things always get off to a slow start but there is no need for haste; we have all night. 

4.

It’s now an arms race into slow oblivion. It’s no longer quite known if time is slowing  down or speeding up but is irrelevant, either way. 

retreat

  And so it goes that at times I shall retreat back into the darkness and silence within and come out a new and better person. Writing hasn't held as much appeal to me lately as reading, Howard Phillips Lovecraft, to be exact. I have quite a soft spot for 19th Century literature, even though he is technically a 20th Century writer, the feel is the same; very reminiscent of Poe and all the other great decadents but with a superior twinge of the macabre and celestial.
  I forgot what it was like to get lost in a story, to feel your pulse quicken and to picture yourself there, using your brain's finest powers of imagination. Perhaps that is a writer's curse? Too busy writing all the time and not taking enough time to read.. or perhaps it is only MY curse. Either way, it's the season of spook and it is thoroughly fulfilling to lose myself in the mad and macabre, especially during the changing of darker seasons.

  And this got me to thinking again, and wanting now to put more focus on trying to write stories again, short ones, like Mr. Lovecraft, though mine would have to contain some element of mysticism or spirituality; spiritual or existential horror, perhaps.. If there is such a thing. Horror is a subjective thing, though; what terrifies one enthralls another, so it is purely an expression based off the author's own.
  Truth is, I have no ideas to start on. Never do. Sometimes you just have to start writing and get the wheel turning manually. Most importantly, I need to remind myself that it is an art and a craft, and as such will need work to constantly and consistently improve; in other words, this shit doesn't write itself, so get moving!

3 of Poetry

"I must create a system of be enslaved by another mans'. I will not reason and compare: my business is to create."

That about sums it up; thank you, Mr. Blake.

For what seems like a long time now, I've been wanting to do this writing thing. For real. It is, however, all too easy for me to overlook the fact that I am already doing it. I am a writer and it's what I do, regardless of what I do or do not have published or in print.

But I have something to say. A lot, actually, and I want to reach a wider audience because I don't know why. Why the hell not, really.

It's something I'm guided by, driven by... I haven't made much of it but this blog and actively putting my stuff out there has been such an immense personal step for me, and the fact that people come up to me and mention how they "read my blog" touches me so deeply my eyes are moist just thinking about it.

It's a labor of love, and the best I can hope for is that someone can feel it when they read it, the way my favorites make me feel it when I read them. Thank you, Henry Miller.

I have big things in mind but, as with all important things in my life, time must be taken for the seed to reach its full germination, when it is strong enough to grow on its own. When that time comes, I just know.

Part of my confliction is my relationship with work: I enjoy staying busy and feeling I have a purpose, and of course making money to be able to live but so often that's all we have time for. We get up, go to work, come home for a little then go back again. Writing is as natural for me as breathing but it always has to contend for a time slot with the rest of my societal obligations. As much as I would love to just spend weeks or months at a time living the Walden life, it is simply not practical at this point. In this society, though I am gaining much optimism and hope for the future I want as I get further into 'Off The Grid'.

I only wish to create meaningful things that others can relate to but getting it going in any kind of direction is tough when you're as neurotic and hyper-critical as I am but I write every day (pretty much), and part of being a writer (part of being anything) is that it never sleeps. Day in, day out I'm observing, taking note, refining, studying and solidifying my own unique version of life; one day it will be a great read ;)

sink pisser

  One day a few weeks ago now, i was in my most favorite of beer stores and as I'm perusing the 22oz. bomber bottle selection, I see the owner go in to the bathroom out of the corner of my eye. There was already a man in there. It seemed rather strange but I didn't question it but there sounded like rather perturbed conversation coming from behind the closed door.
  A few seconds later the owner comes out, storming over to the table where the man's friends were sitting and tells them that their friend is done and needs to get the hell out of his store. Still confused, I continue to shop but hone my attention on to what they were saying.. Apparently, the man was pretty drunk and was pissing in the sink; on top of it, he didn't speak a word of English.

  It was a pretty awkward situation, hearing him explain to the man's confused friends that he was pissing in the sink and he doesn't want to see him in this store again. It led me to thinking: why aren't we pissing in sinks? Guys, i mean.

  Think about it. Clearly our aim is off at times, and despite our best efforts to remember to put the seat down, it just doesn't always happen, so the common sink is a perfect solution! One can also conserve water in the process, washing their hands all while washing the pee down the drain, and it's the perfect height with no splash or splatter, though admittedly I am not aware of the logistics of the sink water system i.e. where the water goes and if it doesn't get treated like toilet water does?

  It's a mystery..

  And in case you're wondering, I have not forgotten about urinals; it seems they are the meeting ground in the middle but are not without their own challenges. I guess it doesn't really matter what kind of receptacle you put up, someone's going to piss all over it or on it but not in it. If it continues to be a problem, catheterization may be an upcoming trend we'll be seeing.

in case of the end of the world

In case of the end of the world, do nothing. There’s already nothing being done all over the place, so no need to start now. Survive. Thrive.

Consider it a blessing that our crutches have been smashed to bits and thrown away before our very eyes because we don’t need them; we’re lazy, apathetic, complacent.

 

It’s time to open those sleepy eyes and stretch slumbering limbs, get the feeling of blood flowing in our veins again. It’s been too long since we’ve felt truly alive. That fear you feel is good, it’s normal, it’s human; use it, for it has gotten us through hard times for centuries.

 

Instinct and self-preservation become predominant traits; selfishness will ultimately break out until the fittest take their rightful place in the social order, and I do not mean by musculature alone; a suitable leader will be honest with himself and others, and act out of consideration to all whom his (or her) decisions affect.

 

Too long we’ve been lulled to the sleep of death swaddled in lies; the age of truth is upon us, and it hurts. It will hurt. But pain is good, pain is cleansing. Through suffering we come out stronger and more galvanized than before, having made it through the trial by fire.

 

Zombies are the least of our concerns.

 

 

early morning riser.

  I don't always wake up at 5 am like I like to but when I do, it seems the rest of the day goes easier from the start. Already I had my breakfast without having to rush to eat it, I got my Lumosity brain training in and will be able to enjoy some tunes on the drive in, again, without having to rush. It doesn't always go this way but it's nice when it does.

  For a while, I thought that I had to get up at 4 or 5 to do my yoga practice (ahem, asana practice) but I'm seeing it differently now: I'm seeing that I am doing it, every minute of every day, either consciously or unconsciously. That is only something that comes with practice and I'm far from ideal, at least in my mind. For now, friends, it shall do.

On being a bastard.

  For as easy of a person as I am to get along with, I'm a terribly difficult person to really get to know and live with; I don't know how my family puts up with me some days. Maybe it's not as bad as I make it out to be but I am a bonafide contrarian, and it frustrates even myself. The problem is with awareness.  Because I spend such a huge amount of the time in my own head, I know all my own little quirks inside out, and catch myself on it when I pull something in real life: It may go unnoticed by everyone else but you can't fool yourself.

  So, for as peaceful as I am it stands to reason that I am a seething ball of chaos not far below the surface. I really don't intend for this to paint a melodramatic picture of my life because it is far from terrible, however, the burden I carry lies within me.

  Everyone suffers in their own ways. Life, is suffering. Period. What it means, it means to us alone and it's what we made it to, to appease our deeper desires that wish to pull something from the experience of it.

  I like these dark days of mine but it's all too comfortable and easy to get lost in; I've tasted that darkness once already and don't wish to go back. I won't go back. But, it's still pertinent to poke your head in there once in a while, see if anything changed or to realign with yourself.

  I feel helpless other than to write out these demons so they don't overstay their welcome, as they have before. Maybe for some, psychotherapy works but I don't believe in that either. I don't think it's right to be paid money to do what we should be doing for each other in the first place, out of goodwill towards men (and women), to have someone determine what the mental health of an individual costs per hour.

  The world has lost touch, and this is the part where the blame gets passed, the fingers get pointed. I can't blame any one thing in particular because it's a collective failing. I hate that couch surfing is our national pastime, and that a television has now replaced the campfire as a social circle to congregate around. I hate seeing people with their faces in their phones constantly, like we can't be stand to be bored for two seconds and just stand there and observe. I hate that chain restaurants are the new home dinner, and the reason it is that way.
  Most of all, I hate that I do all this myself; I'm trapped, a prisoner in my own mind and only I have the key. If there is one thing I know, however, it's that it's not going to be found in any one of 9,000 channels.

Borrowed Creativity.. Do the Astral Plane!

  I'm on a bit of a yoga high right now, having just finished up an hour long vinyasa class, and man am I loving life. Sitting here, staring out at the beautiful sunset there really is nothing else that matters.

  I could be out, running errands and spending money I don't need to spend on stuff I don't really need at this exact point and time but instead I'm here, and there's no place else I'd rather be, no time or place it could be but now.

  Feel it. Suck air. Kick out whatever jams you love loud as hell and let's do this.

down on the upside

  Sometimes I really wonder how people get by in life with what they make. I live at home with my parents, and while there are times I feel self-conscous about this, lately I'm feeling kind of ok with my decision to have stuck around so long. Now, I do have goals and ambitions in life and I won't be living at home forever but I've just never had a need to go out on my own for the sole purpose of being independent; I can do that without throwing myself in debt up to my eyebrows.
  I'm very close with my parents, and rightly so as I'm an only child, and it's not all that uncommon or unethical in other countries for whole families to share housing. We just have this stupid attitude that we all need our own slice of the American Dream but there's another name for that and it's greed. The whole thing sickens me, from the top to the bottom. We were born on this earth, live off this earth, so when did it become a thing for someone to have the balls to charge us for our right to live?

  Homelessness is a thing. Poverty is a thing. And no one is safe.

  The cost of living goes up while the value of life goes down. Can you really blame people for committing suicide? I can't. And on that topic, i furthermore would not know what to say to someone if they told me they wanted to. As a good friend, one is pretty much obligated to defend their right to live but each person suffers in their own way. Who are we to tell them they must stay and suffer?
  The answer has more to do with religious dogma than anything, and this ridiculous belief that you won't be let into the secret fucking garden if you kill yourself, or you'll be trapped between planes of existence and your soul will never rest. How is that any different from every day life?

  I will not lie that I believe it's all gonna come crashing down on us one day; I do not live in constant fear of it like some but the pressure has been building for a long time, and things are not getting better, they're just not.

  So much trust we put in our money and the government but what is guaranteed us? Death and taxes. If you need a ridiculous example of this, consider the inheritance tax.

  Maybe it's always been like this, I don't know. I only have 29 years of living experience and insight to go off of but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that things are bad and wrong. Being (even partially) off-grid seems more and more appealing each day. I don't want to stay stuck to the nipple my whole life. I don't want someone else making decisions for me, not in my best interest.
 
  I want to live my goddamn life the way I see fit. I'm not hurting anyone, I just want to be left alone. I don't want to have to pick a career to enslave myself to for the sole purpose of making more of something that buys me nothing of any lasting value.

  The whole thing, life as we made it, is an elaborate ruse but the good news is that humor is not lost on it, though it takes a certain kind of humor and understanding of the deeper workings of things to appreciate it. In any case, I don't have any answers, just vitriol and contempt and a lot of sad and angry. Things could be so beautiful, life could be so beautiful without all this excess, without all this want and need, forever the material of books and movies... but not reality.

barstool philosophers

  You can learn a lot from the time spent next to someone on a barstool. In fact, some of my favorite, best and most intimate talks were under the influence and with the inebriated.

  I have a soft spot for occasional drunks like myself. I don't hurt anyone, and I'm a lot more responsible about it now than I was in my more self-destructive formative years.

  Alcohol is a drug, and as such should be treated with respect and a healthy dose of discretion (and moderation.. sometimes) but it also has its merits, and is not without certain positive attributes. One of which is the lowering of our carefully constructed defense mechanisms, that are often times put up to keep others from ever entering the fortress.
  Now, you can take that statement any way you like but for my purposes I'm talking about letting people in emotionally. So often we're all shut in and shut off from other people; can't trust anyone, don't know who to trust, you've been hurt too many times and are scarred now, whatever the case the story is the same for most all of us in some way. Alcohol gives us a little window of opportunity to let our hair down and open our hearts without fear of judgement and really, when you're drunk you could really give a fuck less.

  Shouldn't it be like that more often?

  The meek grow mighty (and occasionally unruly, unfortunately), the quiet become chatty or perhaps the chatty revert and begin to listen for once. Results are not typical and it's not the best drug of choice for a lot of folks but for the rest of us, it's nice. Just be nice to yourself and give it the respect it deserves and let yourself open up a little. Try it, you might like it.

9.29.13

  So tomorrow it's back to work, after having off the last four days and it's been quite lovely, I must say. I did a lot, a little and at some points, not a dam thing at all but take in oxygen to fill my lungs. The days come and go, filled with whats meaningful: life, love, friendship and real work: gardening, gathering, cooking, concocting, relaxing. Yes, sadly in this day and age it does take a lot of work to relax. Too much.

  This isn't going to turn into a rant on how backwards our priorities are as a culture because we all live it every day, it's more about me being grateful, something I don't often do. It was a good four days that I am truly thankful, not to god or any other deity but just thankful.

  Whether or not I truly believe that life is a gift, there are certainly those more tender moments where I romanticize the idea that it is, despite everything. To my mind, nothing has any intrinsic value to it but what we put on it, so if you think it's a gift, it is, and so with a curse; you know, all that power of positive thinking shit. It is not without its merit, that's for sure. Just don't get too carried away.

  When it's good, just sit back and enjoy it; you can thank whoever you want.

 

losers take all

  There was so much more that I had wanted to say with this piece when it popped in my mind earlier, something about the ongoing struggle for contentment, and my deep empathy for the chronic malcontent in life but now, later on in the evening of the same day, the thoughts don't hold as much force or color. But, while we're on the topic, we might as well carry through with it.

  I, personally, believe that contentment is the single hardest thing to come by in our day and age. Sure, a lot of people are really successful, and lead what appear to be rich and happy lives filed with joy and memories but all this is fleeting. There is no lasting value to even the best things in life. To truly be content with that, we must accept the impermanence of life itself, we must reach an agreement within ourselves, our real selves, the selves we go to sleep with every night whose unconscious displays all the dreams of our subconscious; the self we cannot escape from, no matter how much we drink, smoke, eat or who we surround ourselves with. At the end of the day we're all alone, is what it comes down to, and a lot of folks have difficulty in accepting that.
  It's not a bad thing at all, and in fact is probably pretty normal I would have to think. Sometimes I wonder if my occasional divorce from human emotions renders me "abnormal" but I think it's all very subjective, like a lot of things. For some, possibly maybe but for me, it's just another part of who I am as a person, the enigma not even I understand and will spend a lifetime attempting to navigate the labyrinth in the dark with a pen light.

  Out of this deep aversion to acceptance of certain hard truths of life stem many chronic malcontents, who for the most part I greatly empathize with and for, because in many ways I am one. However, there is a line that needs to be drawn in the sands of time at a point, and that point comes down to a person's understanding of the life equation. There's those who know and accept life is shit, who bumble around clumsily, seemingly making the same mistake innumerable times BUT all the while remaining aware of the certain trap door life poses to us. Then there are those who have some inkling of the many unpleasantries we are surrounded by and surround ourselves with but choose to deny it in some sort of childish ignorance that at times comes off very contrived; not a bad thing but inevitably a setup for a great many failures somewhere alone the line.

  Now, what can be done of this? Nothing, really; sadly, it is what it is and it comes largely down to choice: Those who choose to ignore will continue to put on the strong face to get through the day but cry themselves to sleep at night, alone within themselves and not knowing where to turn. Many types turn to religion, because it is easily accessible and familiar.
  Frankly, I don't care what a person believes in if it gives them strength, so long as it is for their reasons alone and not from the pressures of society or anyone else. To hell with everyone but yourself. Be true, follow what you feel to be true in your heart and stick with that. Santosha, or inner contentment, is thus born; a renunciation of the need to require, the elimination of want. To have all that one needs within them.
  Additionally, those who know and accept the impermanence are not guaranteed an easier life, per se, just for their knowing this. In fact, in many ways it makes things much more difficult because then one comes face to face with all the ugly defense mechanisms and machinations we humans put up in battle against the sadness, our loneliness. The individual can see through these farces, in others as well as themselves, and learns that there is no place left to run anymore, no place left to hide. All the good spots have been taken by artful dodgers, holed up securely with their insecurities. A bit over-dramatic, perhaps but all the same, none of the vices we held as our temporary refuge and residence do it for us anymore. There's nothing left but to struggle on and accept. And accept we must; we have no choice but to.

  So, friends, I have no solutions for any one of you. I myself am a little of the former and a little more of the latter, as we area all a mixture in differing degrees. All I can tell you from my limited but compassionate experience is to be yourself, and "do you". Learn how to make yourself happy first and the rest will fall into place.

the monkey breaks loose...

...of his cage but realizes he has no more freedom than before, the steel bars enslave only his physical form; he could escape any time he liked, or remain locked up and yet always be free so long as he allowed himself to be so mentally.

it doesn't help to question the existence of the bars, because you know they are there, can feel and smell them, but why they are there, that is the true question.

Burning off impurities.

  It's actually the name of an album by Grails but as I was inverted in down dog, it seemed fitting for a way to describe my own practice of yoga: A method of burning off impurities, to be left with the purest essence. I'm almost positive the title is more of a reference to the culture of drugs but it's hard to tell; it can be a very fine line between drug use and spirituality, and if you need any examples of that then look no further than the 60's and 70's.

  My thought process also led me to pondering how these yoga "superstars" from India came to be so huge and developed their own systems within the practice of hatha yoga. I'm talking about Iyengar, Pattabi Jois (Ashtanga), Bikram, etc.
  Each one has their own theories on the practice, each of their practices comprises a complete system fo complete rejuvenation of all bodily systems. I, however, have a rebellious streak and lack a guru of my own, so I'm kind of left to my own devices, which means that my rebellious mind gets the best of me and sooner or later I reject everyone else's system in favor of my own (whatever that is).

  I usually end up doing my own practice, though while still following basic guidelines from these other schools of teaching. It's not perfect but I try my best to keep things balanced and interesting. Too much experimentation has always been my main detractor from finding lasting success i.e. finding something that works and sticking with that, rather than constantly jumping around back and forth, searching. But, having said that, perhaps I have not found that something (read: practice) that works for me yet.

  If there's one thing all these methods of thought and different schools of teaching can agree on, it's that it is a continuous journey, and the only way to achieve anything is to keep practicing. I translate that to include even my more neurotic or experimental moments and phases.
  I have no desire in creating my own "system" of yoga; I just want something that works for me, that feels complete for me and not just like I'm following someone else's instructions because what works for one person doesn't necessarily work for another. Shit, even the Buddha said not to take his word for anything and to find your own answers.

  I'll go with that.

It all starts with one.

There's something to be said for working in a psychiatric hospital, and I've learned a few things in the short three years Ive been there, and learn more every day. When I first started, I actually pretty much hated it but I realize now it had more to do with not being over, or able to get over, my own personal bullshit; I carried it with me everywhere I went, and as such, was not a very good person (by my stringent standards).

So, now three years later, the teachings of life are becoming apparent to me, and I'm actually starting to enjoy my job there; it's certainly unlike anything anyone else does in a day, and abnormal is the norm. It's exciting, entertaining, seldom boring, and there really are a lot of great people there, both staff and patient. There's always going to be those certain few who push our buttons but those are the ones we stand to learn the most from. 

Whether you work in an office building or a psych ward, life is tough and people can really get on your fucking nerves but everyone has their baggage they carry around with them; it's just more apparent with some, and less appealing to us than others' whom we relate to more. Try your best not to judge, don't poke around in other peoples' business and tend to your own, because it doesn't tend to itself. 

Despite my cynicism, I really do love people, and I love helping them; it's not always accepted or appreciated, and sometimes people just aren't at the point where they're ready to hear what I have to say but it still feels better to say something real and genuine and uplifting to someone, even if they shut you out, then to say nothing at all and let the cycle of bad or harmful behavior knowingly continue on unchecked.

You can't save everyone but you can at least try to save one.

odd thoughts and side notes

 1. So I'm doing this three day training at work, what it is about is unimportant but what is, at least to me, is how EVERYONE comes in and sits in the exact same seat they did the day before, and tomorrow will be no different; it's like we've already mentally nested up and everyone just either feels comfortable most where they originally sat or they just don't want to upset the social balance of things by moving into another seat, even though there are no names or claims on them.

2. It's funny to me how some of my posts get such high hits (views) while others, and some where I really pour my heart out into, some of my most personal ones, get so little. I'm sure it has much more to do with timing and visibility than anything, just think it's interesting. Or maybe I try too hard sometimes? I'm not writing for popularity but I do keep up on the traffic levels, mainly out of curiosity.

3. Human beings have a strange relationship with pain and suffering. We do everything in our way to avoid pain, and end up causing ourselves suffering and go out of our way to revolt against suffering yet cause ourselves so much pain in the process. Work, relationships, family, friends, life... some we choose, others are chosen for us. Again, just seems funny to me. Life is funny, people are funny.
  I guess it takes a certain kind of humor or personality to understand the humor in it but its all just one big, cosmic joke it seems. Just keep laughing world, and it'll all work out in the end.

To search for something whole..

  As I'm in Ardha Matsyendrasana tonight, I'm struck with this feeling of wringing out a dirty rag; the body itself the metaphor for the rag which is being wrung out, as this posture ultimately does just that. This insight led me to further meditation on the themes covered in Enlighten Up!, though I don't understand anything any further than what I did before.
  I don't know what the fuck any of it means, to be honest. Some days it all seems so clear and then others it's like the bottom drops out on you. It is, if nothing else, a daily practice (yoga) and as such, falls in with the normal ebb and flow of everyday life just as well.


  But what does it mean?

  -Does it really matter?


  Here's where the conflict begins: I, myself would love nothing more than to undertake my own personal journey into the world of yoga and my own spirituality but it's just like our Western minds to try and understand everything, to put a goddamn label on something that can't be labeled with words alone. It's largely a feeling, like being on the verge of something so big yet having no ability to describe it in any way. Sometimes words can only do harm.


  I don't honestly care what it is, or what it means because it's going to be different for everyone. I know that it makes my body and mind feel good and it gives me a sense of purpose in my life, and that's all the reason I need to keep up the physical practice. As for everything else, well, I guess that will all come in its own time, now won't it?

  The word 'spirituality' gets thrown around a lot, I know; I'm not proud of it either. But, regardless of a person's level of development in that area,  we all exist within a physical body, a shell. This body is moving parts and squishy things. It is affected by what we consume, and what consumes it. So, you can be as spiritual as you like but without a healthy vessel for it to be channeled through, it's a bit like pissing in the wind. It works both ways, though. Vice-versa. It's a very holistic relationship between the two of them, physical health and spiritual health: One prepares you for living in the present while the other prepares you for living forever.

 
  I let myself do some exercise other than yoga asanas tonight; I actually lifted some weights for the first time in a month or so, and it felt good. That's yoga. Breathing is yoga. Everything is yoga.
  It's all around us, in everything we do, as long as we do it with our whole being: Mind, body and spirit.

  I'm hit with something Nick (the antagonist of the documentary) is asking of a reclusive OG ashtangi in Hawaii: Nick asked Norman (the OG), "...as i'm twisting myself into a pretzel, I'm wondering to myself...what the hell does this have to do with enlightenment?" To which Norman answered almost immediately, "Nothing."
 
  Wow. And he's right. But it is a tool, and you can choose to use it or not use it; really doesn't matter either way just so you keep practicing whatever it is that you practice that makes you feel whole. Leave the rest at home.


 

You are what your deep, driving desire is

  It's been a great weekend, already passed by now. Lots of stuff to fill my life with, and all things I want; it doesn't get much better. It sometimes gets frenetic, at least in my mind but we embraced a method of streamlining our thoughts, ideas and aspirations. Sometimes a person can just do too much, and spread themselves and their creative energies too thin; after all, there is only so much time in a day and I would imagine this affects a lot of people similarly.
  There's always more we want to do, could do or at least think we could do; the reality is often different. You have to wake up early, drive here and do this, spend so much time in point A then take the time to drive back to point B, then do what you set out to at home and every other thing you need to do in a day's time, and by then you're tired and need a nap and the day drags on and you don't stop because you have so much more to get done and if you don't you feel unfulfilled or unaccomplished or whatever. But that's bullshit, unless your life or livelihood somehow depended on it. Otherwise, it's just typical of that rambunctious little mind of yours being naughty and playing tricks.

  My girlfriend and I watched this documentary, Enlighten Up!, which is in my appreciation of it a road trip journey of a skeptic through the world of yoga. It didn't get entirely favorable reviews but everyone's a critic. If you have ANY inkling of interest in practicing yoga, do practice but want to learn more or do practice and still are not so sure why you practice, like myself, then please give it a watch; it's interesting and inspiring and I feel we all benefit from Nick's (the "subject") journey, even if you don't practice yoga. It won't bring you any closer to understanding just what IT is, as it is a lifetime learning process but it does contain a lot of great insight as to what it's all about.
 
  It is not what we have come to know it as. This may or may not be of any importance, as it's not so much about what you do but why you do it. That pretty much sums it up. Seems simple enough, right? until you start to think about that. Yeah, it's heavy stuff and I love it. I feel like having watched that, and I will many more times you can be sure, has brought me a little closer to myself as to why I practice, and what it is I'm trying to get out of it.
  It's ok if you just like practicing yoga for the exercise: Health of the body is important as well as that of the mind or that of the spirit. But eventually it will come to a point, violently or non-violently, that you will come to realize that something is missing in your life; that nagging void you continue to sedate and fill in with temporary distractions and proximity infatuations, all of which only leave you alone in a crowded room again and again.
  It's a vicious cycle but the wheel does not stop turning just because you've undertaken a "spiritual" path, oh no: In fact, it may get worse before it gets better. There comes a time for us all where we need to face up to ourselves and when the veil drops and we can no longer stifle, hide or run away from what we fear most, whatever that is. The answer can only come from you.

  It all sounds cliche and a little outrageous, and you'd be right to think that. I still do, and I practice hatha yoga. But just why I do still puzzles me. I see the cult of yoga and feel my cynicism take over; I get frustrated how so many associate yoga as being breath and body but at the same time, that's all I practice myself. I really don't understand the rest of it and without a guru, I feel lost in a vast sea of deep spirituality.
  Most times my pride gives me over to think that I know quite a bit about the subject when in reality, I know next to nothing, as about 98% of practicing yogis do I'm sure. Even with all the classic texts I read and have read, it's only words on a page; they mean nothing without full understanding of what it is they're saying. Think of it as a secret code that the initiated are adept at deciphering, while the others merely gaze over it for its beauty.

  I want something real. I feel like I'm getting closer every day. I practice for me and no one else and I do it at home, because for me it is a very personal journey. It's also selfish, in some ways. To a certain degree, I believe it has to be, because no one else can do it for you. But, once you're on the path already, you can always incorporate others into it and spread that joy you feel in your heart to others. A selfish means for an unselfish end, if you will.

  This is as far as my thoughts will take me for one night but this recent stirring within me will stay with me for some time. In many ways, I feel as though I have participated in the filmmaker's experiment, without the jet lag and devastation to my bank account.

  Interestingly enough, the day leading up to watching this, I was unconsciously stricken to pick up my copy of The Upanishads from my bookshelf and read a few passages. I will leave you with one such passage:

   "You are what your deep, driving desire is. As your desire is, so is your will. As your will is, so is your deed. As your deed is, so is your destiny."


9.15.13
S.B.
  

9.13.13, the continuing search for independence

  Something struck me this morning while talking to my friend Sam; we were talking about the dream of mine to have a hot sauce or gourmet condiment company that gets all (or most) of their materials from their company garden.  He asked, hypothetically, if it got big then would I expand the garden/farm? Because I certainly do not want to compromise quality for quantity, I said no; that's when the idea struck me.

  This is probably not a new concept to a lot of folks but to me it was a revelation: instead of more and bigger farms, there should be more smaller ones of higher caliber. With smaller farms, you not only offer more jobs to the community, who will also benefit from this venture but it would be infinitely better in terms of quality control.
  The thing is, we've all gotten too lazy. It's far too easy to run out to the store now then to plant a garden but,  we've ultimately given up all our control over the matter and put it in someone else's hands, who does not necessarily have our best interests in mind. As demand goes up, so must supply but instead of setting up separate farms as off-shoots, they push the huge ones they already have to the max and modify seeds in a laboratory to keep up with said demand.

  My dream for our future is to ultimately see more small (of course organic), farms pop up that have a tighter grasp of what they're doing and keep corporations out of agriculture. We were a farming society long before we were an industrial one, which still has its merit but so long as it no longer takes its toll on the Earth and renders the land we live off unfit to use.
  To go along with more small farms, it would be quite lovely to see communities come together, sharing their bounty with each other, like I imagine it used to be. What happened to us? We're connected more than ever but at the same time we've never been so disconnected from each other, and the ground we live on. We seem to have forgotten our roots and it's about time to brush up on our history before we become it.


  There's a lot of good resources out there on homesteading and general self-sufficiency, as well as seed savers who refuse to let our true heritage go to waste. Here are a few:

My personal favorite seed company/village/philosophy/etc:

http://www.rareseeds.com/get-to-know-baker-creek/our-village/


Where are you getting your seed? See if it's safe!

http://www.councilforresponsiblegenetics.org/ViewPage.aspx?pageId=261


A good place to start with any questions you may have on any interests you can imagine:

http://www.homesteadingtoday.com


I also recommend this book: Robyn is an amazing and inspiring person and the book serves as, I feel, an indispensable guide to most of us who just have no idea where to start.

http://homesweet-homegrown.com/book

9.12.13

  Bjork is a force of nature; I thought of this taking my dog-child for a walk tonight. I thought of the video clip of her viciously attacking this Chinese reporter in an airport: Bjork had her child with, who was very young at the time. She was only carrying out motherly instincts to protect from potential threats, and I would feel very threatened by paparazzi lighting up flash bulbs in my face and prodding me with questions and microphones. That reporter is lucky.

   I thought of my own placement of Scorpio in my natal chart, which I am grateful, for without it, I would be a spineless jellyfish lacking intensity and sexual desire. Whether or not you believe in   astrology to be accurate or not is of no consequence because I believe enough for the both of us.
  Anyway, as I'm walking Jameson, a Suburban passes at a rather high rate of speed and I wonder what I would do if a car were to come up or down over the hill at us, swerve and veer right into us, with myself jumping high enough at the last minute to just be vaulted in the air and landing relatively unscathed in the grass while JB takes it head on, splitting his skull clean open or possibly being trapped and drug under the car. I imagine his little legs twitching from underneath the wreckage with nothing but his pitiful whimpers and utter confusion to counter the deathly silence that follows a car accident.

  It makes my blood boil to even think of it. Yes, I think of some rather morbid scenarios but in such a situation I feel a person is partially excused from their actions, due to nature having taken over. I am not condoning murder or violence in the least but extreme conditions demand extreme responses, and that, to me, is an extreme condition. For some, the flight response is more active but if you kill my kid (fur-bearing or not), I'm probably going to fucking kill you with my bare hands, especially if it's right in front of me as that would be.
  I would simply cease to be anything but emotions and primal rage; I would see red, as the saying goes.   A crime of passion. Temporary insanity. All that shit.

  Sometimes I really feel like all of us, every single person, is just one fragile psychotic episode away from being institutionalized. I work with them, so I know that some people are truly just sick, but what about the rest of us? I mean, some would argue that Bjork is a little off to begin with but was what she did to that reporter really that far-fetched as to something you would do? Your first instinct is to protect your young; it's engrained in our DNA so much that no amount of primping will ever alter it.
  I think we often forget or, at the very least, suppress our animalistic natures to the point that we begin to dissociate from it, and that's not necessarily good. That means we forget our humble origins and think much more highly of ourselves then we probably should. We're animals, people; human animals and it is what the fuck it is. Deal with it. We're not perfect and to dress yourself up every day and carry yourself in a way that says your shit doesn't stink is rather sickening, at times.

  Domestication, civilization are great things but at the end of the day we live on a planet with other animals, and those animals live by a simple code called nature. But not to worry, we haven't completely lost touch with this code: we do still exact our power at the top position in the food chain by striping the land from these other beasts for our own purposes and killing every fucking thing that gets in our way; this we've come to label as progress, so it doesn't upset anyone.
  The leaders of this human monkey movement keep their subordinates in the dark about important things by feeding them the things they think they want to hear, or what they want them to hear, all the while keeping the minions content with fat food and plenty of drink.

  For the record, I apologize for the political/socio-economical diatribe, because I'm talking about nature here and she follows her own rules. I'm not saying to go out and start kicking peoples' asses or rip anyone's face off with your bare hands but if you do, under an extreme condition where you're acting out of some deeper drive or force for the protection of your own safety or that of others, then just know you have my deepest understanding and excusal.
  You're exempt, in my book. And it's not just me; apparently Texas agreed with this father when he beat his daughter's attacker to death with his fists. He's not a criminal: He's a father, and he didn't do anything a single one of us wouldn't have done ourselves. We're all calm and collected and reasonable now, so of course dispatching the man seems rather brutal but just imagine yourself walking in on some creep raping/molesting your daughter, no matter what age she is. Nuff said.

  No matter how you try and dress it up, suppress or deny it, you're a force of nature so just don't ever forget that; nature won't let you, anyway.

finding independence in a dependent society

Admittedly, I'm not yet ready to go off the grid. I suppose this needs a little backstory: I'm currently reading a book called 'Off the Grid', which in my interpretation is essentially the quest for true indepependence in living free from resource wastefulness, society and "The Man"; it also echoes another closely-held book in my collection, which is 'Walden', by Henry David Thoreau. 

Off the Grid is something of a modern-day interpretation but it is also something else on its own. It is nothing but inspiring, especially to one such as me, who lives on the mental fringes of rebellion and spiritual nomadism nearly every day. But in the tangible realm, things are not so simple to pull off; it takes careful planning and ingenuity. None of which I lack, just not in the needed proportions at present.

One day, it would be nice to at least have a second home, a refuge of sorts, that exists free of "the grid" and the greed of what society is becoming. The dream is of self-sustainability, self-reliance; to have there be small pockets of sustainable communities nation-wide, sharing, trading, co-existing. After all, we're all in this together.

9.10.13

  Helping one of our consumers clean out her closet yesterday, after it having been deemed a safety risk, it struck me that less truly is more. Now, I have my own hoarding tendencies so it was especially poignant for me to witness this and help out through the process, just seeing all the reasons a person can come up with to justify hanging onto things they didn't even know they had. The dust was incredible and my sinuses suffered for the rest of the day; had I known it would have been such an undertaking, I would have brought my bandana to cover myself up.

  For some people, the junk is all they have; it's in their minds, their hearts, strewn all over their floor and spilling out of closets. Terminal clutter. I personally know how easy it is to just let things accumulate because you think you may find some use for it later but you don't; if you had a use for it, you would have used it right away. I also know how difficult yet liberating it can be to finally get into that mindset to clear that shit out, once and for all. Everything must go. Either have someone help you out or be vigilant and just start tossing, because you'll continue to find every excuse to hang onto what you don't need.

  Maybe it's just loneliness, or filling some void inside yourself. Maybe it's just laziness; you say, "Oh, I'll clean it tomorrow", while the dirt keeps piling up. It's unhealthy in every way, shape and form.

  The amazing part, to me, was realizing in that moment how little we actually need on a day to day basis. Sure, it's nice to have a wardrobe and it's certainly wise to have a well-stocked refrigerator but we generally always just have way more shit than we need. 700 TV channels, too many socks, thousands of CDs... all these things are nice but we can only do one thing at a time!
  Our society seems to have taken the stance in opposition to the Depression-era days, when people really didn't have anything. Was life better then because they had less? I can't say but can only speculate that, no, it was not because there was no choice in the matter: things really were that bad that there wasn't much and what was cost too much to afford. So now, we have GMO's to ensure huge-yielding crops and excess in every other way imaginable, as some sort of security blanket; the hard truth is that when the time comes to go with less, more people will be map-adjusted to knowing how to deal with that.

  I'm not saying to get rid of all your material possessions, because I know I'm as materialistic as they come and I love my books and music and would be lost without my laptop. However, there are conscious choices we can make every day to take the path of less is more. After all, the saying goes, "Waste not, want not".
  Some suggestions: Eat less food but of a higher quality, and drink more water with your meals. Unless you're a professional athlete or bodybuilder, you won't miss the excess calories. If one is good, two is not always better. Re-use, Up-cycle, all that stuff people blab on about every day; it's for a reason. Buy smaller houses. Build smaller houses (obviously I have no family of my own, so if you do then you do what you need to, just keep in mind that some rooms exist only to catch clutter, it seems. Do you really need a bathroom for each person? The water usage and waste increases exponentially the more heads you bring in to the equation). Build bigger gardens, keep smaller yards. Plant more trees (it's all less mowing you have to do anyway, so who really loses there?)

Just a few things we can all do to pitch in and do our share. Think about it.

"We must cultivate our garden"

I think I finally got it tonight, I think it all clicked now. I'm talking about yoga in the broadest sense of the word, far away from the mat.

Maybe it was digging carrots out of my grandparents' garden, getting my hands dirty and unearthing these lovely creations which in turn give us and other living creatures life. Maybe it was re-connecting with my family members and not being such a fucking hermit all the time (I mean, they live right down the road so it's not like I have a viable excuse not to, given that I drive past them every day).
It's those two things alone that mean anything in this miserable existence: being in the presence of those you love and cherish and living within your means, living in harmony with the planet that gives us life.

And it's these two crucially important things I take for granted every day. Well, i don't want to anymore.

I'm not saying I won't go back to my hermit-y ways, because that just seems to be a part of my condition but I can at least poke my head in once in a while; it's not gonna kill me. We're only solitary creatures by choice, ultimately; in some ways, we need that human interaction. It's healthy. It's the original and only true form of social media.

And as for the gardening trip I'm on, well, that's not going away anytime soon. I don't want to advance or evolve anymore if it means losing touch with what makes me human, with where we came from as people. Self-sustainability is the dream but it seems to get further out of touch every day, at least on the global scale.

I may not be able to save the world at large but I can damn sure make it my goal to maintain a rich home-life to retreat to; I can live my dream every day, and that alone gives me hope, gives some purpose and meaning to this whole crazy thing.


Now, as for the time spent on the mat, I think I got that too tonight: It's about that time on the mat, with you and your breath. It's about synchronizing the whole of you with your breath. Mind, body and spirit flowing in one smooth direction. Some days it's just plain torture but when you get it, oh boy... you get it. Well, tonight I got it.

It's serious soul fuel, the best hour of my life in some ways.

Day seven of the five day yoga challenge told me that the challenge is never over, no matter how long you make it and that you never stop learning. As with life, it's a journey, not a destination and I'm just along for the ride.

on the celebrity of cooking..

Please. Get off your high horse and come back down to Earth. 

I never understood the celebrity fascination thing; I was never and still am not all that concerned at all with what so and so is doing, and frankly I could give two shits. You really should not either but I'll refrain into that whole argument, because it would be one-sided and the rest of my deal here will be opinionated enough so as it is.

I had a revelation, which is not really a revelation to anyone other than myself, in my at times extremely pretentious or out of touch with reality moments, when I was eating the arugula salad I prepared with the best bacon fresh off the slab and a homemade French dressing: this is good shit. That's the best I could ever hope for. 

You can eat classy while still being down to Earth. i don't want my dishes pined over and picked apart; I mean, if you want to do that you can, it's just not something I'm into. Same with drinking craft beer: I smell either hops or wheat or barley or whatever. I really do not see where you area getting figs, oatmeal, lemongrass.. IT"S A FUCKIN' BEER! DRINK IT, for christ's sake. You may be asking yourself if I like tastings then? Hell yes I love tastings. I love to taste it going down my throat, and going back for another. 

Maybe it's simply a matter of perspective; I certainly have my moments of contemplation lost deep in the brewing arts when presented with a masterpiece but at the end of the day, it's still just food and it's still just beer. Or wine (don't think that you're safe either, winos). There are always folks out there who need their egos stroked and who like to show off how brilliant they are but generally these things are just made by people who enjoy it as much as we do. 

The very definition of a labor of love. 

So, yeah. I use fancy ingredients for salads that are not Iceburg lettuce but so what? Try it. If it's good, it's good; who gives a rip what it's called or who made it? Don't fall into the trap of commercial branding: there is life outside of Food Network, believe it or not and they're not doing anything you yourself are not capable of, I promise. Anything they can do you can do better; you just have to want to.