heathervescent

Coyote Fear

I am constantly amazed at how resilient we humans are - and yet so fragile. How beautifully contradictory.

As the boyf was out of of town, I decided to take the opportunity to spend some quality time in the desert at LoriLisa, my little scrap of Mojave wasteland. I knew it was going to be hot: 90+ degree hot, but I was not dismayed. My plan was to work in the evenings and mornings and lay low during the hot afternoon. 

I headed out early afternoon on Friday in time to arrive for a spectacular combination sunset and moon rise. Truly only planetary bodies can compete with the expansive geological scale of the desert. Mountain ranges eroded into prehistoric effluvial plains. It was over one of these ranges a blue-ivory moon rose from the desert haze. I was racing the clock. Flooring the pedal that flogged my combustion engine faster. I could not reach my destination fast enough.

Behind me the I saw the red-orange rays of the sun setting behind a past range. In a moment, the pavement gave way to sand and my tires kicked up a line of dust as I headed to the far edge of this sparsely populated civilization. We were bumping and jumping through the washes and fish-tailed the back tires a bit just for fun. 

The tires stopped, the radio silent, I stepped out into the cooling desert.

 * * *

We sat in my front yard, splayed out on a retired bedspread watching the planets shine and the moon rise, getting smaller and whiter as the night progressed. That's when the coyote's started their howling. I had forgotten to pack my pistol and had only my small knife on me. When packing for the trip, I had considered exit strategies for mere human (redneck/meth-head) predators - and had completely forgotten about natural ones. It was a lesson in city living. It's gotten to me. I felt tamed. 

Out in these places I have heard the lone or two coyotes calling out his brethren, often far far in the distance. Not this time. This was a large pack - I would expect at least 7 or more. And it sounded VERY near. Intertwined with the coyote's barks and howls, I could hear a dog. It was easy to hear the difference. I expected the pack to visit LL any moment. For hours the coyotes barked in the near-distance. We watched and listened to the desert, no safety of the firelight. (I had opted against a fire because the moon was so bright.)

The planet set and the moon carved an ecliptic pathway across the sky, outshining the milky way and all but the brightest stars. The howling subsided and that's when I noticed the strange rasping sound of the wind in the creosote bushes. My vision was shifting and everything took on an underwater illuminated pointillism.

Moonshadows lept from my fence posts, my house, my legs. I was not quite brave enough to do my midnight walkabout - one of my plans for the evening - with that pack of coyotes and my pistol left at home. So I strayed not far from my land. 

The wind caressed my skin - soft warm and comforting. The upside of an unbearable desert day is a warm night. What does one do out here, I pondered? What can one do, but watch and think and see and listen and be silent. To be present. To feel the wind. To see the moon shadows. To hear the coyotes. To smell the air. To taste fear and comfort. To be present in the moment for hours.

Future of Space Travel Analogy

The breakthrough came this morning:

Birds are to the Earth as Humans are to Space.

The analogy is not as simple as it may seem. There is a new Nature report out describing a type of internal GPS/internal avian magnetic compass that birds use to navigate their migrations.

Wouldn't it be cool (and perhaps it is necessary) for humans to create/develop a similar sense to navigate to cosmos?

Cracked Earth

The gunshots reverberated on the mountain range. I could see the sound rolling and curving around in the shape of the mountains. It sounded just like a jet airplane. Hours earlier, we had hiked to the top of one of the rocky fingers. Humanity shrinking as we took in the view. The landscape expanded and I swept my gaze on it, like licking an ice cream cone. The line between dry lakebed and chaparral was obvious. The El Nino rains have been good to the desert plants. The creosote responded in kind, with bright green leaves and yellow flowers. They made the mountain and desert plains greener than I have ever seen them. 

It was easy to see the underground stream in the lakebed by the line of flowers growing in the middle of it. Later, pup and I walked out to explore and sat in the dry cracked dirt filled with yellow flowers of the stream. I noticed shadows moving around us. High above us, between earth and sun, sever dark birds circled us. I stared up at them, wondering were they crows or buzzards. I watched their circling swarming method. Then one broke off. Slowly the rest of them followed the leader as it made it way over to the next mountain range. The wind brought my attention back to the ground.

There's something out being out there. Out in the wind. The heat. The starkness. It reflects. I don't like sharing it with other people. It's like an oasis I like to keep secret. It's like going to another planet - you go there to experience a different reality. But if you bring your whole reality with you, it contaminates that you are trying to experience.

Shotgun Wedding 
Originally uploaded by heathervescent

Poems

I wrote these a decade ago and they have been rattling in my head a bit more than usual the past month. I put them here to remind myself.

I went,

I went and took.

What did I leave in return?

My Change.

(upon my first visit to Foz de Iguacu / South America, 1995)

*     *     *

I'll give you what you want,

mind,

body,

soul.

Except one thing,

I have to escape.

This poem is pretty much the crux of my existence. I can't explain it. You just have to get it on another level. The closest thing that comes to it is the phrase "ghost in the shell."

A French Surrealist

I'm lurking in the back of the gilded theatre. Surrounded by drunk techno-wannabes and some truly innovative engineer-future-hacker-developers. I'm irritated at the 20 something asian chick playing the black guy and the indian guy off each other. The art on the screen reminds me a long lost "friend" - and the status of his projects - awareness smacking. It pulled me out of one of my existentialist crisis a decade ago. But not today. In that decade I've traveled down the caverns in Brazil into the sacred city of the Euboise, fought Innana and the Piper at the Gates of Dawn, lost my golden fleece and retreated to the city of Angeles to strategize archetype creation.

I hate crowds. Large groups of anonymous. Faces forward to the spotlight. I'm trying to enjoy myself, but failing. I feel like my time would have been better spent working on my forecasts at home. But then I remember I have friends here. It's just the stage takes the spotlight. I never liked art in museums. I preferred them in the grungy artists studios, painting stacked against the wall.

I like individuals. The people. You meet. That's why I'm here. To eat at a different table. To expose myself. To bullshytte like that coquettish asian chick. To remember the world is more than that I create in my mind. That the future is not up to me.

---

I'm turning over rocks. I'm rolling thought experiments on the backburner. I've recently had a break-though.The trend: the world is flat, the earth is the center of the solar system (universe). Those are concepts that were well believed - before science proved them incorrect. I've been looking for these incorrect current beliefs/understandings all my life. I love thinking about what we believe in today - the truth so hidden - but will be so obviously false and untrue in the unveiling. I found one of those the other day. It's revolutionary and radical and yet, I can look back and see the pathway glimmers. The outer edges of the concept. It has to do with view, perception, reality and the world. 

The understanding and concepts of energy will have dramatic breakthroughs and shifts.

---

I'm enjoying the cool air. The tobacco smells strange to me. I miss the smoke of cloves. The evening has passed. I'm speeded down the Hollywood freeway. And as angsty as I've been tonight I realize, I'm really happy with who I am. I am exactly what I want to be. And I wouldn't change places with anyone.

Misunderstood

When I was 14, I would spend copious amounts of time in the library. Mostly the philosophy and religion sections. I clearly remember one of these sections. There was a thick book - I have no idea the author or name of the book - but it clearly dealt with the individual and society. I don't remember really the words, but I remember what I took from reading a few of the passages. (It was a decision to be neither a leader nor a follower.)

Several years later, I went back to find that seminal (to me) book. To remember and read the entire thing, to know the author, to acquire a copy of the book for myself. But when I went back and found that book - and read the same passage - the words were different from what I remembered. I wondered, how could I have so misunderstood the author those years ago. Reading them then, they had the opposite meaning from what I remembered. So much for the rally cry I had heard in my head.

I placed the book back on the shelf and left that library - never to return. (I had moved to another town.) But I wondered, how did that just happen? How can one read a book at one time, and then at a later time - and the book means different things? The words do not change; however I do. And the same words can have different understandings, as you change.

What does the World Want?

Do you know what the world wants?

How about the earth?

How about the United States? What are our goals as a nation?

I've been thinking about these things since I started my first grad class, World Futures. People have so many assumptions about what they think is right or correct or the way to do things. Today I read an article about biofuels that posited that increased focus on biofuels would increase poverty and hunger.

The only reason global warming is a problem is because it might be a problem for humans. It might make the earth not optimal for the human race (and possibly a bunch of other animals). But in the scheme of the universe, does this really matter?  I mean, what does the earth want?

Let's assume that the earth wants life on and around it. If that's that case, then it really doesn't matter in the long run whether or not an animal (human, plants, etc) is extinct now or later. Everything dies. The human race will cease to exist at some point in the future. Life will continue. But what kind of life does the earth want? What kind of intelligent life (if any)?

I often think about pollution and destruction of the environment in the same frame of mind as ingesting drugs or other "poisonous" items. To much drugs of any kind can often kill you, or do irreversible damage. That sucks for the person who damaged themself, but if they survive, they will still live, still have experiences, life. Life wins. If they kill themselves by drug usage, well then, their life transforms and lives on another way - sometimes that energy lives on in their stories.

Recently I have become obsessed with economics and have started reading copious quantities of financial reports and documentation. I started wondering, what is the goal of our nation - the United States. And I sadly could not identify any goal. It made me think that perhaps our past goals (set by our founding fathers) have been achieved, and we are in the state of confusion, waffling, figuring out where to go and what to do next. We've gotten our priorities confused, gotten bit by the hierarchy bug, forgotten our values, taken drugs.

This makes me very sad. And I wonder, is it possible (yes, of course the possibility it there, but how high the probability is it) for a country, a nation, to have goals?

And if a nation can, what about a world?

How I Read a Novel

Open the book to the last page. Skim quickly to find the beginning of the last sentence, or sometimes paragraph, or set of paragraphs. Read until the end. Flip to the first page. Begin reading.

Yes, I am one of those people who read the end of the book first. I do this to challenge the material. One criteria of a good writer/novel, is the ability to tell the story - the unfolding. So that even if the reader knows the end of the story, it doesn't click into place until read in the proper order. Then when you come to the end (which you are already familiar with) it means something different. Before, when you had read it out of context it meant something, and later, when you read it the order in which the creator expected it to be experienced, it means something different.

After the Burn

I had convinced the CHP to let me through the checkpoint. I had a badly printed letter from my friends Zarka and Jane and was headed into the burned forest for a sandbagging party. I had forgotten to double check their address, confident I knew the place. I was wrong.

Something like respect made me drive these twisty mountain roads at a snail's pace of 30 miles per hour. I sipped my coffee and took in the view. Ash. Grey. Black and Burned. Clouds and Mountains. The overcast sky parted to show jagged bare mountains. A ridgline with a few black skeletons - remains of the pines. I felt like I was entering a Chinese Martial Arts Epic. My own Rashomon. Or Samuri Champlu. The mountains were alternately covered in bare black limbs and untouched trees, bushes and brush. I understood the fire. How it had moved from place to place. Traveled up and down these mountains. How some places were decimated, while others lush and green. I understood the chance of surviving a fire. (Retreat into the earth.)

I passed the turnoff to Tujunga and pulled over at what looked like the spot. The gate was locked, the sign burned. I began to hike down the locked road. Before I got far, the Sheriff stopped by my car. I paused to catch my breath after running up the hill. He questioned me with a look of amusement, "How did you get in here?!"

I explained it to him satisfactarily and we went our ways. Me, back down into burned brush. At the bottom of the mountain, I heard a stream; blue birds flitted from tree to black branched tree. Grey ground squirrels rustled in the leaves. The trees in the picnic area looked untouched. It was a similar place, but not the place I was supposed to be. I hiked back up the hill, got in my car and continuned to drive.

I passed the road to Mt Wilson and briefly thought of detouring to visit one of my favorite places in LA. I last saw it on helicopter webcams. But I drove almost all the way to the ski areas before turning around and finding a forest ranger. I could not get there from here. The roads were closed. Impassable. I had to backtrack. I left my respectable 30 mph right then.

--

The fire destruction could not have been more different. All was black and ash. The possibility for pockets of green life survival was almost zero. I saw stone foundations and fireplaces standing in squares. Black twisted metal. I scanned the hillside for the house I knew was still standing and forced my city tires to pull me up the dirt, ash and boulder filled driveway.

To my surprise, there was green everywhere. Small shoots coming out of the grown. Fresh green leaves and brown branches off the oaks. I followed Zarka back into the gorge to get to work. He showed me the spring and we stacked branches around the pipes - hoping they would delay the sharp rocks that ineviteably would slide down and break them.

I worked in silence. Dragging the huge branches and putting them in place. I enjoyed being alone. Truly alone - no electronic devices whirring in my pocket. I heard rocks falling at the back of the gorge. A drawn out tumble. I noticed the thick bark - charred black - that protected the nearby tree. It was at least 1/4 inch thick and peeling off like sunburned skin. Walking back to the house, I came across the charred remains of a fox. I could see still her tongue between her teeth, a huge hole in her skull - brain exploded from the heat.

During a break, we gathered on the wood deck for food. Out came huge plates of steaming chicken and homemade apple honey mead. I was amazed that this huge wood deck had been untouched when entire wood structures were gone. Such is the power of fire retardant paint. Technology.

Before I left, we convinced Jane to sing us her new songs. She sat down to her piano and we crammed in the small doorways. Her voice was clear and hung in the air. She sang about the fire. I couldn't help to imagine, to see her voice, her song clear and pure contrasted with the chaos of the fire. It was if her song, while singing the beauty, respect and destruction of the fire, kept it at bay. Kept the flames burning in a circle around her untouched house.

Connected Circle

Yesterday morning I was working in the community garden and the big chore was to deal with the compost pile. If you don't know what a compost pile is, it's a big pile of decaying green plant matter. Once decayed this material is rich with nutrients and added back to the garden to enrich the soil.

In this community garden composting is very strict, and only desirable vegetable matter can be composted - that means no weeds, plastic, strings, etc. Well, as you can guess, not everyone follows the rules. So the job this morning was to sort through the compost pile and remove the weeds, plastic and trash. In addition, long pieces of plants (like corn-stalks, tomato plants and rosemary bushes) must be chopped down into small pieces.

An initial thought passed through my mind when I heard about our job: WTF!? I am going to have to sift through a pile of decaying and rotting plants for needles in the haystack?! But, I realized, it did no good to have judgment about the disgustingness of the job, so I put it away and got to work. It was a difficult job - one that could not be done quickly, if done well. I decided to practice impeccability and sift the weeds from the rest of the plants. I was not the only one doing this - we had a whole team, sifting, sorting and chopping with huge machetes. I took a pitchfork and began the seemingly enormous task of dissecting the pile. It helped that another women was doing this in tandem with me. I can identify plenty of plants in life - but in their death - it's quite hard to tell the difference sometimes between fennel, cornsilk and dried grass.

The reason we had to take the weeds out, was because our compost doesn't get hot enough to kill the weed seeds. So when the compose is returned to the soil, you'll get weeds back in your garden. As I worked, it seemed to me this was an analogy. Inside ourselves are weeds (and weed seeds). And try as we might to uproot them, we are not always successful. Even in death we keep our weed seeds, pass them on.

Later I took a job chopping down the long plant matter. I sat on a low bench with a long machete and on a level stump of wood chopped down corn stalks, fennel stalks, rosemary bushes and tall flower stalks. Plant matter decayed faster when it was chopped. I realized that although these plants were dead, the energy in them was not gone. They needed help to decay faster so that they could rise again in the soil.

As I chopped, I learned about/from the plants. I recognized the misgrown corns, the infected squashes, plants in various levels of wet decaying. The pile grew smaller. I became more successful in pulling out the weeds, the pieces of string around dead tomato plants. I did not feel pity for the plants. I knew they would be back. I was detached in my work. I knew I had to help them return to what they were, before they could be something new.

Non-Technological Mornings

I used to run to the computer when I awoke. There were emails to read, blog posts to write. I needed to check into my vibrant world and see what was happening. The morning would turn to noon and although I felt connected and educated, I hadn't necessarily got anything done. I was left with an emptiness. A crave for a sustainable intimate connection. Not the quick fix email/blog comment/twitter high.

These days, when I awake, I jump downstairs, put the kettle on and make a cup of coffee in my single drip Melita cone. I open the patio door and step outside; feel the breeze on my bare skin, smell the morning moistness, take in the colors and textures of my many plants. Coffee in hand, I sit in my favorite chair and drink in this moment of silence and calm, connected to my surroundings. Even the pup sniffs the air, watches the wind in the leaves and lays quietly on the patio rug.

Until it's time for the walk! We jump up and walk out into our neighborhood. We have friends along the walk. Romeo has his favorite bushes, and I my favorite trees. We admire the yardwork and landscaping, the fences and hedgerows. In our eight block sojourn we sometimes meet what I call my dogwalk friends, although we have never officially met. I love the retired Russian men and women who wait for the van to their cool community center. I say hello and smile to them. There are a few people with whom I have cultivated regular morning greetings. It took a few weeks of me saying "Good Morning" before I got a mumbled response. Now when we see each other - I with my trotting pup and he slowly making his way down the sidewalk with his walker we both say a cheerful "Good Morning". It's fun to have people to greet, even though I don't know their names. We share these same blocks, so why not be civil and friendly?

I could write about the firemen who jog in the street. The new grass mulching. The road repair work. The crazy plant house, the night blooming Brugmansia, the house re-landscaping to california native plants. These are my mornings. These are how I fill my senses and feed my soul before sitting down to technology.

I come to the computer already connected to my world, instead of looking to connect.

An Old Friend

There has been some interesting things happening in the recent month. I've been keeping quiet about them, because they have been pretty fragile. Well, they still are, but I feel pretty good about them, I thought I might finally mention them on the ole' public blog.

It's got a lot to do with healing the wounds of the recent past. I had isolated myself part of last year and much of this because I had felt betrayed by some close people. Not just one person, but several. I rarely get stabbed in the heart by strangers, but mostly by those close to me. In the last year, I have experience three separate incidents.

All of them were dark, unexpected, self-important. Definitely not what I would have expected. I did what I had to do to move through them and go on with my life. I'm no victim, but I didn't feel good putting myself out there and instead isolated myself. This was not such a good thing - as even introverts need people.

Anyway, some situations have come into my life that are helping a total healing of these three knife stabs. One in the form of an old friend (well not so old - one that was very much on the blog a few years ago) and another in a new group of supporters - perfectly matching my dream if I had dared to dream of them. 

It's scary to tread on these areas that throw up warning flags left and right, but I step carefully and breathe calmly trusting myself and slowly I trust little by little. It feels good to be back on that ground, although shaky, after all.

On Thanking

I'd describe 2009 as the year of the dark cloud with the silver lining. It feels like there has been lots of disappointments and little success. But for each dark cloud - I have focused on the silver lining. I am thankful for these silver linings

1. Mom Kicking Cancer. She was diagnosed with a really bad cancer earlier this year. We thought she might have only a year to live - but she's actively kicking cancer's ass. yay for mom.
2. The Best Boyfriend in the World. I can't even begin to talk about how awesome the boyf is. I'm very thankful for him.
3. Traveling. My flexible schedule (aka lots of free time) have made it possible for me to visit my grandparents, my dad, my mom and visit Anna in Peru. It's important to connect with people in person.
4. Friends. I know a lot of people, but I let few into my heart. When I think of those close to me, I am amazed by them. I need to remember there are more good people in the world and there are lots of people I could be better, closer friends with.
5. My Pup. A good dog is better than all the people in the world. I've just learned this dog-owner fact.
6. My Body. Although I could lose a few pounds, I am in great shape and I've never (knock on wood) had any major health problems. I'm happy with my mind, my intelligence and what I create using all my cells.
7. My clean carpet and my nice house. It's come a long way from the bachelor pad of 3 years ago. My home always must be my favorite place in the world and it is.
8. My container garden. I was not to be stopped by having no backyard to plant in - I took over the driveway and created a flourishing garden with trees, roses, flowers and herbs in containers.
9. My newfound excitement in science and future studies. I've always been a predictor - seen and created the future. The only people I knew who did that were crazy sibyls not using scientific methods - that is, until I found out about future forecasting based on science methods. I know this study is something I wish to pursue.

With every disappointment, I find a silver lining. I find something to learn. Some way to improve myself. A new perspective. Because I believe everything happens for a reason - just sometimes you don't know what that reason is.

A Whole Vacant Lot

I love a metaphor. Usually when you tell someone you love them it's full of flourishes, flowers and bits from the heart. Gushy, soft musings. Full of metaphor and comparisons.

I was reminded of a metaphor I used to tell my dad how I loved him. I would always say, I love you a whole vacant lot. Why? Because that was the biggest thing I could think of. Today, I still remember the original vacant lot, and it still makes perfect sense. However, I can understand why you might be confused, that's just how my brain works.

Photo by Steve Vance via Flickr.

Imagine all that filled with love. That's the metaphor.

Feeling Philosophical

I am the ox that plows the fields, but I do not get to reap what is grown in them. I try to be satisfied in my role, but it makes me sad sometimes.

Then again, neither does the seed reap the benefit of what it becomes.

My Relationship with The Pyramid

I was reminded by a conversation I had with a big Fortune 500 CEO several years ago. He was very successful and I was helping him on his new venture. He quipped something about making it to the top of the pyramid. And this took me aback for a moment.

I am repulsed by people focusing on climbing to the top. Level 3 all the way. At one point in my career, I thought I had to play this game and succumbed to play a hand. It made me sick, but gave me a lot of fodder for self-observation. I should actually thank the level 3 organization, because it added a lot on my journey through enlightenment.

What interests me much more and seems a more worthy "goal" is to raise the pyramid from the bottom. Raise the floor. The frusteration in this, is all the people walking ontop of you still trying to get to the top of the pyramid (not supporting the mutual advancement).

What if there is no pyramid? The bottom is the same as the top. It doesn't really matter what you do, as long as you do it. And the key reason for doing anything is your love, passion for it. And now I have gotten entangled in one of my philosophies, Mr Shakespeare!

Roadtrip Stats

• 3 weeks
• 5277.5 miles
• 12 states: CA, AZ, NM, TX, OK, KS, MS, IA, NB, CO, UT, NV, CA
• 1 lost wallet
• 2 car casualties (fog light chip and lost my rear wheelwell plastic protector in CO snow)
• Countless national and state parks, monuments and forests
• Reconnecting with old friends, making new friends
• My faith in humanity regained

More thoughts on Resistance

A few posts ago, I wrote that "when the going gets tough, I get discouraged." I've been thinking about that since I wrote it, since it's not exactly true. There are things you can do and change, and there are things that are too big, or old or not worthwhile to put forth effort to change.

When I am working on something, nothing gets in my way. Against all odds and adversaries, I accomplish my goals, make my dreams come true - but - and this is a big but - only if it's what I really want. Somethings are just beyond my control.

Even as I write this, I could use this as an excuse. But you have to know how far you are willing to go, the price you are willing to pay and what you are willing to endure. And if that takes your farther away from your dream, well then, maybe it's a good thing resistance stepped in the way and made you think twice.

Everyone has the days where you think you can take over the world. Nothing is between you and your vision. And then there are days when it seems that every obstacle is right in front of you. Those days need to be lived. They are part of the roller-coaster ride. But for every down, there is an up. And those days of invincibility are always around the corner.

Most Happy

I've been doing a lot of thinking about happiness and satisfaction. I never really had much of either. I've never been one to be satisfied with anything, let alone myself. A few weeks ago, that changed. There was no epiphany. It wasn't a sudden realization - a voice from god or vahalla. I was pondering some things and I realized that I have accomplished the life, the thing I set my intention to accomplish. It was the only thing I would have sacrificed anything - everything - and I have - to accomplish. I quietly realized that here I was, with it right here.

So there's my life's goal accomplished, now what?

It's not that my life's goal was my reason for existence or why I'm here on this earth. It's not.

I feel like a clean new whiteboard. I've completed all the levels and killed the big bad demon. I've whizzed though the expansion packs and played different characters.

I've won the master game. I'm finally satisfied. Knowing this, I am happy. I can go home and work in my garden in the best of all possible worlds.

Number 22

If you want to be whole,
let yourself be partial.
If you want to be straight,
let yourself be crooked.
If you want to become full,
let yourself be empty.
If you want to be reborn,
let yourself die.
If you want to be given everything,
give everything away.

The Master, by residing in the Tao,
sets an example for all beings.
Because he doesn't display himself,
people can see his light.
Because he has nothing to prove,
people can trust his words.
Because he doesn't know who he is,
people recognize themselves in him.
Because he has no goal in mind,
everything he does succeeds.

-Tao Te Ching

Taking Responsibility

Well, it happened again. I felt betrayed, loss of trust, someone I thought was more evolved practicing low level business practices. At first, I was angry, considering confrontation, wanting retribution. But I could see it from her side. I saw how she would argue and what a complete waste of my energy it would be to engage.

So instead, I took responsibility for my emotions.

They're completely valid - she did a dickish move. I've gotten second and third and fourth opinions. (The level of dickishness varies in some of those opinons, but all think it was low.) I thought she was more evolved. Maybe she was. It doesn't matter now. All that does matter, is what I do, how I take responsibility for moving forward and beyond.

I don't need retribution. I've got everything I can possibly want and need. I'm living my dream life. All my dreams are belong to moi. I live in the best of all possible worlds. It's just sometimes I forget that, because I fall under someone else's spell. Enter into a dream with someone else.

This was a good reminder on taking responsibility. I had never applied it to my emotions before and it's very effective. Sure I might feel certain things, but it's not up to anyone else to solve those problems, to make me feel better. There's nothing she could do to change what I think now. No retribution big enough. Damage has been done, but I remain unscathed. I'm the only one who can change the way I feel. And I have.

Rx

Well, this has been one hell of a Mercury retrograde. I am flabbergasted at the amount of miscommunication I have witnessed. I am reminded that people see things from their point of view, most of the time with attachments and or baggage. OK, so I admit, sometimes I'm in that group. But the majority of the time I spend outside of my POV trying to understand where people are coming from. That's the fun part. Getting to know a new view - understanding the motivation, the person. So you can better work together for a common goal.

I forget how judgmental people are. Most of the time, I reserve my judgment. You see, it just takes up too much energy to make an assumption on limited data. I like to give people chances. It's like the books I've been reading on random theory.

A friend of the past used to make snap decisions about people. On more than one occasion, she'd meet someone and immediately dislike them. For me, even if I got a weird vibe and there was no click, I'd try to understand where they were coming from. Not write them off. Give the benefit of the doubt.

But people make assumptions. They judge. Don't give the benefit of the doubt. And twist your words in their own mind. This leads to misunderstandings.

I should know this by now. But I forget. Because I try to focus on the positive (except when I'm angsting about the negative) and expect people to be their better self. Bad, Heather. You should know better, especially with Mx doing his interference thing.

Stories

I've been thinking about this story a lot recently.

Old man Yun lives in a small village near the mountains in China. He has a son and a horse.

One day,the horse runs away. The neighbours and villagers say to him,"What bad luck, your only horse has run away. How will you plough your fields now?"
Yun replies,"Bad luck, good luck who knows?"

The horse comes back a few months later with a horde of wild horses. Now he has six strong horses. The villagers say,"What good luck!"Yun says,"Good luck, bad luck who knows!"

His young son helps to tame them. While doing so,one of the horses kicks out upon his leg and breaks it. The villagers come and say,"Bad luck,now your young son has broken his leg. Who will help you now?"
Yun replies,"Bad luck, good luck who knows!"

A big war comes on. The soldiers of the king come and take away all the healthy young men of the village for the army. They take one look at Yun's son's broken leg and leave him there.
Yun says,"good luck, bad luck who knows!"

Good Luck,Bad luck who knows..;)
(Source)

Good luck, bad luck, who knows. The only thing we can all do is follow our hearts, our passion - because otherwise we die long before our bodies turn to ash.

Existentialist Looking for Meaning

I finished _The Drunkard's Walk_ last night. A really nice roundabout book on chance, with a good set of examples - including the "Let's make a deal" - car behind one of 3 doors, goats behind the other 2. You pick one. The host shows you a door you didn't pick - it's got goats. He gives you a chance to change your selection. Is it better odds to do so. The short answer is yes. It goes from a 1 in 3 chance to a 1 in 2. Joe Matt, pornish comic artist, told me about this such example a few months ago.

Anyway, reading chapter after chapter explaining the chance in everything - that really much is chance and nothing has meaning - or rather - the meaning is understood after the event, reminded me of my existentialist tendencies. I wouldn't say I was a hard core existentialist, but I did do my share reading Camus, Sartre, de Beauvior and Kafka. (Was Kafka existentalist?) Anyway, after that bout, I found religion - or spirituality. Esoteric patterns and methods explaining the universe. Secret paths, knowledge. I worked hard to understand them. That sh*t is dense. Ever try to read Blavatsky or Gurdjieff? It's a completely different language. Imagine reading A Clockwork Orange w/out knowing any Russian or having the helpful glossary nearby and multiply that by 10. It's what I like to call, Light Commuter Reading.

Anyway, this morning I woke up thinking about Existentialism and the pointlessness of everything if it's all a random, chance happening. Now, I know the opposite can also be true. Hell, I've spent the last 5+ years of my life "intending" it to unfold the way I desired. Did my efforts actually have anything to do with it? Or did I just have a few good years where the coin toss was heads, and then was tails and I wondered where my mojo went?

I got a glimpse of the answer this morning. And the book talks about it. It hinges on the illusion of control. If I look at myself, I don't really control anything. My body breathes, eats, drinks, shits, twitches because of automatic functions. But those aren't the only automatic functions. We're all programed. I'm programmed to think intelligence, beauty and efficiency are top. Some of those things, I programmed myself. Others teachers or parents or boyfriends programmed me.

I'll stop with that frame of thinking for now, because it's a long dark rabbit hole, that I do enjoy going down, but it not my point.

The point is, around everything we do, is an illusion of control. If you think you are in control, you'll be happier, have more volution and energy. If you don't feel like you're in control, you'll die. There are two studies in the book that prove this dramatically. Both in rats and elderly people.

So if you think like an existentalist, you may have a shorter lifespan - unless you are well adjusted to living randomly (and some people are - they in fact, thrive on it). But if you're someone who needs meaning to take you through your life, you'll see things that make your meaning. That's the RAS. Reticular Activating System (in your brain!).

So yeah, things do happen randomly. And they happen for a reason. It's up to you to see the reason. And the reason you see depends on your RAS, your language for interpreting the world. And it doesn't matter that it's truly random. Truly Random/Meaningful = both sides of the coin.

At what point does the intention of the author stop and the interpretation of the reader begin? And the extrapolation that matters is the creative expression of energy.

In the words of Ghandi, "It doesn't matter what you do, as long as you do it."

Drops of water

I keep having this vision in my head. I'll be thinking about the 70s or reading mathematics from the last century, or I'll get a flash on developing the computer and then I'll see the future in the past. These are water drops from the future deluge - powerfully thrown back in time. Retrocausation on a social scale? Retrocausation hasn't even been proven as a valid theory. Foreshadowing? Can a literary technique manifest in reality? Who  knows. But I do know the feeling along with the vision. It's as if these times in the past, were surrounded by water drops of the future. I'll try to explain it, if you'll hold judgement that I'm not crazy.

Say you're a plant and for the first 6 months you're watered with just regular water. Then at the 6 month point your plant owner discovered miracle grow and starts adding it to your water. Now imagine that it was possible for some of the miracle grow water to magically land in your pot in your first 6 months. (Maybe the neighbor used it in her plants and occasionally watered her neighbors with her left over water.)

That's what I mean. A taste of the future in the past.

I can't shake this feeling. The vision of the future that I usually hold so clear is foggy. But seeing these drops of clarity in the past give me hope for what comes in the near future.

Too early

I was going to write a whole long post about politics, but it's too depressing.

Sam and I celebrated 3 years Wednesday. Our first date was NIN at the Hollywood bowl three years ago. I miss the person I was at that time. So light-hearted and full of creative ideas, vision and action.

Then my mom came into town on Thursday for the Neil Diamond show at the Hollywood Bowl. I put her up at the Magic Castle and had fun doing all the usual heathervescent LA things.  She's decided that we should try out to be on the Amazing Race. I've never seen the show but we had a lot of laughs over the questionnaire, reminiscing about our travels around the world. My mom is really pretty cool and has a lot of fun stories.  (She was a flight attendant for TWA for 30-40+ years?). I remember her flying the troops in and out of Iraq during the first gulf war. And she told me about the citizen medal she received for her service.

Then there were the airports with 18 year olds and machine guns. I remember seeing them myself on my first trip to Eqypt when I was 14. They didn't phase me then. I guess I have a thing for guys in uniforms with lots of firepower. My mom also had the chance to sell me in Eqypt. I think the highest bid she got was 10k camels - and yes, they were serious. I was a white skinned, blonde corn-silk 14 year old innocent girl from the Midwest. Then there was the time in Turkey where I was the only blonde haired girl I saw the entire trip. And the historic hotel in Aswan on the Nile, where Agatha Christie wrote Murder on the Nile.

Questions like, where wouldn't you go? how has your partner dissapointed you? etc, bought up laughs and memories. Like my baton/beauty pagent competitions. I never really got beyond Beginner level - but I still took home trophies, plaques and banners. I once was Miss Spring Beauty and I still have my baton.

Then there were the questions about driving and with my stunt car training and my mom's recent racing of her Jaguar, I suggest we enter road races as driver/navigator. I quipped I hate running so I'd just get a motorcycle with sidecar for our "Amazing Race."

It was also really cute to see my mom excited about her blog. She even made business cards and was handing them out to everyone. Over coffee yesterday morning she grilled me on how to increase readership to her blog and shared her highest hit pages. So here I am giving my mom my professional tips and a little fearful that she's soon be on twitter and reading and following web 2.0 bloggers.

But I can see how excited she is to share her stories. And they are amazing stories (like when she met some of the 9/11 terrorists on one of their survalence flights).  So I'm excited for her.

Anyway, I have to motivate to make an exploding cake for a friend's birthday today and meet them at the shooting range, so I'll wax about mom's stories later.

Mourning for those left behind

Sometimes I feel a great sadness, looking back. I know my role all too well. I am the wanderer out of a Tom Robbins novel or Gilbert Grape's movie. I stir things up. I learn. And then it's time to go. There are the lessons for myself - those I try to learn and improve myself by learning. And then there are the lessons, the challenges I become, in being a tool for something much larger.

Lessons are never easy. Never easy to learn one. Never easy to teach one. That difficulty becomes worthwile when the lesson is grasped, understanding, evolution accomplished. Metting out the harsh lesson become all the more difficult when it's not seen. There's nothing I can do here. I've tried my best. I've been impeccible. I've played my part. I can only hope that some light was seen in the darkness. But I mourn for those who did not. I know their lesson is still waiting to reveal itself.

Dream come true, new dreams

Sam was driving us back from the Reptile Breeders Meeting today. We were in my convertible, the top was down, it was about 85 degrees, I had the A/C on. The new Orb album was revering bass in my seat. And it hit me - this is my dream - one of them at least.

When I was a college student in Cedar Falls, Iowa - home to -50+ below windchill weeks in the winter, I dreamed of having a Saab. It seemed so far out of reach for me. When I lived in Berkeley and needed a new car, I bought a practical Camry. I still dreamed of my fancy car. One company founder had a dark green saab convertible and I drooled over his car. Loved it. Loved it.

When I moved to LA, I decided I needed to have a convertible - because I was in LA now, right?! ;) I had forgotten my Saab dreams and loves until, like a veil I remembered. I made it happen. And now, every day, I drive around in my dream.

It's been four  years. I had forgotten gratitude. I had forgotten that this dream did not always exist. That I worked hard for it to come true. And here I was, being driven on the 5, in Southern California at sunset, top down, wind blowing, my favorite music playing on my stereo system. I was living my dream.

--
Somewhere in the past 6 months or so, my dreams changed. I've gotten caught up in day to day drama - work and relationship - and have forgotten about the big stuff. I remembered this watching Southland Tales. There's an undercurrent about manifesting in life the things that were scripted. That's dreaming and stalking for you. Anyway, it reminded me that I used to do a lot of this. A lot of being in control of my reality, pro-actively creating my life. More recently I've been caught up in winds I don't control - nor can control myself in them.

It's very discombublating.

However, now that I have realized this, I can get back to living life the way I like to. Pro-actively. Focused on an end-goal, that I don't necessarily know exactly how I'm getting there. After, the journey is the destination, and once I know where I am going, getting there is the fun.

First and fear

The first time always has an edge. It's a walk into the unknown. The fear is different.

Dark passageways reminded me of lava tubes near Mt St Helens. Pitch black, the machinery reminds me of Aliens, movie scenes, James Bond, exploration. Black dust everywhere. Strange sounds. Skuttling. Hands are covered in a fine film of black. Machinery becomes seen with a flash. Huge gears the size of my hand. Standing silent. Walking up 4 flights of stairs only to come out ground level. Wind blows through plastic strips. Big gaping mouth. It speaks to me. Tells me of eternity moments. Activity and movement. Only now Entropy. But it remembers. I remember too.

Fear kicks in. I've been keeping it at bay. I've been breathing calmly. Stepping lightly. Vacillating between calm and chaos. I kind of enjoy feeling the fear. It's real fear - primal uncontrollable - just on the edge of freakout. I ride the edge with my breath, centering and flit off the edge. Indulge in the fear. Roll it around my spinal cord. Feeling it in my gut.

Then it's time to move. The way down is 6 stories up on an amazing edifice. I'm in awe at the engineer who built this place. What an edifice. What a legacy. What a feat. A Physical Manifestation. For a time.

I'm glad I could see it, admire it. I'm glad I felt the fear.

Dancing with Death

This song gives me the chills. I love it. Today I visit the obsession of a younger Heather. I have almost all songs and lyrics of Robyn Hitchcock before 1996 burned into my brain. Enjoy. I am.

Lady Waters and the Hooded One
by Robyn Hitchcock

"Will you dance with me, Lady Waters?"
And a bony hand plucked her gown
"Will you dance with me," said the Hooded One
"For the plague has now reached this town."

"No, I'll never dance," says Lady Waters
"For I see that your name is Death."
And beneath her mask she was sweating
At the Hooded One's fetid breath

"Will you dance with me, Lady Waters?
For the fire dies in your grate
And your guests have gone and your lord's asleep
And the plague has reached your estate."

"Then I'll dance with you," says Lady Waters
"For the stars grow pale in the dawn
But I first must get my tiara
For I left it out on the lawn."

"Oh and if you get your tiara,"
And his eyes like coals, they did burn
"You must give me all, and must taste my breath
On the moment that you return."

"Very well," she said from behind her mask
"You must take from me what is mine:
I'll return to you and submit to you."
And the Hooded One, he said "Fine."

She came back to him and took off her mask
And the Hooded One, he recoiled
What he thought was sweat on her face and hands
It turned out to be tiny boils

"You must take from me all I have," she said
"You must take it all with good grace:
For I have the plague on my body
And I have the plague on my face."

Oh the Hooded One took her house and lands
He took every fork, every knife
And he took the plague and he left her there
Without anything but her life

This morning I sit with a cup of coffee at my table. In front of me lies a stack of history. It is a precious gem. The record of the past. I have merely flipped through it, but my mind is spinning. Still stimulated by a conversation on Saturday in San Francisco. The wicked witch stares up at me - a photocopy cut out and typewritten words - some of the most creative events I have ever read about, participated in and remember.

My trip north was very productive. Well, productive is not actually the word. I spent about 5 hours total at blogher. I wandered around the city, sipping from my favorite haunts. I re-connected with several and forged deeper connections with few. I am constantly amazed at how amazing my life is - and how my relationships surprise me with their authenticity, newness and impeccible timing. I could expect no less.

I have much to digest. I am gathering data. I am creating something new. Phoenix rises from the flames. What will that phoenix be? What green thing will I grow from the ashes? I turn to history - to the past - for inspiration and guidance. I turn to the future to see the possibilities and outcomes and I inspect the present - to understand which path to take and in which way to make what is begging to be manifested.

63 - the universe speaks

Today sucked. For whatever reasons I hated everyone. It's times like this that the first solution that comes to my mind is to kill myself. I just don't want to live in a world filled with the kind of shit this one is filled with. I know that sounds like a cop out. I know I should focus on the positive good things. But I just want to cease to exist. I am too good, even with my flaws, to continue to exist in this shithole called reality. I feel death for myself or I want to destroy the world. Fucking bomb everything and kill everyone (metaphorically, of course). It's strong emotions for my little frame probably wracked full of chemical hormones. Fight or flight. Mad Max road rage.

This mood only worsened on the drive home, behind sheeply drivers (20 mph max up coldwater) behind sunday driving potty mouth cursers law breakers on mulholland and retarded gridlockers. I am driving a weapon, but where is my battering ram?

I know in these times, the times I hate my fellow stupid race, that I just need to get home as fast as possible and not leave. Heather, the introvert, needs massive rejuvenation. Alone. Solitude. Leave me the fuck alone with my thoughts and my books and my ideas and my notebooks. Leave me alone with my crackpot theories and understandings of the universe and why we all exist.

Sometimes the simple nourishment of this fragile ethereal temple called my body is much of what it takes to calm my torrid 3rd world Armageddon vision. But an hour wait for the pizza delivery was too long. Might as well blow my head off. (Yes, I can be a bit extreme at times.) The boyfriend convinced me that it was better to go to astroburger instead and to live another day.

I flipped my unicorn hair and off we went - me sulking and vomiting venom through words. He's telling me to use the power of my mind, but what in my mind is not pleasant at all. We're walking in and waiting in line. I'm still grumpy, pondering what I might want. And then, someone walks in who make me re-think about destroying the world in fire and ice: David Lynch.

I do a double-take. He looks just like his picture. He's wearing a suit. A young unshaven man is with him. They are right behind me in line. I think, hmmm, I guess David Lynch is a pretty good reason to let the world continue in my mind. I'm thinking about my banana costume and syd who makes tesla coils. I think of Iowa fields, the gothic house and TM. For some reason these are the things that are loosely associated with David Lynch in my brain.

I'm not even going to say a word. I'm playing it cool - with my rainbow dyed unicorn hair of course they would stare. Just another day in Hollyweird. What would / could I say to him anyway? It's the universe's little reminder - it's that glimmer of hope. It's the memory that even in all the shit of this world, there are diamonds.

Then my number is called - except it's not my number, and I already have my food - but it's the final wink, that says... what is said without words.

It's a moment. Something changes. And it matters, and yet does not. Because all this will be played out again tomorrow and the day after, and has been each day from when time began. The world is destroyed every day and rebuilt again.

Hi

Hey Blog, just thought I'd say hi. I've got some new friends I want to introduce you to soon. Some bodybuilders, fashionistas, motorcyclists and aquarium lovers. I've also got some gamers and emo-goths and moms. And when you blow off steam, there's the NSFW forum that I'm trying out my new flame-proof suit in.

Today at lunch, I quipped with my colleagues that my work is NSFW. I think I've found my dream job mom. And I just refreshed the purple and added turquoise. Muholland drive calls and the wheel turns one more time thanks to Steppenwolf and William Burroughs.

The Private Life

Weekends, I had forgotten you. Having freelanced/runmyowncompany/consult for the past 3+ years - a weekend was no different from any other day. Except the boyfriend was home and usually I was out on an adventure or holed up in the house reading/cleaning (I love to clean).

It was a great time. I remember back when I decided I would live each day like I was on vacation - and I did - for a very long time. But just because I was always on vacation, work was "optional" I lost the meaning of work segmentation. I could do work anywhere, anytime and I did. I always had my GTD notebook with me. I was always returning calls, email, doing the Biz Dev, going out and being seen and networking. All the time. To the detriment of my true interests, my varied passions.

I didn't think having a day job increase the time I would spend doing the things I love - but it has. Because I have less time to do my private things, I spend that the way I truly want to.

The only negatives to the day job in my book are having to get up, shower, get dressed and attempt to leave the house before 9am and not being able to write off as much on my taxes (OMG - I've paid more in taxes already this year than the past one!). This cutting back, this decrease requires discernment. I don't want to juggle all those balls in the bucket. I only did it because I could and no one else was. Now, I'm done with these balls and oh wow, thanks universe, here's a whole bunch more of brand new exciting things to do and learn and share and experience.

What a relief I no longer have to share my micro experiences with everyone electronically and that I am content to experience them directly with a select minority.

Random Thoughts to write more on

Mr Hard Ass shows his face and wields the ax again. This time, with new and improved thick skin. Who knew I was wearing a fireproof suit?

The understanding of Trophy Wives. This is something I've always been perplexed and confused about, and I finally cracked the concept.

A fabulous birthday weekend with the pack in Santa Barbara. Margarita's on the beach, a swanky hotel and the dog dog dog everywhere - in the ocean, in the shower, in the sand, in the pedal bicycle surrey - oh so cute.  Update from my skin: SPF 70 actually works to not burn my pale pale complexion.

And now, street cleaning at 9am - must get ready to zip the commute over the Laurel Canyon and my second Monday morning.

commute thinking

I had a ton of things to write about this morning when I was commuting over laurel canyon. I was heat exhausted and slightly dehydrated from the heat. I remember thinking how happy I was that I was driving on a regular basis again. I really think about things differently when I'm in the car. I missed those deep thoughts.

I was remembering how great it felt to be back on a bike. I took the moto guzzi out on it's inaugural ride (to Lothlorian Topanga) this weekend. It's loud - oh man is it a loud bike - but the sound - is sweet sweet music to my ears. Ear your heart out Marc Bolan.

Then there was the Thievery Corporation Concert at the bowl. And thinking about imperminance and how it is just a lesson and not an end. An understanding in impermanence makes it easier to let go of things before crystallizing.

I'll leave you with these videos for inspiration. This one and this one are real inspirations. Just try to imagine what performance ideas I have running through my naughty little mind.

Also the dog ate almost 6 ounces of orange infused chocolate - and lived to tell. What is up with this dog's love of chocolate? He totally took it off my dresser to eat it.

Never on the Market

I'm one of these people that in work and love, is never on the market. My life flows from one thing to another.

One of these transitions just occurred. I had been riding The Purple Tornado, holding tea parties in the eye of the storm while juggling projects, clients and possibilities. The winds have slowed and I've found myself in a new land - one worth exploring.  (In another vision, I see the mercenary for-hire self of mine complete with guns, weapons and crusty leather armor joining a team tasked with a vision.) Oh, it's all very mythic isn't it? What can I say - I like Myths.

But it's true. The tornado has joined a crowd with a vision. I'm embarking on my next big adventure by joining Crowdgather as their Director of Community Evangelism. (Disclaimer, I have been working with Crowdgather since February of this year.) I have to say, I am very excited - my excitement is even surprising me - and I can't wait to unleash and create to ultimately improve the lives of billions of people. It's a big goal - but my dad always told me to "Aim High."

Rocking the Retrograde

A few years ago, when I wrote for Daily Mantra, I decided to learn about the star-crossed "Mercury Retrograde". I'd only ever heard of it and not believing in day to day astrology dismissed it. But I was writing for an audience that I thought would find it interesting, so not only did I learn about it, but I started to observe. What did I see happening or not happening during a merc retrograde as opposed to other times?

If you're not familiar, a Merc retrograde is when Mercury appears to move backwards in the sky due to the placement of the earth and mercury. Apparently electronics and communications go haywire and get mixed up.

But I like to think of the retrograde as taking a step back. A chance to review things. To recapitulate. It's almost like a second chance. An opportunity to go back and do something again.

I pretty much stopped paying attention to retrogrades when I stopped writing for Daily Mantra - but for some reason, this one (the one that we currently ended on Thursday-yesterday) came on my radar. And Ive had an uncanny return to my past - revisiting past activities.

I was initially concerned that I was personally digressing - what about moving forward? what about evolving? trying new things? what's this heather? return to things you used to do?

Then the truck back up beeping started. But it wasn't backing up as in "I made a mistake". It was like when I was walking on the rocks in Cambria at New Years.

When I was in Cambria this weekend I walked along the tidepool beach cliffs. The rocks had been worn away and I jumped from slick seaweed covered rock to another while the waves crashed nearby. I'd venture out on the long tendrils of rock and get caught in a dead end. It was leap of faith across a wide churning channel onto slicker rock or backtracking. I chose to backtrack - there was no need to make a leap of faith on this solo excursion. I wondered if the backtracking was worth the journey. In the end I decided it was, because it's more about the trip than the destination.

This retrograde has been one major backtrack. But it's not a backtrack. It's more like a three point turn at the end of a really interesting alley. And I've explored all I wanted for now.

Besides, I missed who I was. I missed the radio show, the motorcycle, Gurdjieff and the Heather that was relaxed and comfortable with herself. I missed the person who never had anything to prove because she always did what she was best at. I missed the heather that explored and discovered and learned and taught. I missed the part of Heather that you wouldn't expect -- the one that loves to wear suits, document process and sit behind a desk. The one that likes structure, traveling and evangelizing to  help people have a good time and improve their lives with technology.

And now I get to be that person again, benefiting from my recent adventures.

Friends, Betrayal and Trust

I've been thinking about these things a lot recently. It started with something that a friend of mine said offhand earlier this week. "You know Heather, most of the people you talk about that you've introduced me to, don't act like they're really happy to see you." Then she told me a story about how she introduced a "friend" to one of her friends and her friend pointed out the girl "friend" she introduced to her was not really her friend.

That story percolated in my mind. And then I got angry. Because I kick ass and am amazing - but I don't really have that many actual friends. I don't  consider most of the people at the many of the events I go to as friends (associates and potential friends perhaps). Yeah, I know a lot of people and we're "friends" on twitter and facebook and the like - but are they really my friends? Do they really care about me as a person? About my dreams and goals and what I am feeling?

No. I don't think many of those people do.

I don't expect to be the center of anyone's life except mine and Romeo's (and maybe slightly off-center to the boyf) - but it's fucking me up thinking that all of you are my friends - when it is so obviously you are not.

I know that you're focused on your own life and goals and climbing whatever social ladder or jockeying for positioning or doing whatever to fulfill your dreams. I get that and I don't take it personally that I'm just another step to your rise. But it hurts, being used. And I see right through it. (Stupid me, I've been pretending that I haven't been seeing it. I've been giving the benefit of the doubt, because I want to believe that people can evolve and be their better self, but really people are just pieces of shit, humming at the lowest level of evolution.) Wow - there's one from my embittered soul.

So few, so few actually care. And really, why should I be so surprised? I never wanted to be Ms Popularity. I only wanted to be authentic. I only ever wanted to be the most amazing individual I could possibly be. And I'm that. And so what. Time to move on.

Costume Change

I'm an actor as I go through my life. I have many roles. I've been many roles. And there are many roles in my future.

I was wandering my past today. (The main reason I write this blog is to facilitate these past wanderings - remember who I was, what I was thinking and all that.) A couple years ago I started taking the spotlight challenge. I decided to stop playing in the wings - and to take on a new role - one of being in the forefront of technology and Los Angeles. I was reluctant and awkward.

Water flows down - catching in the low places and fills them up, until it overflows - and moves on.

I've been thinking about this image a lot recently. I've missed the person I used to be and I've been thinking about her often this past week. My mind travels back and picks out the gems from my past self. I'm stagnant. I've been stagnant for a while - caught in someone else's dream that attached itself to me.

I'm ready for something different. I'm ready to revisit some roles of the past.

* photo by Ike Unson

Impermanence and Surprises

A friend and I were talking about Tibetan Sand Paintings yesterday and how they showed impermanence. That lead to a discussion on creating the world and quantum mechanics, my current obsession. Some of what he said has been jangling around in my head (along with Paul Graham's Cities Essay) like a quarter in a Chuck E Cheese funnel. Jangle, circle, jangle, circle, balanced on the edge.

I saw the universe as lines of light. Energy moving across furrows. Like the strings of a bow on a violin. The silence sounded. Are we like that sound? Destined to follow the form of the note once it's created? I think not - (at least I'm living my life based that I can change that note once it has left the bow gods be damned). What about that moment hanging in time? Frozen. Silent. Until the light shines and effects motion? Like a coin in an arcade. Like clockwork. There are hints everywhere. Reminders. Does the machine (or the string that resonates to the energy) realize it's already done this before. That this is the programming? Does each time feel as new?

It's too early in the day to get this philosophical.

Which brings to mind a conversation with another friend. I was talking about lists and plans and we were discussing relationships. He said "She's not someone I could ever imagine" (In my response to "Just manifest someone else like her."). I thought about this for a moment - watching the traffic go through the intersection - looking at the sky - and thought about my own life. Yes, there are things that happen that you can't imagine. Things you can't plan. People you can't believe exist (I hope I am one of these people for myself.) The beauty of these things is in their authentic surprise. You can't plan that. You can only enjoy it for the moment - an infinite impermanent moment.

I'll leave you with this passage from Asimov's Prelude to Foundation, page 227 in the paperback edition. It's the end of Chapter of 43.

    "What are they?"
     "Dainties. Raw dainties. For the outside market they're flavored in different ways, but here in Mycogen we eat them unflavored -- the only way."
    She put one in her mouth and said, "I never have enough."
    Seldon put his sphere into his mouth and felt it dissolve and disappear rapidly. His mouth, for a moment ran liquid and then it slid, almost of its own accord, down his throat.
    He stood for a moment, amazed. it was slightly sweet and, for that matter, had an even fainter bitter aftertaste, but the main sensation eluded him.
    "May I have another?" he said.
    "Have half a dozen," said Raindrop Forty-Three, holding out her hand. "They never have quite the same taste twice and have practically no calories. Just taste."
    She was right. He tried to have the dainty linger in his mouth; he tried licking it carefully; tried biting off a piece. However, the most careful lick destroyed it. When a bit was crunched off a piece, the rest of it disappeared at onece. And each taste was undefinable and not quite like the one before.
    "The only trouble is," said the Sister happily, "that every once in a while you have a very unusual one and you never forget it, but you never have it again either. I had one when I was nine--" Her expression suddenly lost its excitement and she said, "It's a good thing. It teaches you the evanescence of things of the world."

* photo by BlakJakDavy

On Conflict and Clarity

The other week the boyf was accusing me of being into confrontations or liking confrontations or liking conflict. While I don't like confrontations, I don't shy away from it. (And I am actually quite good dealing with a confrontational situation.) People have disagreements and different points of views and goals, etc, and when those don't line up and are ignored conflict occurs. To pretend the conflict isn't there is to ignore an elephant in the room. Confronting the difference is not a pleasant thing - but it must be done to move forward.

I was trying to figure out a way to explain my attitude toward confrontation, when I picked up Strengths Finder a few days ago. I found my answer under "Command" one of my top 5 strengths.

"You are not frightened by confrontation; rather, you know that confrontation is the first step toward resolution. Whereas others may avoid facing up to life's unpleasantness, you feel compelled to present the facts or the truth, no matter how unpleasant it may be. You need things to be clear between people and challenge them to be clear-eyed and honest."

This pretty much sums up my attitude toward confrontation and conflict. Look, I'd love it if we could all get along - but when we're not or when we disagree or have a misunderstanding, we must address the issues - and it's probably not going to be pretty. I'd prefer to not bring up the issue at all - but I'm not going to pretend it doesn't exist.

---
Which brings up a rant of mine - about people who are unwilling to meet you halfway/face to face to resolve a conflict or avoid a confrontation. There is no way to resolve a conflict if the other party refuses to even meet. This is the most frustrating situation for me and those who pull that on me lose my respect. I know it's hard, life is hard. But I'd rather resolve and move on - then be stuck back there pretending the issue will go away. A lot of times, it doesn't. It just gets bigger.

Anyway, end rant. :)

Borderlands Built

I was pondering upon things as I am wont to do, and I realized that the past few years that I have been doing "way out" stuff on so many levels, is because I've been building my borderlands. I've been going as far out as I could possibly imagine and then I'd go further to see what was beyond. I've been wandering in these borderlands going more and more out there. I've had moments of "wow, I really am way out here" losing touch almost with the places I used to be.

I've ventured far - and now I'm ready to come back to familiar places.

Reminder

This is just a reminder that there are good days and then there are really good days. Today was/is a really good day. Thanks Universe.

Update: Why was today such a good day? Nothing huge happened. No big life changing news. Just the regular stuff. Flexing with changing schedules, working in the morning, driving the convertible on Laurel Canyon, great client meeting, shopping at favorite store in Studio City, meeting up with a friend at Abbot's Habit and good conversation ("The truth simply is, its lies that must be spoken" - Chicken John), great exercise classes at the Y, lovely dog walk, boyfriend comes home and we decide to go out to a smancy dinner at Fogo de Chao, unlimited pao de queijo and meat, home again to awesome dog and best bed in the world.

Extraordinary in the ordinary.

A sense of calm

The past week has been one filled with bliss, peace and satisfaction. It's a strange feeling - as I am usually not satisfied with anything, constantly striving to improve. It's not that I've lost interest in improving myself, the world and living my dream life - I just feel no anxiety or rush associated with it. For the past week - I have been content to be.

All though my day I maintain this calm - and the late afternoon walks with the dog are downright blissful with the beautiful yards, gardens and flowering trees.

I am happy with myself, my life and what I have accomplished. I am focused on where I want to go next, what I want to accomplish and who I want to become. There is time to become that person, do those things and go where I desire. For now, I'm content and happy.

Mercy, Compassion, Forgiveness

"mercy is not receiving punishment that we deserve"

and how would we know what punishment we deserve? (compassion) and whose judgment is the correct one? Isn't it better to learn from the experience (forgiveness) and not interrupt the flow? and what stops the merciful from feeling like they got away with something?

(Here's an interesting blog post about Mercy vs Forgiveness from a Christian point of view)

All of these are ultimately about how you use your energy. Would you rather have your energy get stuck in holding onto petty bullshit (as I remember Bruce Wagner talking about) or using it to change your world? I remind myself that my battle is not here with everyone - but out there. This is merely the playground, the practice field. And that puts everything into a different perspective.

Hope and Practicality

Several years ago, I was exploring the concept of "hope" and how I felt like it may be the worst evil from Pandora's Box. Hope did nothing to change a situation and may stop someone from practical action - and never realizing their dreams.

In my morning web walkabout I found the connection. Hope is the turning point. Hope is seeing the light. Hope is the glimpse of some other possibility. However to realize/manifest the change, you must act. Hope is not an action, it is an attitude adjustment that allows a moment, a flash of energy to get yourself unstuck. Once your attitude has been adjusted, you must take practical action.

Darkworking

I sporadically read Steve Pavlina's excellent blog, so when I was configuring my RSS reader I popped in and caught up. One of his recent posts is on the DARKWORKER and whether they are evil.

As I'm reading this and it hits me - I don't get darkworkers. I understand their motivation and why they do the things they do, but it's not my bag.

Is a darkworker evil? From the perspective of a lightworker or from non-polarized people, you could say yes. From the darkworker’s perspective, there are basically two possibilities.

First, the darkworker might say, “No, I’m not evil. I’m pursuing my own good, which is the highest good there is.” Darkworkers are Machiavellian and expedient. They recognize that running over people is often more efficient than working with them. If you have to treat a human being like a slice of bacon now and then, so be it.

The second possibility is that the darkworker identifies with evil and consciously embraces that role: “I’ve decided to be evil, and I like it.” (See For Love of Evil.) In this case the darkworker identifies with the social consensus about evil and recognizes himself as having those qualities. However, he doesn’t see this as anything bad or problematic. Evil is equated with freedom and power. The darkworker views non-evil people as weak and sometimes stupid. If the darkworker identifies with the role of the villain, it’s because the villain is the smartest character in the game.

Either way the result is the same. The darkworker’s conscience is aligned with self-service as the highest possible good. Physical reality is a playground for the darkworker’s personal pleasure, and other people are merely tools to be used.

I've been used by these darkworkers and it hurts. I do what I do for the good of mankind and those darkworkers have taken my ideas and pimped their own ass not even thanking me for showing them the way. That's why the last and in some ways most important step in getting your heart's desire is to say Thank You. I constantly think about my teachers (they probably don't know how often I think of them) and thank people who have helped me. And I go out of my way helping people and connecting them to people and ideas that help them make their dreams a reality.

My motivation in doing what I do is because I want to improve the world - and the ability for people to achieve their dreams, having their dream life and the courage to do what they are here to do - not cringe in fear to follow their passions. So what about a darkworker applying my methodologies to make their egotistical dreams come true. On a theoretically level I'm down with that, but as darkworkers execute on their self-serving plans it makes me hate this world and want to be gone from it.

It sucks my motivation and gets me second guess the value of my work. I don't want to think that I have to protect myself from these types of people, because that stifles my own creativity and derails my execution.

So what to do? And how do I protect myself and my work from these vampiric darkworkers in the future?

Bruce Returns

Several years ago I went though several months of reading most of  Bruce Chatwin's work. He is one of my favorite authors along with Italio Calvino and Jonathan Carroll. At that time I collected and read most of his books - but not all. A collection of short stories stared it's title at me most mornings. (I have a bookshelf facing my bed in the bedroom) called "What am I doing here?"

I pulled it out the other night and started reading. Immediately I was taken back to the delight of reading his prose. I came across Chatwin's writing just when I decided to make my writing both more non-fiction as well as fiction. The line between truth and reality is often fuzzy perception. I prefer to fuzz the line in the direction of fiction as far as possible while keeping the story activities in the truth. That's why for the past several years I've been walkabouting through intense activities - creating the borderlands. That and the novelty factor.

But there's something about coming back to a place you know well. A place you not only know but love well. That includes the writing of Bruce Chatwin.

My inspiration to travel has returned. I use to feed that wanderlust by traveling to the furthest, exotic, difficult, rugged locations. I've flown into tin shack airports in the south pacific in the middle of two political coups. I've traveled 5 hours over sand dunes to get to a remote beach in the north of Brazil - twice. I've boated up and down the Nile, picking through Eqyptian Temples and hiking into the pyramids, not to mention navigating haggling for belly dancing costumes in the largest bazaar in Turkey.

But those locations are no longer foreign. The most dangerous and exotic small locations in the world are right here in our backyard - it is a small town America.

This first occurred to me when I went to a small town outside of Reno to demolish some cars. Let, me take that back. This idea first occurred to me in 1996 while driving the gravel roads in fecund Iowa summer. It was a comparison of the fields, forests and plains of the midwest to the savanna of Africa. The only reason we don't think the things around us are exotic is because they are so familiar.

That is why I think the small town is a most exotic place. If you've ever lived in a small town - it's freaking hard to make a living. It's much harder to make a living in Cedar Falls, Iowa than New York City. Hard to believe, but true.

Anyway, I've meandered. My point is that in my travel revival due to Chatwin's wonderful writing I've restarting my exotic travels - to the most exotic locations on earth - small town America.

a crazy thought // the end of an era

I had an unusual sense of relaxation and contentment yesterday. Even as I drove through traffic and had difficult discussions - I felt - content. Satisfied. I looked down at the floor of my metaphorical stage and saw the bucket of balls I usually juggle. They beckoned to me to pick them up and show off - if only to myself.

But I didn't want to juggle them. I was happy with the few balls I had in the air. And I was happy with the balls in the bucket. (I haz a big buket.)

Then I thought, maybe I won't do as much and keep a relaxed and leisurely pace. Then I sat down and wrote out my dream life requirements - which were quite different from what I thought they would be. I care less about achievement than execution, but I want to leave my mark and make my contribution to our mutual self-actualization and evolution.

I do not want to ride the plow through the ocean waves.

This thought dovetails the arrival of my next intimate collaborator - a tricked out Thinkpad T61 that replaces my famous T42 (who was on the cover of the LA Times with me) that I've had for almost 5 years. I already see the emergence of one of my most secret and yet visible personas with T61. It's quite surprising it has not shown it's face before, but the time is now. I don't expect the gun wielding culture jamming explosive fire making hbomb will go away, but it's time to let her run free in the desert and get down to some serious work here in the city.