Happy Death Day

I'm not exactly sure what a Yartzite is.  I'm sure I could look it up quickly on wikipedia.  But so could you.  Stop being lazy.

For now I'm going to assume that it is the Jewish name for the yearly remembrance of the day someone you cared for died.  Yesterday was my grandmother.  Who's name, to me at least, was mamu  (pronounced "ma-moo").  And my name to her was "the little one."  Even when I finally grew taller than her (which was quickly.  She was quite short.)

Today was a friends birthday.  It struck me as quite appropriate, though novel to me, that a religion would have the equivalent of a birthday, but for death.  After all, They are, for all people, two of the most important days of anyone's life.

After my closest friend killed themselves, in addition to the grief, was an experience that made me unafraid of death, and quite certain that the core of who a person was kept existing after their body stopped working.  It was just a feeling, a feeling that, though I could no longer hear him as clearly, nothing about him had really changed.  He hadn't stopped existing.  I felt him.  It was the same kind of non-verbal, deeply intimate connection we had always had.

So it makes sense to me, to celebrate someone who you deeply love, yearly, even after they die.  It also makes sense that the celebration is a little different, because your connection to people after they die is different than before.  But I think they like having people who love them gather and laugh and think of them with love, and it's a good excuse to gather together with other friends and enjoy each other's company and maybe eat cake or something.  At the very least, death should remind us to live.

I make no guarantees about an afterlife   Who knows how the world works for sure?  How could you ever be certain of anything besides exactly what's in front of you right now.  But for myself, I'm not afraid of death, and, though I miss those that die, I don't grieve for them ceasing to exist, but for myself, and for the others who will miss them.

Death is harder on the living.  I don't want to die, but when I do, at least I won't have to live with it.

In either case, fill your life with love and things that matter deeply to you.  When it's your turn to die, how do you want to feel about your life?  Don't wait till you're old to think about that.

Peanut Butter

08/14/08

That's the expiration date of the peanut butter my aunt found somewhere in the house. It has been opened previously. When my aunt heard the expiration date she said in a surprised and frightened voice, to throw it out. However, I was curious, what three to five year old peanut butter looked like, so I opened it up. Knife marks. No mold. As smooth and brown as the day it was made. I think I have to try eating it. First, because peanut butter is awesome. It shouldn't be wasted if it can be eaten. Second, because how else will I know if peanut butter keeps for two and a half years otherwise. Tomorrow, I begin the experiment.

The blackness of space where someone once was

I'm going to write about grief now, though it is difficult to write, or do anything that expends a large amount of energy.

I'm writing about it now, because I have a crap memory for experiences, so to get the essence of the experience recorded I have to write it close to when it happened. For me, when it's good, I can't remember what it's like to be bad, and vice versa.

And I'm writing it, period, for the same reasons I write most of my posts: I think my experience may be of value to someone.

Grief is what I am going through right now. This is the grieving process. At first, it was a sense of unreality. An inability to understand the reality of the situation. Like I was watching a tv show or something. Oh, my best friend died. I saw that one last week on HBO. Downer. Didn't see that plot twist coming.

Then it was the whirlwind of visiting friends and family. Very hectic, busy. Tiring, but nice, to be with friends. I started searching for answers to the questions of how I was supposed to deal with this.

One of those things they really should teach you in grade school, but never get around to, instead just filling your brain with useless shit like the capitals of each of the states.

I'll tell you what works, once I'm through it, which will probably be in about 50 years. Though I'm going to guess that it's an exponential drop off: after a year, most of the processing will be done, after 5 years, the bouts of sadness and loss will be very rare. That is, as long as I actually let it process.

The main point is the same main point that I have for dealing with all my issues, nowadays:

feel it.

with the additional advice, since this can be such a strong emotional feeling, to not get caught up in particular moments, forgetting that "this too shall pass." The analogy I got from a spiritual mentor/psychologist is that of a stream: some parts of the stream are calm, some are rapids. The stream is your emotions. Let it flow, and don't get your focus stuck on the hard bits.

Sometimes, especially out in beautiful nature, sitting or taking a walk I can relax and feel energized. Often, I feel sad and lonely. And some of the original confusion and disorientation persist.

As soon as I left the protective cocoon of my friends, I felt the loss much more acuitly. There was no more break-neck activity to distract me, and no more friends to give me someone to talk to and be with and laugh with. When a friend called me, who also knew dan, and talked for a while, I felt much better.

I'm in the catch-22 situation of wanting to get lots of rest, because I feel deeply sapped of life energy from the mourning, and at the same time, don't want to face the emptiness of my bed and the darkness and my mind.

A little activity is very good, but I can't do much. I feel like short walks in nature are probably the best thing for me, but once I get home it's hard for me to muster the energy to get up and go outside.

As with all things, it's different than I thought it would be. it's not twenty-four seven sadness, crying. I'm distracted a lot of the time, and the main factor that doesn't go away is the sense of being tired. I'm very tired. more than tired though, like tired in my soul. like it's a challenge to find the motivation to do anything. Thankfully I have a strong purpose, and it still burns within me and pulls me forward. But it's pulling very gently at the moment.

Also, I'm horny. That whole thing, with the Wedding Crasher's movie, about picking up chicks at funerals? I think it may be true. Sex is a way to try and deal with the feelings of loneliness and loss. An attempt to plug a hole that's just opened up in your life.

And that's really what seems to be happening, in the big picture: a part of my life has just been taken out of my life. Like some massive surgery that removes one of my lungs, there is a lot of healing going on, around the wound, and an adjusting to having less. I can't breath as deeply with one lung. I don't have dan to call when I need to talk to someone who gets me really well, to help me process through an issue, who shares my sense of humor, to make me laugh, who understands the incredible beauty of the universe, to be grateful with. Who works like I do, to heal, to serve. I have other friends, a few of which I can do this with, to some extent. But, like only having one lung, it is truly a reduced capacity.

We were that to each other: a booster pack, letting us go further than we could alone.

I imagine it's even more intense for someone who's spouse or similar, dies.

I will never again be as timid around mourners though: I see now, from this side, what it's like, and I don't feel sorry for myself, don't feel like I need baby gloves. Definitely don't need pity.

However, I really do need special consideration. like a post-op, I need lots of rest, good food, and love from friends and family. And frankly, having other people to talk to who can relate to me and what I'm going through, is healing in a way that no one else can be. There is something especially nice about being with other people who were(are) close to dan. We're going through the same process, and it's nice not to have to go it alone. At the same time, it also really is nice, having people support me. people who are not directly connected to dan, and so are not feeling the visceral punch in the gut that his absence produces.

In the same way that being of service to the poor or sick is a really good thing, I understand how being of service to the grieving is in the same category.

It also gives me great respect for the idea of 'Family.'

Family meaning those that you love and are close to, not just blood relations, and probably not all blood relations are included. But it is a really, really good thing to have a strong family. You can't help everyone in the world, but if you've got a strong family, you can look out for each other, and that would be enough, if everyone did that.

Not sure this is coherent. thus goes it.

Never say Goodbye

Dan was my best friend in the whole fucking world.

Dan was closer to me than any other human being or animal or idea or anything I have ever interacted with.

If I was gay, or dan was a woman, I would have married him. A while ago too. As it is, he's a man and gay sex is icky to me, so I'm going to skip that image

Dan and I were different in a lot of ways, but in all the important one's it felt like we were brothers, twins, almost, no, not almost, two half's of one whole.

I think probably less than .00001% of people on earth ever have as intimate a relationship as me and dan had.

We were each others confidants.

I told dan, and dan told me, things that will never be spoken to anyone else.

We were each others guru's.

We moved along at the same pace, bootstrapping each others evolution. The flavors were sometimes different, but it was like woman syncing there periods when they work together for a long time. It always ended up that, as we talked, it turned out we were dealing with the same fundamental issue underlying things. Our views, while divergent enough superficially to give rise to debates, was fundamentally identical. We both grew exponentially faster, having each other there to help us.

Except for the last few months.

We were each others supports. When we couldn't talk to anyone else about something, we could talk to each other. Hell, Dan's girlfriend of several years was jelous of the depth of relationship we had.

It is so exeptionaly rare to find a soul that is so resonent. Both Dan and I knew it. This relationship was not normal, was not something you could expect from life. it was something of extreme value and rarity, and we both had ridiculous gratitude for it, from the very beginning and never abating.

I really hope Dan isn't my soul mate, because he's a guy and he's gone from physical manifestation. But I wouldn't be surprised at all if he was. I could be sad and bitter that I can't give him a hug or have a regular conversation with him any more,... and I guess I am. But frankly, the extreme gratitude for such a rare opportunity, is much stronger. The fact that I had any time with such a relationship is a pure and extreme miracle and blessing.

I love you dan. I love you so much. No one but you, me, God, and the few blessed lovers/brothers who have had such a relationship, will ever know how much.

Today I got all my birthday letters, because I was gone for 9 days, starting on my birthday on my survival trek: the culmination of my 8 month primitive skills apprenticeship program. It was an awakening and reminder that, despite how uncomfortable it can be, being cold, wet, hungry, I love living out in the wilderness, as part of the wilderness enough to justify the unpleasant aspects. Though I also know damn well that survival doesn't have to be a struggle or a pain, but can be pure luxury and joy and adventure. As tom brown says, "if primitive survival is uncomfortable, it just means you skills suck." In any case, I was reminded that, despite being rained on and quite cold and cramped, I'd sleep in a debrie hut any day over a bed inside, or even a sleeping bag. not because I'm trying to be cool or extream or have some idea about living sustainably, but because sleeping in something natural, made of natural materials, in tune with the local enviroment, made by myself, and being woken up by first light to sit outside my little human-nest and worship God as he rises in glory over the unspeaably beautiful landscape, is worth every bit of back strain, sleep deprivation, dirtyness and wetness. And it only gets more comfortable from here, because I am constantly learning and getting better.

Anyways, the point is, for whatever reason, today is an extraordinarily significant day. It is a day of death and rebirth.

One final note on this thing we call "death":

it's a crock of shit.

there is no such thing as death. it's a fairy-tail invented by someone or some people, to scare little children into eating there oatmeal. I've never seen a single death, only transformation. If you believe in an afterlife, then you agree with me.

Except 'afterlife' is a bad word for it, since it's still life.

If you don't belief in an afterlife, then it doesn't really matter anyways. we're all going to die and go out like a candle and we won't be around to think about how terrible it is that we don't exist anymore. The fear is totally irrational and can be dropped without any negative consequences at all: just try and live as good and joyful and satisfying a life as you can. Really, logically, that is the only answer on how to live, eather way. The only difference is that, as seems highly probable, there is is an 'after' life, there's not even any illogical reason to be anxious about leaving the body.

Dan didn't say goodbye. That bugged me. But I understood, soon after, why he didn't leave a note:

we are all eternal.

there are no real goodbye's.

So there's no purpose in saying something like that.

that's why I usually end with something like:

be seeing you.

Until then: I'm gonna miss the hell out of you, dan.

Scylla and Charybdis

Huuu.

a cool breeze clears the eyes
a cool breeze clears the eyes


Let us talk of sacred things.
walks in the cold night air.
I want to bath myself, in cold water.
Cold, because I want to clean my spirit, not my body.
I want to be awakened, and shudder at the touch of something intense, something that breaths life into me, that the warm, stuffy, artificially lighted building has sucked out.

I want to speak about many different things.

I don't want this blog to become something self indulgent. It already has become somewhat self-indulgent, but in the sense that it gives me a feeling of connection to friends, which I miss.

If it ever becomes self-indulgent in the way artists become egoic, that is, "look what I've made, aren't I so great" then it will be time for me to shut it down.

--

Promises. Vows. Perhaps I should restrict my computer time, and my indoor time. like a parent with a child. Except me to myself. It's not something I've done before. I wonder if I could maintain it?

One the one side (of the rock and the hard place) is being too attached and controlled by sense-desires. On the other side (the Charybdis) is loss of compassion. if you move to much away from one, the other will get you.

It's primarily an Indian wording, talking about the Senses controlling the mind, rather than the mind controlling the senses. This is like when men chase skirts, or dogs chase balls, or businesspeople chase dollars. There is some sense, that is overruling our better judgment. We just really want that cookie, even though we know it's bad for us.

My primary one, that I think of right now, is Story. I crave for endings. I crave the secret behind the mystery. I want to know how it ends. I want to see it end happily. I want to be complete. This is the force that drives you on to read a book, watch a movie, late into the night. We desperately want to know that the character (which we've associated with us.) is going to be ok. Is going to find what they've been searching for.

And that's not how it works.

That's not how it works, with any of the senses. That's not how it works, with the mind craving for the how of things.

We search for satisfaction in such small things. Sex, food, television, relationship, job, money, fame. At there best, they provide a few brief shots of fulfillment. maybe five minutes for every month of searching for them. And then it's gone. And we keep searching. I realized long ago it was a fools game, and no one who played it won. So I started looking for a game that was winnable. Enlightenment promised to be that game, and looked promising, with some good customer reviews, from a lot of spiritual big-wigs. It was the best option I could find.

And it has delivered, partially. "Partially" means it has moved me more and more in the direction of an underlying fulfilment that doesn't come and go with "things." But, it hasn't gotten rid of that aspect. Maybe I just need to meditate more, as my first dogma/system suggests. I don't think that can possibly be correct. I found the meditation my parents taught me to be extremely useful. I can't think of a more useful single thing I did than regularly practice meditation. But it's bullshit when they say that's all you need. You need YOU. You need sincerity. And eventually, you need to listen to the voice of something bigger, moving you through life, to where you need to be, to what you need to do.

The shit gets hard and scary sometimes, and you somehow need to find a way to weather through it, and if that's faith in the Lord Jesus or a personal vendetta against God, I don't think it really matters, as long as it gets you to the next step. (I think eventually you'd need to replace the "vendetta against God" motivation, once life started getting nice and you no longer hated him(her).)

There are people on the spiritual path that are spinning their wheels. All of us do, at one time or another. But there are those who have been spinning their wheels for decades, and those ruts they're creating are getting pretty deep. And that's sad. Because either they're going to die in the same place, or something drastic and probably extremely uncomfortable (though possibly really nice, depending on the karma (call it luck, if you prefer)) is going to shake them out of it.

Here is a good way to avoid really bad things happening to you: pay attention. Because nature will almost always give you relatively gentle signs that you are stuck or going the wrong direction. The scope of how often and precisely nature does this is nothing short of miraculous, though usually the vehicle looks quite mundane. Doesn't matter. Listen carefully, and nature doesn't have to get out the bat.


I don't have any more I can say, express, comprehensibly. I am dealing with surrender, though that word is a poor shadow of what I 'm dealing with. What I am feeling trying to flow through my heart is something amazing and mundane and miraculous and real, as real as your chair and the feelings you have right now.

All this stuff, that's happening to me, around enlightenment, is organic. I can't think of a really appropriate word. By organic I mean... like, fleshy. Like a body. it's very real. It has ligaments and muscles. It works a certain way, and it has certain limits, and if you want it to do something there is a specific process you go through. And it's not exact, it's sticky and one thing kind of flows into another, with only occasional clear boundaries, and even those, are pressed up right against each other.

Especially now, as I'm dealing with action. action in the world, as opposed to thinking. I'm very good at thinking, and creating in the mental realm. I'm good at listening to and telling stories. But even just me walking outside in the cold air and moving the garbage and recycling bins to the side of the street, cannot even be approximated.... well, actually, maybe they can be... huh.

but required of any writing that accurately approximates reality, is something that ties it in with a shared experience. I need to write and conjure up a memory of the readers. That's the only way you get close to reality.

But even then, we have our stories about life, and then there is life. And so many of the stories I've read, just don't describe life well. Hell, even the "true" stories, don't describe themselves well.

Because of the multi-dimensionality of living, verses verse. I told you about my trip to take out the trash. But did I tell you the colors of the recycling bin? the order I did everything? the feeling of the sticky handle? the spiritual change the cool night air brought about? The thoughts that went through my head in that short trip? I've been trying to write about them this whole post.

And I wouldn't care, except I'm trying to learn how to live, and when a story creates an image inside me, and then I try to create that image, act out that story, in the world, and it doesn't work, because real life doesn't work like I imagined it did... then I feel sad, and powerless. wisdomless, because some bit of wisdom I learned in a book, or from a mouth, refers to a fictional reality, that works differently than mine.

This is not really a problem, just a problematic approach. I'm trying, (dreamer and mind-dweller that I am) to gain an understanding of the world, from imaginary worlds. Change the approach to gaining an understanding of the world, from the world, and suddenly the teaching stories become potent tools, pointing the direction for fruitful exploratory action.

But it's really fucking scary; doing stuff, taking risks, doing something new, in the real world. Going to a strange new place, talking to people I don't know, trying to date, trying to change myself, trying be more disciplined, trying to surrender to what my heart directs.


The lesson for today is: Do not be afraid of Death.

This is the lesson because it's the answer to the internal dialog whenever you are asked to trust and act on something that frightenes you.

The Big One: Do (fill in the blank)
little me: but what if it's not right? what if something bad happens?
B1: it's the right thing
lm: but what if something I don't want happens
B1: what's the worst that could happen
lm:... Death, I guess.
B1: and what's the worst that could happen, if you don't do it.
lm: ...I guess that would also be death... I guess that could happen any way.
B1: and do you have any clue what is the right thing to do?
lm: honestly, just you.
B1: and I'm telling you to do it.
lm: I'd rather just think a bit and delay. if I do nothing, or just do what I'm comfortable with, it feels like its less likely something bad will happen.
B1: like death.
lm: yeah, if you take it back far enough.
B1: Don't fear death. fear never living. as you are doing right now, every second you delay doing what your heart knows is right. Maybe you will die. But at least you will be closer to having lived. And nature, God, will protect those, who give themselves to him(her). To Me. To You.

That's surrender. I'm not good at it. I'm afraid. I'm a slow learner. I'm good at weaseling out of facing it. But I'm not giving up. Because, frankly, it's the only game in town, for me. Compared to this, there is nothing worth doing, in my world. (I say, "compared" because everything is worth doing. But this is a whole different caliber, dimension, level, of "worth doing.")

what time is it?

I often find myself asking that question, as of late.

Not at all related to the time that a clock would say if I looked at it.
Not related to anything, consciously.
It's like a nervous tick, like saying "now where was I?" as someone wanders about the house, aimlessly.

Though I do sometimes expect an answer, something revelatory and unexpected, like: "It's Now," "A hair past a freckle," or "Naikkie Time!"
but mainly, the answer that I always give, if I give myself an answer is something along the lines of
"Time to die."

though not always in words, sometimes just a subtle feeling of that meaning.

This has been going on for a while. at least a month and a half. I've been carrying my will around in my pocket. I've been trying to understand, viscerally, my death. It was very useful, contemplating what I would write, in my will. It made me think of death, think of what was truly important in my life.

: your going to die. so, what really matters? what will you regret not having done? what parts of your life will you look back and consider wasted, trivial? what parts will make you able to die without regrets?

People who have serious near death experiences often have, for a short time, a new found appreciation for life. "I love the fact of my death; it has made my life possible" is a quote I find apt.

I'll tell you what I discovered, looking at my death: I love the world. I love life, and I would be sad to leave it, because I want to love it more. If there is one regret in my life it is the love I have not given.

that's it.

it's a very short will. Just a about a half a page. getting pretty beaten up, now.

here's the thing: I don't even know how to give the love, express the gratitude, that I want to.

HAH!

Ok, here's why: because I'm trying.
and, as Stalking Wolf would say, the act of trying negates itself.
It's sad to say for my ego, my little needy mind with its long, thin grasping fingers and beady little eyes has been a complete failure at accomplishing anything I ever wanted it too. It just doesn't do the job.
However, there is a different configuration of mind, one that is bigger, harder to pin down, not worried, relaxed, that does things very, very well. I can't control it, but what it does, it does well.

So, when my epic fail mind tries to express gratitude, it fails. This is the way most people function.
But when my Bigger mind is allowed to be, it flows love and gratitude just fine.

Frankly, it looks like all that was wrong was a thought that kept saying, "no, you can't express gratitude, you can't love things enough!" And the associated emotional knot, the root-stock of the thought.

Some variation of this is the answer to all problems I've ever had. And, along with the often intensive and time consuming work of releasing the emotional knot, it actually, amazingly, results in life-long change. That is, to whatever extent I honestly deal with that issue, it's got that much less emotional charge, forever.

And that's why this journey is my life, my obsession: because I like being free. distracting yourself, any of the million subtle or obvious ways we do, from this process, or from the pain which is the locater beacon of where to start this process, will result in temporary alleviation from the pain, but it will keep coming back, as strong as before or stronger, until the day you die.

The extent this journey is taken is the extent to which we are free, alive, and fulfilled. Each person's journey is highly personal. And the stage of the journey I am at right now is that of becoming aware of forward movement on the path, and how it happens. Some things seem to bring progress, some things seem to bring stagnation. Getting clear on which is which seems like a good idea. As this process become clearer, it becomes quicker, which means less time necessary for dealing with the locater beacons: suffering. which means, a happier life.

is this true? find out for yourself. there is no other way. nor need there be. everything on my path has eventually proved self-validating. Though I have been supported and helped tremendously, all along the path. You can always expect help from nature on this path. that is something I've come to rely on, because it has never let me down, nor anyone I know. Sometimes it puts you through hell first, though.

One for the Price of Two

I've just passed away.

The morning mists of the last remaining Connecticut forest clear, leaving their wet parting kiss of dew before disappearing, like all human life, into the light and heat of day. What can remain long when looked at by the unblinking eye of the Sun?

My Grandfather is dead. My Grandfather is alive. I've never seen anything die, but as society counts it, He is dead. I have trouble understanding the difference, though I know there is one. Maybe because I cannot hold his hand? But I can, I do. I feel his familiar squeeze back. Because I cannot see his face? But I see it reflected back in all those that deeply loved him. In pictures of him, in my own heart and mind.

Where has he gone?

A man goes to the store, leaves his dog at home. Thinks fondly of his living dog as he buys groceries. But the dog died as soon as the man left. Where is the death then? Where but in the head, in the thought, in the belief. In the man and not the dog.

Change I see, but death I've never met, save as the necessary first half of change. The second half being birth.

XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

It's the last two lines that really get me, aside from the whole fleeting impermanence of summer beauty, which is both ironic in a place like miami, which actually is warm and summer-like all year round, and apt, in that I am leaving this place in a day, and will be officially off vacation and back on the hard but enjoyable work of learning.

Those last two lines hold the key to longevity far beyond the span of a normal human life. Think of those ancient writers like Plato, Homer, and the unknown writers of the Ramayana and the Edda's (the stories about the Norse Gods) for all the different cultures. The people (and perhaps gods) in those stories live on, long after their body has ceased to be. Your words, like Willy's up there, can live on and gain notoriety far beyond anything you had when living. Van Gough's paintings sold for a pittance, if they sold at all, while he was alive.

But it has to be great, whatever it is you do, if you want to live on. Otherwise it's lost into the mass of others long before you die.

There's something called Achilles Dilemma, after the hero of the Iliad. The story goes (to the best of my memory) that when Achilles was young man, one of the gods came to him and presented him with two options: either he could live a quiet, long, happy life, with a wonderful family, and be forgotten with the death of his grandchildren, or he could have a short, extremely traumatic, life, and be remembered by people forever.

And which would you choose? Maharishi, a dear teacher of mine through is books and tapes, was asked once, "how would you like to be remembered?" to which he replied something like, "why would I want to be remembered at all?"

IO