Wait a second

I was scaling the side of a cliff once when I was about twenty five and a friend of mine was climbing above me.  He lost his grip and went flying by. At the moment he passed by he looked at me calmly and said, "Wait a second."  Obviously in deep denial of the power of gravity. It was not a very long fall and he only ended up slightly bruised.  The weird thing is how funny this event was,  and still is when I think of it.   Uh, just give me a moment and I'll think of someway to deal with this. Why is it so funny to me?  I think it may be because it captures the absurdity of the human predicament.  We're all careening toward the bottom but we calmly look at each other and think we can avoid the crash if we have enough time to figure something out.  We're often not sure what we're trying to figure out but it's better than just falling without a plan.  A plan?  You're falling asshole! There's no Hollywood dumpster full of soft empty boxes at the bottom.

I think this blogs recurrent theme of dealing with the ultimate, inevitable fall is a bit like saying "Wait a second."  But my friend wasn't hurt that much. So what's the point?  It's a lot like the "so far so good" joke about the guy falling off of the Empire State building and somebody asks him how he's doing as he flies by.  Where is all this leading? I don't know.  I haven't a clue what's at the bottom of it all.

Are all of the philosophical strategies tools for living or distractions from the Fall?

My traveling daughter recently went through a health scare where she was facing the possibility of dying a painful,  much sooner than expected death.   She compared the process of dealing with this to purgatory. Fascinating idea.  In the Catholicism of my youth purgatory was a place you had to go to to suffer for your sins before you could go to heaven and see God.  You would go to purgatory if you died with venial sins.  If you died with a mortal sin on your soul you'd go to hell and never have a chance of seeing God and you'd suffer excruciating pain forever and ever.  I remember the nun asking us seven year old second graders to remember what it felt like if we'd ever burnt our hand and to imagine feeling that pain forever. Holy shit!

I think this is another important spiritual principle that was initially a helpful and insightful idea that got seriously twisted by human beings trying to use the spiritual power to contro others.  I, in fact, believe that we have to go through a painful passage of acceptance before we can enter into holy communion.  I'm clearly in the middle of that passage now re my mortality but I'm encouraged by some of the brief visions of redemption that have surfaced.  For me using tools to minimize ego and maximize acceptance are an important part of this journey.

So, I haven't written lately because of extreme anxiety and concern re all the changes that have been going on in my life and the great suffering going on in Japan and other parts of  the world.  I'm feeling well enough to write now.  Maybe life is a series of purgatories where we suffer and then we, hopefully, find a way to accept and carry on with hope and joy.

Forgiveness, Catholicism and the Holocaust

Okay, I haven't written lately.  I'm afraid my small cadre of loyal readers may be fading away.  I keep on waiting to get inspired to write but nothing seems to be happening.  I'm trying to avoid blame (retirement, tough winter, seasonal affective disorder, moving, aging, buying a house, cabin fever, no golf) and guilt (laziness, self-indulgence, lack of discipline, general worthlessness, superficiality, self absorption, indecent thoughts)   Okay maybe I can live with indecent thoughts once in awhile.  I will continue to type to see what might surface. Stream of gibberish? Brilliant blithering? What difference does it make?  It's fun trying to make something happen.

When I was a child Catholic I had to go to confession and tell the priest my sins.(I think the indecent thoughts comment kicked this stuff up)  I remember once confessing masturbation and the priest sitting behind the black curtain asking me for details.  When did I masturbate? What did I think of?  (I didn't remember this until just now) I remember wondering why he needed those details before he could forgive my transgressions and keep me from going to Hell.

My ongoing struggle with trying to accept myself is deeply tied to the twisted reality I passed through as a Catholic child.  Always guilty, always sinning, me being me was being bad.  I never, ever was good enough.  I was always praying to be forgiven for being me.  Sick, sick twisted shit.

I want to feel that I've somehow been able to rise above and beyond that early conditioning but I know I will never be able to completely leave it behind.  When I read about priests abusing children it becomes symbolic of the deep abuse of the soul I and countless others suffered.

Recently a local court convicted a priest of raping young boys.  As he was being led from the court he broke into I wide grin.  I can find no compassion for this man. I find myself unable to forgive him and the deep system of abuse of body and soul he symbolizes to me.

I just finished watching the epic BBC documentary World at War.  Many of the later episodes focused on film footage of death camps and interviews with death camp survivors.  Seeing the horror and hearing the survivors detail their suffering left me feeling like I was surrounded by a black, ominous cloud I didn't know how to escape from.  I'm saying this now because it's almost the same feeling that surfaced, and lingers, as I was just writing about Catholic abuse.  I'm not trying to equate the two.  I'm trying to understand how to somehow free myself from the darkness that both breed in my soul.

How do I forgive but still honor truth, suffering and justice. Is forgiving the right thing to do or is it a selfish desire to be free myself from pain at the expense of forgetting the deep injustice and the need to work to prevent it from being repeated?

 I want to age and die happy and at peace.  What price am I willing to pay?  Can I forgive but not forget? Work for justice but not be consumed by the responsibility? How do you look evil in the face without letting it seep into your bones and twist you into a reflection of blackness?

I know it's wrong to let go of these questions completely but I also know there is a very strong force pulling me towards a place where they will be in the background or maybe not there at all. Hermit or hobbit? Progress or regression? I'm still not sure.

Home

In a prior post I tried to explain how the idea of home became a powerful force in my life when I moved  to Arizona thirty years ago.  I deeply missed most everything about the northeast.  When we moved back to upstate New York in 1999 it felt right and it still does.  I felt home.  It is a deep, satisfying feeling that I believe doesn't surface fully until after an extended period of separation.

One of the huge downsides of moving back here from Arizona, where I lived for twenty years, was leaving friends.  I had been deeply involved in political struggles in Arizona and the relationships developed through that work were very important to me. When I moved back East I vowed to try to keep these ties intact.  It worked for awhile.  Emails and occasional visits back to Phoenix helped but eventually these all faded away.  It's sad to think about and I usually try to counter this sadness by gratefully remembering the rich, wonderful times I shared with these people.

These thoughts and feelings are surfacing now because because we spent the last couple of weekends looking for a house in the Binghamton area. On Saturday we found a wonderful place and we will move there in May when Dorothy and I retire.

The wheels of change are spinning very fast. I want to keep the realtionships I've made around here. I plan on coming back to Albany area to golf with friends several days per week.  The teardrop trailer is part of this plan. Still....

Letting go, not clinging, living in the moment, being grateful are very much a work in progress for me.  I slip and slide on melancholy.  I long for ghosts.  Trying to grab a "fistful of rain" (Zevon song).  It's a fools game.  Whenever I'm not in a funk about the things I've lost or am in the process of losing, life is wonderful.  There is beauty everywhere.  It's like I have a choice to be in a state of grace or have my soul masked by a false sense of entitlement. Really, It's just the way it is.  You move, you get old, you get sick, you die.  Duh.  It's like a continual struggle to shake off the shit that life leaves on my skin and keeps me from being fully awake and alive.

The thing is I know where my true home is.  I just have to remember.  It's a place that has nothing to do with where I've been. It's here. Right now.

Death, Zevon and The Wind

Last night I was saying goodbye to a young man who was successfully completing treatment.  He had come back for help because he had begun injecting heroin and it was scaring the hell out of him.  He said he was losing his soul and I had been his counselor in the past and he said "we seemed to get along."  He attributed much of his success this time to a "spiritual awakening."  An inexplicable event that allowed him to stop struggling, accept, and move on.

After we did the final paperwork and shook hands he wished me well in my upcoming retirement.  I thanked him and smiled and then said "Yeah, but I'll still have to die."  I was trying to be funny but it stopped him in his tracks. He looked confused and upset, like "why the hell would you say that?"  The uncomfortable moment passed and he came back with "don't be so negative, these are your golden years..."  .I realized, again, that talking about death just isn't done very much and when it is it can be shocking and upsetting for people, especially young people. So, no offense, but death is a biggie for this sixty three year old man who is about to retire and it will most likely be a recurring theme of this blog if this blog continues and I don't kick the bucket.

Which leads to Warren Zevon and The Wind.  This is his last album recorded as he was dying of lung cancer. The cover picture is mesmerizing.   This is it.  No irony. No pretense.  Here I am dying and here's what I want to say while I have a chance. Straight ahead rock and roll. No bullshit.

One of the songs is

Please Stay.

Will you stay with me to the end?
When there is nothing left 
But you and me and the wind.
We'll never know till we try
To find the other side of goodbye


I read these words to Dorothy last night and broke down. We hugged and said reassuring words to each other.

That's a good, beautiful thing  and I refuse to be embarrassed by the tears or not tell about it because it may be difficult for others to hear.

Thank you Warren Zevon.

Green Island and Nature

Dorothy and I just came back from a walk through the wilds of Green Island.  Cool (10 degrees),  clear (bright sun), crunchy (lots of cold, cold snow underfoot) and crisp (not sure how to characterize crisp...maybe it's the pleasant, fresh feeling I get inside my nose when it's really cold).

 One of the highlights of the circuit we regularly walk is going to the River Park (home of the famous GIG Green Island Gazebo) which overlooks the Hudson River just below the Federal Dam in Troy.

Dorothy skiing through River Park, river and dam on the right

Looking south from park after an ice storm.

  This is a very interesting portion of the river for several reasons related to the dam.  The dam prevents most fish from going further upstream.  Some go through the lock but most are stopped.  This makes for great fishing in the spring when herring, striped bass and shad are on upstream mating runs.

Mother's Day fishing mayhem 

American Shad...fishing for this fish was called off last year because it's numbers are down.

The other thing the dam does is that it's turbulence keeps some water open during the coldest part of winter This attracts birds who feed on the fish and plants in the river (ducks) and birds that feed on fish and ducks (Bald Eagles).  It is thrilling to see Bald Eagles and we often do on this walk.  There is an active eagle nest on the north end of the Island.

I actually saw this pair copulating after taking this picture.

One of my favorite winter ducks that frequents the open water on the river is the Common Goldeneye. 

I didn't take this picture

We saw five males on one female today diving in the frigid Hudson. We also saw some Common Mergansers.

Three male and two female Common Mergansers in Hudson by River Park.  

Female's rusty red head  plumage is very cool (borrowed  image)

Both of these species are diving ducks and nest mainly in Canada.  They are welcome visitors in the heart of winter.

My special affection for the Goldeneye probably is because I was lucky enough to see several males wooing a female a couple of springs ago.  Here's a video of their dramatic courtship display. http://ibc.lynxeds.com/video/common-goldeneye-bucephala-clangula/male-courtship-display and if that's not enough excitement for you here's an "extreme closeup" of a pair copulating in Norway in 2009.  http://ibc.lynxeds.com/video/common-goldeneye-bucephala-clangula/pair-copulating-extreme-close

More bird porn in upcoming posts!

Stay warm!

Sickness, Friends and Teardrop Trailers

Hello faithful reader(s).  I know I've been remiss.  It's been far too long since my words of wisdom have graced the screen of your lap top.  You see, life's not easy.  Things happen.  Excuses abound.  I've been sick.  Lost interest in most things for the last two weeks of December. I had a cold that had me coughing so hard a pulled muscles in my side and then I spent two weeks trying to prevent gravity from making the sharp side pain worse. I ended up hooking two velcro based knee wraps together and wrapping them around my stomach.  Cheap and effective.  I'm pretty much back to normal now except for my ongoing struggle with obsessiveness.  My current obsession is the teardrop trailer Dorothy and I decided to buy.  It's a flashy little number custom made by a guy in Toledo.  We'll be driving out there to pick it up in April.

Pretty snazzy huh?  I sent a picture of it to my brother-in-law Jim and he called it a "pimp mobile."  I guess the chrome sides are a little over the top but I'm not sure I want my retirement years to be understated.  I wanna shine man!  

The friend's part of this blog has to do with the trailer.  Dorothy and I are planning on moving to Binghamton in May to be closer to our daughter Joanna and Dorothy's brother Jack and his wife Ellen.  I was initially resistant to the idea of moving because I've developed important friendships here, especially with the people I golf with.  So we came up with this plan to find a way for me to travel and live around Albany two or three days a week to golf and maintain relationships.  Hence the pimp mobile.  Just how it will all work is still being worked out but I'm excited about the options this trailer opens up above and beyond making a Binghamton move more palatble..  Adirondack campgrounds,  traveling south in the winter, etc.  Plus we'll pull it with our Sentra.  Cheap and effective.  Do you see a pattern here?

My daughter Katie and her husband Brian continue their world-wide jaunt.  You can keep track of their exploits at www.newlywedsabroad.blogspot.com   They seem to be having the time of their lives.  We've been having video chats via Skype. An amazing cheap and effective tool.

Next blog I'll try to get back to deeper stuff.  Right now I'm focusing on how I'm going to go to the bathroom and change my clothes in the teardrop.  C'est la vie.

Some poetry by T.S.Eliot I'm grateful I found

I'm sitting at home, sick as a dog,  feeling sorry for myself and Dorothy who has to put up with my sniffling and sniveling. I tried to go into work yesterday so I wouldn't get too far behind but I felt like an aching zombie inconsiderately exposing the still living to bad juju.  Besides that, my daughter Katie and her husband, Brian,  have left on their travels abroad.  They'll be gone at least six months and possibly a lot longer.  I'm thrilled for them but letting go is tough.  (Katie's keeping a blog, Leap and the Net Will Appear  where you can keep track of their exploits.)

So in this sick, disassociated, depressed frame of mind I came upon some poetry which helped me move closer to the positive side of the scale..  I'm grateful I found it and feel compelled to share it with my faithful readers.

The following are excerpts are from East Coker, one of Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot.  He captures much of what I've been trying to say in this blog over the past month or so.  I find it exciting to find poetry that speaks so directly to me.  


I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.

............And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate,
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate - but there is no competition -
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.

Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
the world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
There is a time for the evening under starlight,
A time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album).
Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.


Thank you Mr. Eliot.  The Wikipedia entry says that he considered the Four Quartets his greatest work and that it is what led to him being awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature.