Rick Warren, The Inauguration and appropriate response.

I am in a minority. Yeah, I am white, male, and middle class, but that is not the minority I am talking about at this moment. Come to think of it though, the minority I think I am in might not actually be a minority. It could actually be a majority but an unrecognized one or perhaps just silent. The minority I am thinking about is the community of the spiritual but non-religious.

It has been a long haul to where I am spiritually. Most of my life lacked faith in anything but that the world was full of pain and injustice, and that I was powerless to do anything about it. I am better now.

First, I found gratitude. Gratitude for my life. It was a small beginning but upon it I was able to build an appreciation for the wonders of the world that surround me. From there I was able to recognize that while there is still pain and injustice in the world, there are powers that are far more powerful, Love, Respect, Charity, Hope , Unity, and more. That when these powers are rolled together they are the foundations of Faith and a belief in something greater. The Faith becomes a recognition that we are all parts of an infinite whole and that the whole is greater than the sum of us. My faith I have come to refer to as Creator.

This subject came up for me a couple weeks ago and I was outraged to say the least as I listened to the controversy about Rick Warren and the role Obama was giving him in the inauguration. At first that it was the anti-gay stance that he represented. As I heard more I came to realize that it is really the intolerance of the evangelical movement in general that I abhor.

The bottom line is that in this country anyone's faith is a personal matter. Rick Warren should not be given a forum in this inauguration which will raise his public presence. Obama wants to be inclusive; fine, find someone who is open to all faiths and let him/her do the invocation.

So I object to Rick Warren on the grounds that we can not tolerate purveyors of intolerance in our public spectacles. Since Obama is unlikely to reverse this decision on my account or anyone else that has objected. I am left with only one recourse; to find a way to express my displeasure. I won't be in Washingon but I do intend to spend the day watching the inauguration on television.

It occurred to me that both I and the public should have a way to display our displeasure with this intolerant man. This display should be simple non-violent and blatantly obvious. As I imagined various possibilities, it came to me that if every person who finds Rick Warrens intolerance intolerable were to turn in silence his/her back to Mr. Warren while he speaks, it would deliver a most effective protest.

So, when the time comes and Rick Warren steps to the podium to deliver his invocation. I will be standing at home with my back turned to Mr. Warren's image on my TV, listening, but demonstrating my disdain for the intolerance that he exhibits.

Pissed!

I am weary. The fear of failure that I somehow developed long ago in my childhood has worn me down. Any ambition that I once had has been gone for a long time now. In the past few weeks, I have wanted to write but just couldn't get myself to commit the time and energy to it. It was easier to let myself mindlessly chase illusions in FreeCiv.

I want to write because my fears are running high. I feared that my country would continue on the abhorrent path that it has been pursuing for at least the past 8 years. I might have been able to tolerate McCain but the idea of Sarah Palin one heartbeat from the Presidency absolutely terrorized me.

And I am ANGRY.

I AM Angry that my patriotism and love of country was being indirectly challenged by right wing ideologues in their denouncements of Michelle Obama for at last finding something truly worthy of respect in her political experience of America, of Reverend Jeremiah Wright for angrily finding fault with the America of his experience, and of William Ayers for having taken a stand against his own country in a matter of conscience. Being free to dissent from the commonly accepted beliefs about our nation is a fundamental principle and freedom upon which this very nation is founded. That people should be judged as somehow lacking in patriotism for exercising this right infuriates me!

Was Ayers a "terrorist" or a "patriot" and is calling him a "terrorist" just the most convenient way to dehumanize and dismiss him. Violence as a way of obtaining goals of any kind is repugnant to me, but evidently not to G.W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, and Paul Wolfowitz.

(God, I just found out that Wolfowitz, got his PHd in Political Science at the University of Chicago in 1972. I think I'm gonna be sick. Maybe if I'd been more radical and the least bit prone to violence and very prescient, I could have wacked him at the graduation ceremony and saved the country from entering another fucking war! It really makes me think that I have to re-think my time at the U of C. I was only aware of the leftist political groups, probably because they were the most vocal and publicly visible. Clearly, the extreme right was there too. Me, I was mostly apolitical, as I have been most of my life. Politics just plain makes my skin crawl. I feel incredibly dirty after being around it for even short periods of time.)

I AM Angry at the attempts to utilize guilt by association in an attempt to demonize Barack Obama.

I AM Angry that racism is still a blatant reality in MY country.

I am angry that our leaders and their cronies demonize and dehumanize our enemies. The very act of doing so serves only to justify the barbarism of our actions. How is a missile strike that kills innocent civilians any the less abhorrent than suicide bomber detonating him/herself among a bunch of innocents. How does losing thousands innocent lives in the world trade towers justify the tens of thousand of lives that have been and are being taken in Iraq and Afghanistan.

I can't help but wonder that if our forefathers had failed in their effort to establish this nation wouldn't they have been judged as terrorists by history. Weren't the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki or the Dresden Fire bombing acts of terrorism? Is a declaration of war all that it takes to redefine terrorism?

It is terrible that some people feel compelled to use violence to obtain what they want in the world. I don't see much difference between the likes of Osama bin Laden and George W. Bush and their cronies. Bush's actions have led to considerably more death and destruction than anything that bin Laden and Al Qaeda have managed. Don't get me wrong. I do believe that those who use violence are legitimate targets for responsive violence. I just haven't been able to make the connection between Iraq and Al Qaeda since before the war started.

I guess the sum of all this is that I am angry because I feel so helpless. We elect a new leader, Barak Obama, and I get that he wants to make nice and not continue the incessant and useless partisan political bickering and posturing that have been the American poliical experience for as long as I can remember. But what he fails to understand is that we the American people have been violated, virtually raped, during the past 8 ¥ears. Yes, Al Qaeda, was responsible for some of that, but the more pernicious violations have been perpetrated upon us by Bush, Cheney, the rest of the neo-cons, and the abdominal greed of the people in positions of trust and power.

I want accountability! I want Justice! I want Vengeance! And I am afraid that there is none of that left in the world that I live in.

Its been a while

My last blog was June 1st, over 2 months ago. At that time I was reporting my about attending my first political fund-raiser. I have to report that my foray into the world of political activism came to an abrupt halt not long after my previous blog.

I am feeling disappointed in myself, yet I suspect that I made the best choice for myself. I don't know if I imagined, concocted, or just misinterpreted Creator's guidance about this undertaking. I know that my blood pressure was becoming increasingly erratic. That peoples responses to my ideas appeared to be that I was naive and too idealistic. My sense of it was that some people needed to act NOW! My plodding tortoise style did not fit the hare style that some felt was needed in response to what they saw as a crisis time.

It was just so far beyond my comfort level that when someone chose to complete a task that I had told them I would take care of, after having explicitly asked them to back off and let me do the job I was being asked to do, I chose to bail out of the whole thing. I hate being a quitter, a failure. It is not how I like to think of myself. I was very angry at the time. I've wondered if allowing myself to chose the course I did was the best thing. I haven't any answers.

In the middle of June, Gail and I received a letter from the property management company handling the duplex we live in, announcing a rent increase and demanding that we sign another years lease. For some reason, it really ticked Gail off and after she talked to them about it she was even madder. Now Gail is generally very even tempered when stuff like this comes up, I tend to be the really irrational one. I find myself wondering if her anger was her way of generating the energy to overcome any fears she might have about buying a home. Having been down the homeowner path 3 times before I was definitely the follower to Gail's lead as we began looking for a new home.

I have little use for apartment living, although, the duplex we've been in the past year and 7 months has proven to be largely pleasant. We have way too much stuff and are consequently cramped beyond what I like. On the other hand, being a home owner is not all that it is cracked up to be. I have little interest in lawn care or home maintenance.

Still I want more space. I keep thinking that if I just have the room, I'll be able to paint, do woodwork, sculpt, make pottery. When I am honest with myself I acknowledge that I am a dreamer much more than a doer. So the need for space is mostly just an excuse for not doing. I have the software and computing tools to do a variety of creative activities. I've got dozens of musical instruments, video camera, paints and stuff. I have been told that I am very creative and artistic. What I seem to be lacking is the drive to actually do anything. Yet I seem to be busy a good deal of the time.

In the past several months I've expended huge amounts of time playing Free Civ. It really perplexes me that I will engage in this activity for hours on end, yet will not pursue the activities that I claim to want to do. I can't fail to notice that the precious time left me on this plane is passing it seems ever more quickly. Is my reluctance, my malaise really because I feel that I have nothing of any real value to contribute? Is it because nothing I've done measures up to some arbitrary standards that I've set? Is it because I have no passion or faith left in me? Is it that I am just lazy?

I guess that is why my thoughts come around to serving others. At least if I am in service to others then everything is not about me. A topic that I am frankly bored with and have little hope of ever reaching a good accord with. Anyway, Gail's desire and will to find us a new home came at a good time for me. It has helped me to keep a lot of my negative soul searching and musings somewhat at bay.

Now we are waiting to see if the house we've selected from the dozen plus that we looked at is going to become ours. Actually, the banks, but we get to live in it and pay over a half a million over the next 30 years or so for the privilege. Damn, that muscle in my back is spasming, the one that I think of as containing my negativity and stress.

Jeane aka Nova Dawn (my youngest daughter) stopped by to visit on her way to Vancouver. She was in tow with Talia Rose, a Sun Dancer and woman, whom Jeane identifies as a mentor, friend, and spiritual guide. Talia's son, Jeremiah, completed the entourage. Now, I must admit that I am skeptical of psychics/mediums/channelers and the like but Talia carries with her the title Sun Dancer. Her devotion was made plain to me when she invited me to share her pipe and morning ceremony. In recent years I have come to respect those who dance for the people. I have not had the courage to step up and endure the suffering that they have. Still, I have come to know that being a Sun Dancer does not mean that these people are without fault nor free from the negative.

Talia offered me a reading as we waited for our meals to be delivered at the Old Town Cafe in Bellingham last Saturday. Now I had spoken freely with Talia about many topics in the few hours before she offered to do the reading. Enough so that much of what she told me in the reading came as no surprise and fit with my general assessment of such readings as primarily an integration of bits and pieces of personal information given to the reader through conversation and behavior run through a generalized model of human behavior/aspiration in a form of feedback loop assessment. Intellectual assessment aside I was much more interested in my emotional reactions. As I listened I felt myself teetering on the edge of tears wanting to hear something that would unequivocally answer my most pressing questions.

Talia's reading certainly fed my ego and was inspirational as I suspect it was intended to be, my skeptical self thought. Since Talia is a Sun Dancer, I want to give her reading the respect that I accord her sacrifice, but it is hard to believe when I also know that part of how Talia supports herself is through giving readings such as this for money, though she gifted this reading to me hence it was free from any monetary influence. I have no doubt that there are people out there who have vision and Talia may very well be such a person.

I have a hard time remembering things these days. Talia said a bunch, much more than I had expected. The basics where that my path is to use my art to communicate stories that need to be told. I am not doing her much service here as it was much fuller than that. My hope is that Jeane will be able to help me remember more and will perhaps talk about this in her blog.

I want to take a moment to talk about Jeane and myself. She and I are so much alike that it hurts sometimes. Her self doubt is so much akin to my own that I wonder if it is genetic or is it just that she grew up with me as her father. She asked to borrow an auto harp that I have. I was reluctant to lend it to her, so I offered up some conditions on lending it. This upset and angered her. Her response to me left me feeling hurt as well.

In her self denigration I see myself and I feel responsible for failing to parent her in a way that would allow her to be free of the fears that have plagued me throughout my life. I see in Jeane the same far ranging imagination and intelligence that I grew up with, the same passion for principles, justice, compassion and the same fears of not fitting in, of not being good enough. I do not want her to be where I am when she is my age. I do not want her to be floundering and asking what the hell purpose does she have in life.

I believe my daughters are far better people than I am, smarter, more talented and gifted, more generous, giving, loving, etc. I am proud of my daughters and I love them without reservation.

So once again I am at a loss as to what path I should follow. My thoughts keep coming back to being of service to others, yet I have no sense of how I should go forward.

To Sheep or Not to Sheep

Last night was another first for me. I attended my first political party fund raiser. Needless to say I dressed up for the occasion, blue jeans instead of sweat pants. I wasn't exactly surprised to find that I appeared to be the only one wearing a stylish tie-dyed tee shirt. My only real competition color wise was a woman wearing a rather large orange and white floral print or at least she was the only one of whom I was cognizant. It was comforting to note later in the evening that the guy sitting behind me out of my view was another long hair only he was dressed to the hilt in biker leathers.

Fashion aside, I deliberated hard and long on what I was going to wear to this event. Do I cave to social expectations that have been implanted in me since birth and conform or do I behave as I've chosen for the past years and dress for my own comfort. I wear sweats most of the time these days for the simple reason that I am obese. Much to my beloved Gail's chagrin, I have absolutely no desire to conform to any expectations regarding the garb I wear, save that it be relatively clean. Getting hung up on or even thinking about fashion or what is appropriate garb is something that I have no interest in whatsoever.

I do on the other hand, like to attract attention, at least so it seems. The choice of the tie dye was also a deliberate one; not entirely for the reasons that one might think though; reasons which actually have to do with why I was attending a political fund raiser for the first time in my life.

Since the caucuses in February, I have been increasingly attending to the political happenings in our country. I have also been aware of my increasing frustration with the erosion of personal liberty, lack of respect for human rights, failure to provide real stewardship of our world, and the list goes on that marks the abysmal political leadership I have witnessed throughout my adult life. The only and I mean only President (of those who've been in charge since I became aware that there were Presidents) that I have any respect for is Jimmy Carter, whom I know many may regard as a presidential failure, largely due to forces that I believe where well beyond his influence, much less control. I have a child's perspective on President Kennedy, whose assassination and it's impact on my life are more reflective of the sorrow expressed within our nation than any true comprehension of his real accomplishments or lack thereof. His challenge to get us to the moon was truly inspiring and "Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country" seems to be near the root of any political belief that I have.

In recent years, as I have sat in the sweat lodge or out walking in nature, I have repeatedly prayed to Creator for guidance in how I should conduct my life. I have asked for help in recognizing his guidance and in keeping my heart, mind, and soul open to his answers. As I have heard no ethereal voices nor witnessed any burning bushes, I have come to understand that the guidance he will be delivering is by way of the things that attract my attention, pull me towards them. Thus it was with the caucus and things political in the past few months.

I have been noticing a much more extroverted me these past few months. I can't seem to stop talking with people. Having people express their appreciation for my leadership at the caucus caught my attention. I made jokes about just having a loud voice and other self denigrating remarks as is my usual reaction to public attention, something I crave yet abhor. In any case it caught my attention, so I began thinking that this must be the direction Creator intends for me. Now, I know that I may well be full of proverbial excrement, but that's they way my mind works these days. I am the tool, Creator is the artist.

So all this brings me back to why I was at this fund raiser. You see, as a delegate to the county convention, I received a newsletter from the county democrat party organization. In there, was an little note tucked away near the end that they had need of volunteer and office coordinators. I found myself coming back to that announcement repeatedly. My spiritual mantra, "Show up!", began pounding in my head whenever I thought of it. I was pretty sure that Creator was letting me know he'd like me to lend a hand. I very cautiously extended my feelers out into the world, inquiring via e-mail and phone about the expectations of the job. I had to do this a few times, quickly retracting into my shell, whenever it scared me too much. The pressure to "Show up!" kept building though, so I finally found myself meeting with the county democrat party chair person.

As I listened to her speak about what they needed, I was overwhelmed with a sense of envy and guilt. I envied that she could give so much of her time and energy to a cause/passion and guilt that I had not. I am not sure exactly how, if or when I actually agreed to take on the role of volunteer coordinator but apparently I did, because I started working on things we talked about and she began introducing me as the new volunteer coordinator. I am really terrified that I am in this position but that is what "Show up!" is all about. I am overwhelmed at my lack of basic knowledge of the political process, issues, personalities, etc. I haven't got a clue how to do this but I have to "Show up!"

So that's why I was at the fund raiser in my tie dyed tee shirt. I am the new volunteer coordinator for the county democrat organization. The tie dyed shirt was to make me a clear and easy target should anyone need to talk to me. "Oh, you want to volunteer! Well, you see that guy in the tie dyed tee shirt, he's the one you want to talk to." It turned out that no one sought me out.

Gail and I talked with a couple Dave and Jane (Porter, I believe), who provided us with a wealth of history regarding our new home, Whatcom county. I attempted to plant some seeds there for some future volunteer activities from them. They've been active in the past but are taking a sort of look and see posture as their candidate didn't make it to the semi-finals.

Then there was Polly Hanson, a beautiful septuagenarian, whose eyes radiated life and whose stories brought me extreme envy and admiration. Polly reminds me of Mom in some respects; she runs a bed and breakfast on Lummi Island. Gail has said that we have to go stay there!

We met some new folks eating at the table with us but due to the program were not able to talk much. Interestingly enough, I'd previously met two of our dinner companions, one at a democrat thing and the other at drumming/singing classes that I took at the Bellingham Unitarian Fellowship last month.

So this brings me round to the final topic of this blog. Governor Greqoire was the keynote speaker for the fund raiser. She walked by our table when she arrived. All around me people surged to their feet and began applauding. I sat there dumbfounded and very uncomfortable, asking myself "Why are we expected to pay homage to this person?" Throughout the remainder of the evening the audience burst into clapping or surged from their seats at all the pregnant pauses various politicians dangled before them. I sat there caught up in an internal dialog about why I was fighting against these social expectations.

On our way out from the dinner, we rode the elevator down with the woman who recently took over the reins of the Obama grassroots organization in the county and who has stepped up to be the Campaign Coordinating Committee chair. Among several things, I expressed some of what I was thinking and feeling about the behaviors of the crowd upstairs. When I said that I found it impossible to stand when the Governor came in and that it felt wrong to do so. She asked if I would stand if Obama entered the room. My answer was probably not. Her justification for the behavior was that it was a sign of respect for the person and what they had accomplished.

Now I know that showing respect and approval is ultimately the reason behind such displays as applause, and standing is a notch up on the respect meter. The problem for me is that I generally don't feel that respect and approval towards politicians or too many other people for that matter. The truth for me is that Governor Gregoire, Representative Larson, and the others who appeared at the dinner to schmooze, inspire, communicate, or what ever are virtually unknown to me. I do not know them as people. I do not know them as being worthy of my respect, approval, and especially my adoration.

It seems to me that there is a distinction between courtesy and respect that comes into play in all this. I like to think that I show courtesy to all people. Courtesy is the base behavior that I think we should exhibit to our fellow beings. Respect though seems to be something that is more reserved. It is something very personal, very powerful. It is given and yet must be earned. Given too lightly and respect loses its value, its meaning. Withholding where it is due is another problem.

Oddly, a few minutes talking with Polly and Maggie Hanson (one of the 5 honored democrats acknowledged at the fund raiser, don't know if she and Polly are related), convinced me that they were truly worthy of my respect even my adoration and that neither of them were in need of my approval. I am acutely uncomfortable with the notion that people who rise to positions of power and influence in our society should automatically be accorded respect. I have met a variety of people in the course of my life who have been in such positions for whom I have absolutely no respect.

Perhaps I should be able to see the "accomplishments" of such individuals as sufficient justification for respect but frankly with the spin doctors, media pundits and just your good old herd mentality arrayed out there to tell me what to think and do, I believe I am better off withholding my respect until I am personally able to feel it due to someone.

Gail told me that what I said to Sue Ellen, the Obama coordinator, was expressed in an attacking manner. As soon as Gail said that I knew that it was true in the sense that I was feeling defensive. The behavior of guests at the fund raiser was not the problem, they are after all entirely within their rights to demonstrate respect for anyone they wish. The problem is that I don't necessarily share their feelings and that their collective behavior brings forth the demons pressing me to conform to acceptable social behavior. So to Sue Ellen, an apology, and to myself an admonition to be less ready to express myself when my demons are running amok.

"arbeit macht frei"/"work makes (one) free"

Originally a novel title, "Arbeit macht frei", came to have much more sinister connotations after the Nazi's adopted it for their purposes and placed it above the entry gates of multiple concentration camps. It came to mind because I am struggling to understand and accept an idea which appears to be popular if not rampant in our society in general and more specifically the community which surrounds our developmentally disabled.

I want to make it clear from the outset that, I am coming at this issue as an outsider. I have not previously given this matter much thought, where as the people in the disabled community have very likely thought about it extensively. But for my own edification and as an invitation to others to put on their thinking caps, I'd like to ask why is there so much emphasis on work in American society. Further, why does the community supporting the developmentally disabled put so much emphasis on work?

Now, I have been a victim of the American work ethic for 40 plus years. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest afforded me with an early opportunity to become acquainted with work. Somewhere, in my early teens, I began working during harvest season picking strawberries, raspberries and beans. My first full time job was as a janitor at my high school the summer between my junior and senior years. My senior year of high school was the last period of my life in which I was not employed at least part time, save for time spent in school (a job of a different kind, and often including the aforementioned part time work), one extended 6 month period of unemployment in the mid 80's, and the odd month or so here and there, that followed being laid off, fired, or even quitting a job. All told, the total time I have not been working since high school can't be more than a couple of years; toss in another year to account for vacation time (probably too generous).

I also worked 25 years or so in high tech, as a computer geek of one kind or another. Conservatively, that means another 33% of my life was spent working overtime, so let's say, another 8 years of working time, to account for that. While I'm at it I might as well count the time I spent in school before college as a job, after all, it wasn't some thing I chose to do on my own, and it certainly is a form of work. So 12 years times three quarters of a year yields another 8 years. Adding it all up ... let's see ... 8 + 8 + 40(+) - 3 = 53 ... so 53 out of my 58 years seems to have been touched by work.

Alright, the numbers may not be entirely accurate, but I think it is clear that work in one form or another has consumed a huge portion of my existence. I acknowledge that others have it significantly worse than I have had it, but that is really kinda irrelevant to any point I want to make. Sleep is the only other activity that competes with work and I can pretty much assure you that it hasn't claimed nearly as much of my life as work.

So what is the point of talking about the role of work in my life. Simply this: I understand how it can come to dominate our thinking and how it can embed itself in our values systems.

We all know people whose whole definition of themselves appears to begin and end with their job. We are often those people. We all know of the stories of people who suddenly loose their job and with it their very identity and sometimes even will to live. These are the foundations of our social values and cultural myths about work. The American Puritan work ethic is a huge component of these foundations.

Like most social values and cultural myths they perpetuate themselves through the generations because they are revered and not subjected to any real critical examination.

I don't know if other people are really like me or not, but judging from the number of people that I've heard complain about their jobs over the course of my work life, there is a huge disconnect between the myths of work and the everyday reality of it. It seems to me that most people at best tolerate work as a survival requirement. I recognize that there are those odd few for whom work truly appears to be a pleasure.

For myself, work has been most often a life sucking activity that I have endured. This is not to say that I have not enjoyed moments of satisfaction, accomplishment, and occasionally success, in my work life. Some jobs have been significantly better than others. ALL, THOUGH, HAVE BEEN SOURCES OF STRESS; either because of the job or fear of losing the job or fear of not finding the job (Note: Ask your local unemployment office, finding a job is a job).

Given the above, it becomes extremely difficult for me to understand why the community surrounding the developmentally disabled are so enamored about placing their charges into the working world.

Yes, I understand that it can be a self-esteem booster, but that only make sense if one buys into the notion that one's worth is somehow predicated on work; a concept that I frankly abhor in a "normal" person and am unwonted to extend to anyone who already carries an extraordinary burden of challenges.

For those developmentally disabled who are cognizant of work in society, I can see that being able to participate in work can serve to diminish their alienation and sense of being different or apart.

The financial compensation that comes with work for the developmentally disabled seems unlikely to have a significant impact on their lives; though when many are living close to the margins of existence, any amount may actually be significant.

Ultimately, the question for me comes down to what purpose does work serve for the developmentally disabled. Is it something we impose upon them because every body SHOULD work? Do they just have to suffer along with the rest of us? Is it about them sharing the cost of their existence; making a contribution? In the final analysis, doesn't whether a developmentally disabled person works or not boil down to what is the best for that individual?

It is clear to me that there need to be safeguards, to prevent the exploitation of the developmentally disabled and insure their safety in the workplace, but that there should be no impediments to their inclusion in the workplace.

It is pointless to formulate one-size-fits-all policies, such as "Inclusion" or "Main Streaming" for the developmentally disabled when any rational person, who has even limited experience with the huge range of dysfunction and disability covered by the umbrella term "developmentally disabled", can see that many individuals will be needlessly harmed by such exposure. Predicating social/governmental/legal policy about work for the developmentally disabled on any thing other than individual need seems foolish to me.

Well, not nearly as cogent as I would like but I think I've touched on as many of the thoughts on this topic as I can remember having in the past couple weeks, since the topic came up for me. I'd really appreciate any feedback, thoughts, whatever that those of you who read this have on the topic. Maybe you'll discuss it with friends and get back to me with their thoughts.

Edify me!

Mitakuye Oyasin

Confession

So, I haven't blogged since the day before Valentine's Day. When I started this blog, I suspected that I my interest would quickly flag, especially if I didn't get any feedback or (even better) adulation for my efforts. Without an audience, blogging is pretty close to pissing into the wind, you get wet and smelly without much benefit. You can argue that self expression serves the soul but an audience can at least provide the illusion that your words may impact someone and help bring about a modicum of change in this world.

There is the discovery aspect of self expression to take into account. I was pretty surprised to see what I just wrote as I'd thought I was going to go in a very different direction when I started to write.

So, my original intended confession, was to explain what I have been doing the past month and a half since I last wrote. Basically, I fell off the edge of the world and got lost in playing Free Civ for the better part of several weeks. It started slowly but quickly grew into an all consuming addiction. I even got a cold and decided not to go to work for a few days, but I continued playing Free Civ, in spite of my physical misery. It was all I could do to carve out a couple hours a day to spend with Gail, my extremely understanding and loving wife, so that she didn't leave me. I had no free time, I either worked or played Free Civ.

Now, I know that this is not exactly an uncommon pattern for me. For most of my life, I have withdrawn from the world for long periods. Reading and programming have been my usual retreats. Free Civ was just a variant of my usual pattern. In recent years, I have come to recognize that my withdrawals are a response to a life that is just too overwhelming for me.
I become outraged at the stupidity of people or the injustice rampant in the world or just the plain evil that rises out of human limitation.

I am not sure why this has been happening this time but I'm pretty sure that it is for much the same reasons as in the past. In any case, now days I have a mantra that keeps popping up. "Show up! Show up! Show up! ..." The current problem is knowing what to show up for. Just need to remember that the answer is present and available if I can just pay proper attention.

Lots to do and think about, it looks like. Guess, I'd better get on with it.

Love!

Intimacy, Rage, Power, Humiliation -- Not necessarily in any order

Let me take a moment to set the scene here. It's 5:34 AM, I've spent the last half hour in a semi-hypnogogic state, doing my morning before work routine of medication taking, nasal rinsing, teeth brushing, body washing, and clothing putting on, so that I could leave for work if this blogging thing took too long. So what possessed me to give up an hours sleep in the first place -- and do I really still have to make myself a lunch to take to work.

I hate/love having those big important dreams. So without more ado, let me recount what I can remember of it. I'll come back and explain stuff later.

I found myself in the company of the men's intensive group, standing at some distance from them as they assembled in a circle. I was extremely reluctant to join them, struggling with whether or not I should get into my car and just abandon the entire experience/ordeal. A brother approached me encouraging me to join the circle. It took me a lot of energy to approach the circle, but I keep telling my self that it is for my own good; that I keep complaining about my social isolation; that my last experience with them was very positive; you've come all this way; you must want/need to be here; you must overcome your fear. All the while, I feel this pressure to join them, a litany of voices coming from outside of myself to conform to the group expectation compounding my own inner dialog .

I finally join the circle and my hands are firmly grasped by the men on either side of me. Words are spoken and a ritual battle begins. Collectively we begin wrestling -- all while standing and holding hands -- my awareness shrinks to the just the awareness of the men with whom I am holding hands. We squeeze each others hands and writhe and twist seeking leverage. I suddenly, find myself in a leverage position that causes one of my competitors to cry out in pain. I am flushed with a sudden overpowering rage and I want to hurt him badly. Instead, I release him and we collapse into a writhing heap. A homo-erotic moment of pleasure captures me as a I am on my knees and someone presses their groin against my buttocks. I am filled with revulsion -- a wave of past humiliation sweeps through me -- and I break free of the tangled mass of limbs bent on mutual conquest.

I want nothing more than to hide. Strangely, I shed my clothes and climb a barren tree that rises above the conflict and I am safely hidden.

I don't see any answers in this dream but it thoroughly captures and expresses some of my current issues. I am highly conflicted about whether to go to the men's intensive again.

The men's intensive -- note that this history is a summation of what I think I've heard and may not be fully accurate -- is a group of men that have been meeting semi-annually now for the past six/seven years. The group began as a men's group activity growing out classes given by David Thomson's Sacred Circles Institute. The group self-identifies as a brotherhood of shamanic healers seeking personal growth and to support each other.

I found David, just prior to Gail's breast cancer surgery last year, when I was seeking a lodge to sweat and pray in after moving north from Vancouver, WA to Bellingham, WA. After a couple sweats and participation taking down and relocating the Blackfeet Sundance Lodge for which David is responsible. David invited me to join the men's intensive group. I accepted and attended my first gathering last October.

It turned out that the gathering resulted in a powerful healing for me. I was the one and only newbie at the gathering of about a dozen men. I attended the gathering with low expectations and a lot of amorphous fear, trusting only that I had been praying to walk through my fears and accepting that Creator had put David and this opportunity in my path. I was keeping faith with my current mantra and "Showing UP!"

As I was sharing my responses to the discussion questions, one of the brother's bent over for a while and rose wailing. He turned to me and shared that he was feeling my pain. The ensuing response by the brotherhood was to table further discussions and follow the intuition of the moment. A half hour later I was willingly lead into the woods where my brothers created a protective circle, laid me nearly naked on mother earth and formed a womb from their flesh that gave me a sense of love and security. The screams of agony and torment that arose suddenly from my guts were to say the least, surprising.

As, I sputtered and choked while expelling copious quantities of snot and whatnot from inside me -- to an accompaniment of eagle whistles and drums -- David apprehended, at a great distance, a toe headed boy of only a few years running and leaping in joy towards the circle that surrounded me. As the boy neared, David explained, he slowed and came to stand silently beside one of the men holding the outer circle. David intuited that this was a part of my soul that I had lost. David, gathered the child and returned him to me, as he'd been taught, when I allowed that I was ready to accept the child.

Following this healing it came to me that my addiction to smoking was intimately tied to my father. The next day, I performed a ceremony with my last four cigarettes. I haven't smoked since.

Damn, time to go make that lunch. More later, after I get home from work.

Okay, so I didn't get back to this when I got home. Instead, I finished the "Caucusing" blog that I'd started on Tuesday. It may be hard to get back into the zone that I was in on Wednesday morning when I started this thing. Its late Thursday evening at present.

I am pretty sure that I am not finished dealing with the repercussions of that ceremony in the woods. The dream had three components that I feel/think are especially significant: Rage; Humiliation; Fear. Some might think there is a fourth, the homo-erotic thing, but I accepted that I was bisexual a long time ago and have outed myself on quite a few occasions, including at the men's intensive. Truth be told, age is impacting my libido so it is not anywhere near as important in my life as it had been.

Rage, Humiliation, and Fear, that's a pretty big load of crap to be carrying around. I would like to say more about these, but truthfully, they were feelings. I would only be speculating about their sources in my psyche if I went looking at the moment. I just acknowledge that they are present and powerful. I'd hoped that blogging about them would have moved me to a better understanding of their sources but I recognize that that might be a simplistic and vain hope.

The thing about the men's intensive is that -- to the best of my recollection -- since I was there, I have had very little contact with the members of the group. I saw one of the guys for a half hour or so when Gail and I took a 4 day vacation out on the Olympic Peninsula and three others at a sweat just before the end of 2007. For a brief while following the intensive, David stayed in touch via email and phone; I also got a couple emails relating to some events that some of the guys were involved in, but the frequency has fallen the past couple months. Now, I haven't reached out to them so I can't lay fault with them for not staying in better touch.

It seems that I am just struggling with the notion of going, wondering if the time and money will be well spent. I don't want this to be some cathartic therapeutic event where I go to purge myself of the rage, humiliation, and fears that I've spend a lifetime building. I have great difficulty thinking/feeling/believing that I have anything of substance to offer this group of men and I am doubting that those 4 days has created a bond sufficient to take me back.

I suppose this says it all, "I want nothing more than to hide. Strangely, I shed my clothes and climb a barren tree that rises above the conflict and I am safely hidden."

Caucusing

I've lived in Washington State, since October of 1995 -- after the divorce was final -- and I've religiously participated in all the elections available to me. It was only this year that I found out that my efforts to participate in the presidential nominating process were in vain. I was more than a bit upset to find out that the Democratic Party of Washington ignores the statewide primary ballot and uses a caucus system to elect its delegates to the national nominating convention. So this year, I had to caucus. Gail, my wife, did not get the opportunity because she had to work -- just another disenfranchised voter -- oh, I found out at the caucus that she could have filled out a form to vote her preference. Too bad that little bit of knowledge was overlooked at the "Obama Caucus Training" we both attended the Saturday before this past Saturday's Caucus.

Now, I know that part of the rationale for the caucus system, is that it is supposed to foster community and participatory democracy. I can see that. Lord knows that I don't know any of my neighbors, other than the young couple who shares the other unit in our duplex. I can't say that I know them at all well. I have said hello to some of the folks living in the units immediately next to ours and the elderly neighbor lady when were were both taking out trash once. I had a brief talk with the neighbor, who just added a building for his wife's quilting hobby/business to his property. Beyond that I don't know a soul in my neighborhood.

So the caucus did bring me into contact with about 80 or so of the people living in our precinct. I suppose then that the caucus did fulfill some community building in that sense and of course we elected delegates to attend the County/Legislative District Nominating Convention, where delegates will be elected to go to the state convention, which in turn elects delegates to the National Convention. It bothers me that the Democratic Party National Leadership have approximately 800 so called super delegates, who are not elected to the national nominating convention. These super delegates are not sent with a mandate from the rank and file to vote for a given candidate.

According to the numbers I'm looking at right now, the National Nominating Convention for the Democratic Party will seat 4,049 delegates. It takes a 50.012349% or 2025 delegate votes to nominate the Democratic presidential candidate. I find it seriously disturbing to know that nearly 20% of the 4049 delegates are not elected to the nominating convention but are members of the party elite and that they are not bound to follow the preferences of the party rank and file. Ladies and Gentlemen, note the odious stench of power politics wafting through the nominating convention.

It seems that it is time to either take back our party or to start another one from scratch. Frankly, I trust the rank and file to share my interests and to safeguard them a lot more than I do a bunch of power brokers, who's agenda is not a matter of public record and I suspect may only nominally be aligned with mine and the rest of the party rank and file. God, I wish I had reason to trust our leadership, but frankly in my half century plus on this earth, very, very few political leaders in this country have demonstrated to my satisfaction that they have the best interest of the people of this country in their hearts and minds.

Ours is supposed to be a government of the people, by the people, for the people, if our political leadership, wants to restore itself to a position of trust and regard, then it must trust the will of the people and stop engaging in political machinations such as super delegates. Furthermore, I need to jump on the bandwagon, calling for the elimination of the Electoral College. This is a vestige of the past which for sooo many reasons needs to be removed from our political system.

Damn, so much to say and so little will to do so. Let me get back to the real meat and potatoes of the caucus experience for me. I went to the caucus, iPod, sketch pad, and colored pencils in hand. I figured that there'd be a lot of waiting and wanted to be prepared to entertain myself. So, I walked into Bellingham High School and was pointed to a corner of the big commons/cafeteria/lobby area that I found myself in, where my precinct was to meet. People were just beginning to gather.

I signed in and entered my initial preference for a candidate. I also immediately asked how I could raise my objections to the caucus system, explaining that my wife was being disenfranchised because she had to work and could not attend the caucus. This is not an issue with an election especially since Washington to the best of my knowledge has adopted a vote by mail election system. As I was fairly early, there were a few chairs available. So I grabbed one pulled out my iPod, sketch pad and pencil, plugged in and tuned out. Slowly, people gathered around me, bits and pieces of various conversation intermittently penetrated my visual and sound protections, prompting me to make an occasional comment to those around me.

I finally accepted that my attempts to isolate myself from the conversations around me were failing and that my attention was being drug, perhaps not with screams, but inevitably into the external world. I put the iPod and other accouterments of my isolation effort away and began conversing with the people around me. I was mostly aware that I was possessed by an undercurrent of anger at our entire political process.

Finally, the PCO (Precinct Committee Officer -- Nancy, a seemingly pleasant and petite women somewhere in my age range) announced that it was time to officially begin the caucus. Being a soft spoken woman, I barely heard her above the sedate conversation that was going on -- a sharp whistle from someone in the crowd finally brought silence and shifted the focus to Nancy.

She stated that we would now give the Pledge of Allegiance, all around me people rose and automatically put their hands to their breasts. My hackles rose and I found myself pissed off. I realized that I am extremely jealous of my liberties -- sufficiently so that this relatively innocuous yet controversial bit of patriotic verbiage -- caused me to bristle, cross my arms, and deliberately sit silent in protest to the group think that was being foisted onto me. I imagine that you are thinking that this is not behavior that is going to foster the perception of me as a team player and a good guy, and you're probably right. I know the thought passed through my head at the time as I debated within myself, whether to bite the bullet and comply with the collective expectation and I just couldn't do it.

I've been complaining about the behavior of the political elite (party leadership) in this country for a long time, and I've come to realize that mindless patriotic platitudes are part of the problem. Both suppress people's thinking process and promote the subjugation of dissent. Opps, I'm digressing again.

So once the Pledge was history, the preliminary preference (vote) count was begun using the preferences given as we signed in. Nancy, bless her, did ask for a show of hand of those new to the caucus. My guesstimate was that somewhere between fourth to a third of the people in our group raised their hands. It seem evident that the way the caucus was being conducted did not conform to a lot of peoples expectations, and Nancy appeared either unaware of or unprepared to address this.

The caucus was conducted pretty much in accordance with what had been presented in the caucus training I'd attended the week before. The announcement of a rule change allowing anyone to participate in the preference past the previously announced 1:30 cut off was discomfiting as it gave the impression that the rules are just too mutable and that the process is subject to manipulation. Nancy per her prerogative as precinct committee officer had already appointed a secretary and tally counters, whom she quickly introduced and then sent off to tally the sign-in sheets and expressed preferences, inviting an observer from any candidate preference to observe the tally process.

The tally done, the tally counter announced the counts and the resultant delegate apportionment. That turned out to be 8 delegates for Obama, 2 for Clinton, and none for the remainder of the candidates. Nancy, now called for supporters of the two candidates to step up and make a brief speech in support of their preference. She called for someone to act as a time keeper then immediately asked for an Obama supporter to speak first, a deathly silence ensued. God knows why but I held up my hand to speak on behalf of Obama and suddenly found myself taking on the role of time keeper as well as speaking for Obama.

As it turned out, I didn't so much as speak for Obama as I spoke against Hilary. As much as I wanted to vote for a woman and establish that the glass ceiling for women was a thing of the past for my daughters, I also wanted to vote for a person of color and end the dominance of white males in the pinnacle of American political power. I was confronted with a dilemma that I hated but at the same time I was provided a simple reason to select one option over the other. Hilary has baggage, too much baggage. I cannot take the risk that the antagonism felt towards Hillary might unite an opposition sufficient to leave the Republicans in the White House for another four years.

Nancy, then spoke eloquently in support of Hillary, noting her experience and a positive global reputation as primary points in Hillary's favor. The remainder of the speakers where all for Obama. An elderly man with some form of palsy, spoke with a shaking voice and hands, stating that he had enough of a Bush dynasty and did not wish to exchange it for a Clinton dynasty. An Afro-American woman, spoke and echoed the dilemma that I'd expressed, but she put forth an argument that was quite persuasive to me and I think many others. Hillary's experience and history in Washington DC have taught her what is not possible, she said, and Obama's lack of the same enables him to believe that any thing is possible. Her remarks were truly exciting and precipitated a rousing round of applause.

Following the speeches in support of the candidates a second preference count done affording anyone an opportunity to change their candidate selection, though Nancy expressed it as an opportunity for those who did not get a vote for their candidate. I found myself, suddenly speaking up, making it clear that the opportunity was open to anyone to change their preference. The subsequent second tally resulted in no change to the delegate apportionment.

The next stage of the caucus was to elect delegates and alternates in a sub-caucus. Nancy, claimed a table and a corner of the area for the we were using for the Clinton sub-caucus. I spoke up, suggesting that we gather together several tables into a circle to provide a focus and ample space for completing ballots for the delegate election. I also asked if there was anyone who wished to chair the sub-caucus for Obama. The next thing I knew was someone behind me said, why don't you do it, you've been doing a good job so far. Several other voices seconded and the group appeared to arrive at a consensus within moments and I suddenly found myself in the position of chairing the sub-caucus.

I was handed a list of rules for the delegate nomination and election process, which I promptly read to the group. I then suggested that we ask for those interested in being delegates to step forward, and immediately expressed that I would be willing, to set an example; with some encouragement we managed to get 7 more people to step forward, further wheedling and what not got 8 more people to step up to be alternates. Once we'd filled the required slots new volunteers disappeared. I called for a vote and the slate of delegates as put together in a brief amount of time was duly nominated and elected.

Oh, one of the delegates suggested that each of the delegates, say something about themselves. My remarks were that my wife, Gail, and I were relatively new residents of Bellingham and that I'd found Bellingham to be both a beautiful and spiritual place. Several people subsequently came up to me and expressed their appreciation for my leadership and one remarked specifically on my comments about Bellingham. Another individual approached me and expressed that the neighborhood association could use people such as me and provided me with contact information for the neighborhood association and himself; unfortunately, we are in a neighborhood adjacent to his.

The real story in all of this, from my perspective, was my behavior. While, I know that I am capable of stepping up, I generally haven't behaved this way in most public venues, though I must admit, that in recent years I have been more out there than I have earlier in my life. I found myself laughing at myself. It was a good kind of laughing.

Who'd of thought, me, a mover and shaker! If that ain't worth a chuckle then I don't know what is.

Death?

I've been thinking recently about death. It occurred to me, that death has become something entirely too remote for most of us Americans. The vast majority of Americans are isolated from it from birth until their own moment of passing is upon them. Yes, friends and family do die during the course of our lives but this is generally an infrequent occurrence which slowly increases in frequency as we age. The truth though is that we are largely removed from dealing with death. For most of us, death is an abstraction marked by a sense of loss and grief.

There are a select few Americans for whom this is not true. Our soldiers, emergency workers, a small segment of our health care industry, and our mortuary workers are such people. Another group of folks, we don't often think about, that belong in this American elite, are the slaughter house workers; oh, and lest we forget, the occasional executioner and murderer. For many people in these segments of our society death is immediate and sensorially perceived. I am not trying to be gratuitously graphic here, but these select few, see, hear, smell and tangibly experience death.

You might be wondering just what got me to thinking about this particular subject. Well now, I was lying there thinking about my spiritual journey. I have yet to undertake a vision quest or participate in a Sun Dance. I find myself shrinking back from piercing and either hanging from the tree or dragging the skulls. I have had the honor to sit in lodge and pray for the past several years. The teachings of the lodge have been powerful for me. The spirituality of these native ways resonates deeply within my soul.

I say that I walk along side the Red Path. This is my way of trying to show deference to those Native Americans, who are angry at whites for taking their lands and attempting to destroy their cultures and spirits. I do not want to participate in any further crimes against our indigenous neighbors. I am not a Native American. I was not raised in their culture and do not have their ancestral connections to this land. Yet their philosophy, their spiritually feels better to me than any other I have known.

Anyway, back to the original thread. I found myself thinking about whether I had the courage to undertake the more arduous ceremonial practices of this way. I found myself doubting that I did. When I asked why, I found myself thinking of my dad.

More specifically, I thought of him, in the context of hardship, privation, and suffering. My dad was hillbilly. A depression era hillbilly to boot. He grew up in the "holler", without indoor plumbing, hunting and fishing -- with any of the fourteen brothers and sisters that survived to do so -- to help put food on the table. My dad was 16 years 8 months and 30 days old on December 7, 1941 -- the day Japan attacked Pearl Harbor instigating the United States entry into World War II.

My dad refused to talk at any length about his time in the Navy during WW II. I haven't corroborated this, but my dad did tell me that he served aboard the USS President Adams (Wikipedia) as an assistant anti-aircraft gunner and as an LCVP driver. I know that my dad participated in the landings at Iwo Jima. He might have participated in the landings at Gaudalcanal and Tulagi as well, though at the time this occurred he would have been not quite 17 and a half years old. Too young? Perhaps, but many a hillbilly joined the military during WW II around that age.

Back to the point, my dad knew a life that was intimate with death, he killed and butchered, countless fish and a lot of animals (squirrel, possum, copperhead, deer, elk, ...) and I suspect domesticated animals as well. He landed marines onto beaches in the heat of battle, and transported the dying away from them.

Throughout a large part of this world, friends and family are directly involved in the preparation of the departed for their final rites. They clean and swaddle their dead loved ones. They slit the throat of a goat, pig, or snap the neck of a chicken. Death is witnessed with an immediacy and presence that is absent for most of us Americans.

I did the fish catching and gutting thing a few times and that was pretty much it as an active death bringer, except for squashing a host of spiders, flies, ants, cockroaches, etc. I touched my dad in his coffin, had some pet rabbits die of dehydration -- while we swam on a scorchingly hot summer day, buried a puppy -- ran over by a car -- when I was 13 or so, gathered up a decapitated red tail hawk and put it in a garbage can, and that's about the extent of my direct contact with those that did not die at my hand. Opps, I suppose I should acknowledge all, the chickens, turkeys, pigs, and cattle that I have imbibed over my life.

Then there are all those out there that participate in terrorist bombings, war, and genocide.

When I try to put all this together in my head, I wonder, if my existence -- so removed from the everyday reality of death -- is well served. How does exposure to death in direct experiential contact inform our weltanschauung?

It occurs to me that the farther we are removed from death, the farther we are removed from life. That it is difficult to truly and fully appreciate life without somehow truly and fully appreciating death. How can we honor and respect life that gives its to sustain ours if we are too far removed from it's life and death?

On the other hand, does familiarity with death breed the kind of contempt for life that permits genocide or wanton and random acts of terrorism?

Death and Life, not a simple coin.

It seems that there is a softness to my life. Is courage, something that manifest only in a world of pain and privation? For it seems, that I am ill informed and yet cower before an abstraction.

Now this is what makes life worth living!

"Hi Dad,

Somehow your email ended up in my bulk folder, which I rarely check. Anyway, I am very pleased to see your blog. I didn't read all of it, but enough to realize and remember that you are an eloquent man of potent words. As I read, I can hear your deep, thoughtful voice, with that twinge of melancholy, reading the words...with a thoughtful pace, an introspective rhythm that draws the listener in. I'm surprised that you doubt your talent for writing, as you are primarily the parent who fostered my own writing talent by patiently guiding me through school reports and other writing assignments. You have always been a poet, and that is why you live in your gut instead of your head. Our society doesn't privilege the intuitive, the irrational, the feeling, especially in men, so I can see how that has been a challenge for you, as it is for most of the men I love and respect. It can be hard to embrace this way of being after a lifetime of invalidation. What I see in you now is the process of embracing it, I see you BECOMING what you ARE... that is unbelievably beautiful and more inspiring to others than you realize.

I love you papa and I believe in you!
Blessings,
Novadawn"

Have I mentioned yet how proud I am of both my daughters; how it has been an honor and privilege to have been chosen by such wonderful souls to be their father!

'nuf said.

So I'm not a physicist!

Recently, I re-started something that I haven't done regularly since I was in my late teens, early twenties. I've been reading Scientific American. I've always kept a small pipeline of awareness open to the world of science. There's a bit of a love/hate thing going on with science for me. I never really got off the ground in the world of mathematics, which -- true or not -- I always felt was a prerequisite to be a real scientist -- hence my careers in psychology and computer science.

One of my favorite compensation stories related to science was about my encounter with a research physician on one of my several flights from Chicago to Portland, Oregon. I was sitting next him as he reviewed his notes. Curious I asked him about his purpose for going to Portland. He told me that he was going to present a talk on arteriosclerosis at Oregon State University. We went on to talk about his presentation. At the conclusion of our talk I felt that I needed to confess my true ignorance and said "I really don't know much about this." to which he replied "For someone who doesn't know much about this, you are remarkably well informed!"

It appears that one of the "hot" topics in science today is "Dark Matter/Energy". According to current scientific understanding the quantity of matter and energy in the observable universe does not match the quantities required by the the mathematics used in the currently ascendant theories for the creation of our universe. At least that is my limited understanding of the issue. This topic/issue is at the macro end of the physical universe.

At the other end of the universe, scale wise, we have theories of quantum mechanics. A growing number of physicists there appear to be accepting a notion put forth by mathematician, Hugh Everett, who posited that one resolution of the quantum superposition problem implies there being multiple universes.

It is pointless for me to claim any real understanding of this whole topic. Still in my naiveté, I want to say "Duh, physicist guys don't you see a connection?" It seems to me that we'll probably find that missing stuff in another universe, you know, one of those parallel to ours but totally beyond any of our available means to apprehend. That makes as much sense to me as it's out there but we just can't find it by any of the means that we observe everything else that's out there. I mean, there is supposed to be so much of it, as I understand it, it is really hard to believe it's hiding or really lost.

In spite of my lack of understanding about these topics, I am compelled to think about them it seems. I'm pretty sure that I am not going to contribute anything new to the understanding of our universe. Of course at this point, what I do understand about what better minds than mine think, suggests that reality really isn't all it is cracked up to be. That it might just be a product of our imagination.

Descarte said "Cognito ergo sum" -- I think therefore I am -- and which may now need to be amended (too bad I don't know Latin) to read "I think therefore I am and so is everything else!"

Blogging is NOT my thing!

It appears that blogging is not a natural thing for me. I do not feel compelled to do it.

Again I am thinking of Peter B. Gillis, a friend from my college days, with whom I have recently reconnected; electronically at least. My understanding from Peter is that blogging has become something of an addiction for him. I don't know if this addiction serves Peter well or not, but I suspect that it can serve the rest of us.

Peter's blog, which I believe I have read in its entirety, is complex, random, and intellectual to the max. What I find most fascinating about his blog is what it reveals about me. I am in total envy of this guy; I suppose that has been true since I first met Peter. Peter was a 16 year old 1st year student at the University of Chicago when we first met. He was an odd ball with dreams of becoming a comic book writer, medievalist, and god knows what else. Intense, brilliant, mentally alive, he has always been at the top of my memory list of people that I knew from those days, behind a list of co-eds, who for obvious reasons had a more visceral impact on me.

Reading Peter's blog is a good way of getting to know what it means to be an intellectual. Peter's interests are hugely broad and he demonstrates a depth of comprehension that is frankly astounding. Peter's obsessions go way beyond just blogging. It is pretty evident that he has been obsessed with learning everything he could about whatever he found interesting. What a phenomenal mind he has.

Yes, I have an extreme case of Peter envy.

Unlike Peter, I have not been particularly interested in any worlds beyond my own inner world. I have never been a serious fan of anything. I've certainly been influenced by writers, musicians, artists, teachers, and people I've met through the course of my life but I have never found any of them to be important enough to spend any serious time or energy really trying to understand them or what they thought.

I don't know if I am lacking in curiosity or am just too caught up in my own illusions to be bothered with the external world. I am not given to critical thought -- too much work and not enough reward. I pretty much flounder when I attempt to use formal logic. Mathematics are a complete mystery to me.

Mostly though, I live in my gut. Emotion is the dominate force in my life. Even when I was trying to live the life of the mind at the University of Chicago, my reality was that I was living the life of the gut.

When I meet people like Peter, I feel that I've got it all wrong, that I should be living the life of the mind; intellect should be what I aspire to. The bottom line though is that I'm not made that way. I could try for my entire life to be like Peter and I would fail. I am a gut person. My worlds are sensation, emotion, an inward eye; the outside world can grab me but it can't hold me.

There've been times when I believed myself to be a lesser person because I do not relate to the world the way that Peter and other great minds do. The truth though is I wouldn't change places with him even if I could because I'm here to be me.

I guess it is just a gut thing.

Seeking the Blogger Within

I have been thinking a lot about Peter Benno Gillis, writing, dark energy and matter, multi-verses, hubris/humility, and the list goes on. More on these later though.

About four years ago, not long after Gail and I first met, we went to a small local "psychic" fair. While there, two things occurred which still linger with me.

The first was having an Aura Photograph taken of me. In the photograph, my image is largely obscured by a bifurcated white region of over exposure from which one can imaginatively apprehend the silhouettes of two buffalo. Now the science behind the whole Aura thing, from a skeptical perspective, is entirely bogus as far as my brief scan of Wikipedia goes. None the less the image that was presented to me with it's accompanying interpretation has provided me with ample ego satisfying opportunities; more so in certain groups than in others. It's most important lesson though is that, in spite of any skepticism I might hold, I am mightily drawn to succumb to the interpretations that magical thinking afford me.

The Second was a psychic reading. The woman's reading of me ranged over a host of topics which I frankly don't recall with any clarity. One item though, has surfaced again and again in the ensuing years. She asserted to me that I should be writing. I in turn scoffed at the notion. The idea though did appeal to my ego and I have revisited that moment every now and again.

When I examined my initial response to this woman's suggestion that I should be writing I was/am confronted with my own negative self assessment. I could not imagine that I had/have anything that anyone else would be interested in reading. Furthermore, I remembered how poor a writer I'd been judged to be while in academe, or at least the first year or two of college. (Either I became a better writer or my writing became less the issue than the content of the writing. I do not have the objectivity to actually know which applies.)

I have come to the conclusion that I am wholly unsuited to judge anything that pertains to me. I am far too harsh, unforgiving and negative when I attempt self assessment. In my self-judgment, nothing I have done, am doing, will do, escapes without a qualification or aspersion that diminishes either my productions or my self. This is built into my entire thinking process as it pertains to myself. Believe me I rail against this self abuse; but the railing becomes yet another source of negative self thought. It is a particularly nasty vicious cycle.

The wonder in all this is that I persist. In spite of the pervasiveness of my negative self-talk I still exist, I have not abandoned myself entirely. Gail, my wife, just now came and asked what I was doing, so I read the above to her, to which I got the anticipated response, "Depressed are we?" To which I responded "That's exactly what I thought you'd say." The truth is I am not depressed. I am in fact wonderfully amused, intrigued, confounded even dumbfounded, that I am not feeling depressed.

I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful to know that no one, especially myself, could be as pathetic, incompetent, stupid, ugly, et cetera, et cetera as I think I am. How do I know this? I don't know and frankly I don't care. It is just plain good to know.

It helps too, to become aware of how others judge me. Others who are not caught up in my cycle of negative thought. So when Gail, points out that maybe I don't have to know how to be Mukwa Ogimaa, that I am him, and goes on to tell me what she thinks/feels are the qualities that I express which that name embraces, I have input that counters my negative self thought. When my daughters assert that I have been a great father, I have input that counters my negative self thought. When Brenda is able to say she loves me and calls me friend, I have input that counters my negative self thought. I have a good size folder of awards, commendations, and credentials that all counter my negative self thought.

The trick there is to open my self to the positive out there about me. If I open myself to that then not only do I have counters to the negative but I am more inclined to be in a balance that reflects what I truly am.

Yes, Peter, I think you've got it. I am my Work. You are yours.

So back to the subject of writing, I don't know if I have anything to say that anyone else will want to read. But that is not really the issue anyway, nor does it have anything to do with what a psychic once said. What it really is about is showing up. My intuition says that I should be writing. In my prayers, I've asked Creator and his spirits to help me find my way. Barring a talking burning bush or some other blatantly overt attempt to provide me with guidance I am at a loss at present on how to recognize guidance from spiritual sources, so I am going to rely on what seems to be left to me. A small but nagging inner voice that seems to be pushing me to do this thing.

So here I am writing.

Mitakuye Oyasin,

What's in a Name?

A few years back, I asked for a naming ceremony in a Thunderbird sweat lodge. The name given to me that day was Mukwa Ogimaa. It is from the Ojibwa language and means Bear Chief or Leader. At the time of my naming, I remember the surge of pleasure at receiving such a "Cool and Powerful" name. I also remember thinking "Oh Shit, what have I gotten myself into."

I have been carrying this name around for a while now; not giving it much attention. Recently, it has come to me that I want/need to know and understand what the name really means/implies and why the name was given to me. Part of this sudden need was the recognition that at least some people I've met in the world believe that there is more to a name than just a label.

It occurred to me that names in American society at least have lost any function beyond providing a public designator for an individual. They no longer provide any reliable clues about where we come from geographically or culturally. They do not tell us anything about our occupation, race, religion, or social class or any of a myriad of facts/myths they once provided. If you assume they do tell you anything you are likely to be find yourself humiliated or embarrassed.

The thing is; I asked for this name. I wanted it. I wanted to feel that special little boost of having a secret name, a spirit name. Something that would help me feel just a bit closer to the spirits. Something to help me feel that I was a member of the circle.

So I was given this wonderful, cool, and powerful name. Recently, I've noticed that when I've shared this name with certain people, that they looked at me and spoke to me in a way different than I've experienced before. At first it just made me feel a tad bit uncomfortable, but lately it is starting to press upon me.

I've found myself asking, what do I know about being a Mukwa Ogimaa (I assume that I am not the only person to carry this name.) There is a weight to this name. This is a name that demands to be carried by a substantial person, a responsible person, a wise person, a caring person, ...

I feel the name calling me to be much more than I have been. I fear that I can not be a Mukwa Ogimaa. I have been given this name, in a naming ceremony, in a lodge. I can not undo this. I am Mukwa Ogimaa whether I believe in myself or not. The spirits believe or I would not have been given the name.

So these days, I am asking the spirits to guide me, to teach me how to be a Mukwa Ogimaa.

Mitakuye Oyasin