Who do you love?

First from the pen of Bo Diddley:

 

 

I walked 47 miles of barbed wire,
Used a cobra snake for a necktie.
I got a brand new house on the roadside
Made outta rattlesnake hide.
I got a brand new chimley up on top
Made outta some human skulls.
So take a little walk with me Arlene
And tell me who do ya love.

(Get ready!  Here comes the relevant part:)

Who do you love?  Who do you love?
Who do you love?  Who do you love?

Back on the 15th of this month I was blessed to be present at the 25th wedding anniversary of these folks, Walter & Iris.

Bobbie & I…

spent the weekend in Hartford as guests of these folks, April & Lew…

…and also visited these folks, Ron & Connie.

It was a phone call with this man several days later, the one above with the unstoppable grin–in fact it was the grin!–that inspired this post.  The heart of our exchange went like this:

Him: “You want to know why I’m grinning?”

Me: “Tell me.”

Him: “Look who I’m holding onto!”

In the past I’ve asked you to write a six word autobiography and to write a poem of  a dozen words or less.  Now I want to know who do you love. It could be a significant other, a child, a parent or sibling or a friend.  Maybe  an aunt or uncle or grandparent.  It could be the one who listens to you without interrupting or using the time to figure out what they’ll say when you finally shut up.   Whoever it is, it must be a human being, though.  Perhaps in the future I’ll get nosy about your favorite pet or Disney-beast favorite renaissance poet or shortstop, but not this time.

Use the”Leave a Comment” or “Comments”gizmo at the end of this to tell me  who the lucky person or people might be.  After a while I’ll post a little something to alert you to check out all the comments.

Thanks for playing!

Published in: on August 26, 2010 at 1:36 am  Comments (3)  

A Buddhist and a Junkie Walk into a Bar…

Every day is a lesson.

Some days the teacher is stricter than on others.  Some days the student is just stupid.  Some days you find that the only thing you can do well is to lie perfectly still and have no idea of why.  Despite all the efforts of those who’ve sought to preserve my sanity while I’ve been doing all I can to lose it, today’s been that kind of day.  A list of my screw-ups, however, would be petty and boring,  so rather than either be thought of or actually recognized as such, I’ll not print that document here.  Instead I’d like to escape (Escape, remember that word) into my head to bring you all up to date on what’s been happening in there.  Not that the random banging of my neurotransmitters is all that interesting, but enough self-deprecation.  Let’s go to the content!

This is all background:

For the past 50 or so years I’ve been thinking about drug addiction and Buddhism.  Both of which have played and, actually, continue to play major parts in my life.  The first has evolved from the condition I exhibited to the one I now treat in others.  The second has moved from an intellectual preoccupation to a daily life practice.  For the most part neither has made a great deal of sense to me in the conventional understanding of sense, but both have been powerful–make that overwhelmingly powerful– determinants of the way I’ve lived and live.

Originally I sought the same thing from both: a happier accommodation with life.  It’s not that my life was ever a bad place or even a difficult one.   There was always enough of everything and so what if I wasn’t a great athlete.   Mom and dad both loved me, didn’t beat me and only wanted “the best” for me.  As it turns out, it was their deaths that brought me to the respite of alcohol, then marijuana, then–if only until Cousin Jon and I proved that all it did was make us want more–cocaine.  Buddhism began to invade my thought when I was struggling to accept my intellectual mediocrity while in college.  Every-so-often  and without really knowing how I’d try meditation, only to give up after less than 3 minutes.  Eventually this became a once-every-five-years attempt, never reaching even the five minute mark until 2001.  It’s consequence in the interim: one more failure and hence one more reason for self-discontent.

Whatever…that was all then.  Now I no longer practice active addiction to what we in the field call  “chemical substances.”  I do practice daily meditation in a Buddhist tradition.   I read Buddhist texts and discuss them with folks who know vastly more than I do and apply them as guides to my daily living.

If I  haven’t yelled at you over nothing in a while, this is why.   If I have, well, I’m still working on it.

What most concerns me is  how to bring the ideas and meditation, the actual practice, to my clients.   Meditation puts them to sleep.  Buddhist thought places suffering at the center of life just as my clients do, so the fit seems natural.  With the proper understanding, it goes on to say, suffering is no more than a creation of the mind.  It goes on to say that in (capital R) Reality there is no suffering.  Just as that proper understanding of  Reality eluded me for so many years and continues to escape me every once in a while, it is well outside what my guys are ready for.  So my question: How to reframe or rephrase or re-present it in a way they can use?

To sum it all up:

Whether things are real or not, whether our perceptions are accurate or not
They cause suffering which, to the sufferer, is absolutely real.
To know they are unreal is, at first, an intellectual achievement
One that holds little sway over the emotions.
Only to demonstrate it,  to make it experiential (OUCH!)
Is to make it indisputably real.
Pehaps this is why my clients so believe in their drugs:
     They wish to escape from their internal reality,
          They drug,
               They’ve escaped.

I’ll take any and all suggestions.

Published in: on August 13, 2010 at 3:37 pm  Leave a Comment  

A Love Letter…

Sunday afternoon…Bobbie’s up in Connecticut visiting two of her kids: Mike who’s not long back from a year in Iraq with the US Army and Kim who’s in her fourth year of being the mother of twins among other things.  Me, I’m in my 69th year and missing this woman like a 16 year old in the middle of a doowop tune from when I actually was 16, first met her and was too shy to even speak to her.

*   *   *

Have  you heard John Coltrane’s Stardust?  I’ve been a Coltrane fan since 1963 when Randy and Janie gave me My Favorite Things for my 21st birthday–a debt I can never repay.  The Stardust album is like a French impressionist painting: novel enough to be exciting and occasionally challenging, familiar enough to give you a piece of solid ground from which to launch into the new then safely return.  Ultimately it loves it’s subject and is beautiful beyond any words used in the past.

*   *   *

And two poems, one by Ryokan, a 19th century Zen hemit monk, and Mary Lou Kownacki, a contemporary Roman Catholic nun.  First his:

Time passes,

Thre is no way

We can hold it back–

Why, then, do thoughts linger on,

Long after everything else is gone?

Then hers:

Time

Stands

Still.

There

Is

No

Way

We

Can

Push

It

Forward–

I

Still

Live

In

The

Moment

You

Left

Me.

*   *   *

And, even better, she’ll be home tomorrow!

Published in: on August 1, 2010 at 7:12 am  Comments (4)