When I was doing a nutritional program a few months ago, I had to do something called ‘bite it, write it.’ Whatever I ate for a two-week period, I wrote it down to see where I could improve my eating habits. This is what I am doing right now, for the next few days. If I feel it, I’m writing it down. But it will not be seen in this corner. It’s too personal for public consumption. I’m in the forest now. It’s dark. My sword is full of light, to help me see what lies ahead, and what lies inside. I’m scared, but I push forward.

So the most difficult thing is always to keep your beginner’s mind. There is no need to have a deep understanding of Zen. Even though you read much Zen literature, you must read each sentence with a fresh mind. You should not say, “I know what Zen is,” or “I have attained enlightenment.” This is also the real secret of the arts: always be a beginner. Be very very careful about this point. If you start to practice zazen, you will begin to appreciate your beginner’s mind. It is the secret of Zen practice.

Shunryu Suzuki-roshi (1905 – 1971)

hat tip here

Every ounce, every drop, every scintilla, of pain, anger, anguish, suffering, vibration, every tear, every cry to God in the middle of the night, all the negative emotions I will feel this week I will not run from. I will embrace them, feel them, touch them. Even when they weaken me, and drop me to my knees, laying me low. I will not seek them, they will come to me. And I will have to cross swords with them. I will not be vanquished by them.

I am enough. Strong enough, loving enough, giving enough, funny
enough, silly enough. Enough is there, ready. Look and see–when I
look in the mirror, I see enough. See me.

A friend described themselves as a lotus flower. They may not believe
me, but I feel the same way–able to grow in the worst water. Almost
like, looking at a mirror. A mirror I've supported, nourished, better
than anyone has before.

My day turned sad at the start. Now, I am determined, not angry, but determined. But, as always, open and ready. Always open, always ready. I don’t crumble. Waver a little, but never crumble.

Those funny, scary vibrations I felt weeks ago. They are back. And I now exactly why. This has never happened to me, these vibrations I feel. I know I will feel them all week, especially at night. It’s almost like a sixth sense.

To hell with the vow of silence. I’ll write when I damn well feel like it.

I see couples around me and think, all these knuckle-headed guys with beautiful women, and I'm alone. Someone find the justice in that, please?

Now, I’ll be quiet.

I don’t know what more is required of me. I gave everything I had. But if I must give more, more I will give.

——————————

I feel like a river. Full of power and ever flowing. Ready to give life.

——————————

Giving, water, heart, spirit. This is the core of me, the core of who I am. Whenever I feel broken, or sapped of spirit, these things kick in and boost me. I’m never down for long. I want these to give someone else.

This is the way is sometimes goes. My heart gets broken and I get sad, really sad. I then get angry, with her a little, with me, with the strictures of society and its limiting views. Then I get determined. To do better, to not succumb to sadness or anger, to continue on the path for the treasure I seek. Always, always, I continue to walk on the path. I may get pushed out into the woods, chased by a bear, nicked up by briars, but I always find the path again. Always. It’s the compass that keeps me on the proper path.

I hate being angry and sad. They are unnatural and awful states for me to be in. They feel dark, unwelcoming. They try to sap my strength, wear me down, make me surrender. They want to keep me bottled up. Maybe sometimes I should stay bottled up, to save myself the grief. But the sadness and anger that can sometimes come with opening the bottle is better than keeping the bottle closed. The anger and the sadness come, I work through it, and keep moving, never shackled by it.

It’s like a couple of Nike commercials I’ve seen this football season. You see one star, on offense, running through, over and around defenders, in all kinds of weather, determined to stop him, but they can’t. Then you see a defender, running through over and around offenses, in all kinds of weather. They can’t stop him, as much as they try. The runners keep moving. I have to stay on the path toward my treasure.

I want someone to share on the path to the treasure. To understand that while I’m flawed, I still have enough strength to carry them past the bears and the briars. A lover, a friend, a partner, a confidante on the path. That’s what I want.

We’re not going dark yet. Sorry. I am a whirlwind of emotions right now. Sad, angry, frustrated, determined. I have to put these somewhere. I should be still and quiet, but I can’t bottle myself up like that. I want to scream and jump up and down. I want more than what I have now, the intangible that I know is reachable. What do I have to do to reach it?

The storehouses and reservoirs of strength and determination I have amaze (there’s that damn word again) me. They channel my–well, extreme distress; anger is a harsh word–into something constructive and positive.

Even in the face of turmoil, the compass called my heart never fails to point in the proper direction. I just want someone to see all of it. Maybe someone does, and I need to open my eyes.

I need to be still and let dust settle.

This corner will go dark for a few days. I need to hit reset. Again.

I’m a little frustrated now. Everyone for weeks has been telling me that I’m an amazing guy, and any woman would be lucky to have me. If that’s the case, why am I still alone? I want my search to be over. I want to hold someone’s hand for longer than a couple of dates. Why is that so much to ask for? I deserve more. I know I’m enough for someone. Why can’t anyone open their eyes and see that?

There is a presence that has gone away. I hope this presence returns, but I don’t know. I know I will miss this presence as it reconnects with itself.

Right now, I don’t want to be closed up, unable to roam, to observe. Through tears, I want to be open and ready, not closed and retreating. It’s so easy to ask, why me. I am trying hard to not even ask the question.

The one true moment in life that matters is right now. This moment.

(hat tip here and here)

It’s raining now. Usual for a cold December night, but the sounds of the raindrops again transport me back to Brussels, and walking back home on a cold night, the note from the jazz bar still dancing in my mind, like those raindrops off my head.

Even though I don’t swim, I still enjoy being near the water. This is one reason why.

Is the middle of the road easy? Hmm, not as easy as it seems…

Most of the world is still asleep, taking in its long winter’s nap. Some of us, well, it’s back to the grind. Things should be calm, since the rest of the world is napping. Good day. Let’s go get ‘em.

Thank you for your music, Oscar Peterson. You will be missed. And thank you, Canada, for providing him.

Right now, I feel full of it. Not this kind of it. But full of possibilities. The sun is out. The air is crisp. What little thing can I do to make my life better right now?

How can I spend a little Christmas cheer to folks who need a lift? Simple. Just continue to do the things you’ve been doing all year. What we call Christmas cheer now is humanity throughout the year. Don’t just give it now–give it everyday.

A good friend of mine has the right idea–don’t wait to make New Year’s resolutions. If you want, or need to, make a change, now is the time. Right now. So I don’t quite agree totally with this article. But I do agree that execution of our goals is the key. Move toward the goal you seek. The obstacles in your way will test you, see what you are made of.

I feel this great need now to touch someone. To feel another’s warmth close to me, to feel its soothing powers.

You can hack a computer, hack a car, heck, hack a tree limb. But how about hacking yourself?

This year, I’ve cried more than I ever have. Tears of pain, sadness, joy, wonder.

This year, I’ve been moved more than I ever have. It’s been hard, but good for me.

I’ve been dreaming a lot over the past few days. The problem is, I can’t remember them. Is my conscious trying to cleanse me?

To this, I’m carried away to Paris again, on the wings of Bill Evans’ hauntingly beautiful, soulful piano. I wish I could see the Eiffel Tower right now.

(Or one of the things it is)

Life is about attitude. What’s yours? And…don’t mail it in.

I’m not the biggest movie-goer in the world. (I still need to see American Gangster). If the movie’s not good, I can get antsy sitting in the dark. But this one, for obvious reasons, I may have to make plans to see.

Seneca (4 BC – 65 AD)

Every year, about this time, it happens. The hurly-burly of parties, last-minute shopping, wrapping, running around, begins to wind down. Like a blanket of fresh snow, calm falls over us and the land. That long winter’s nap we’ve read about. Christmas time is here, according to some friends.

Right now, I feel good. Tired, after a long week, but good. Sleep tonight should be good. I feel like I’ve earned it. At this moment, while I look at my little Buddha statue, it’s ok.

We often think of germs being harmful. I have a germ, that I’m growing myself. And my hope is, it’ll be the opposite of harmful…

Terrell Owens knows what the deal is!

I really need to expand on this, but I like this post (and this one) on how to cook your life. Think of rice, and you’ll start to get the picture.

In the meantime, chew on this poem, from Donald C. Babcock…

The Little Duck

Now we are ready to look at something pretty special.

It is a duck riding the ocean a hundred feet beyond the surf,
and he cuddles in the swells.
There is a big heaving in the Atlantic.
And he is part of it.
He can rest while the Atlantic heaves, because he rests in the Atlantic.
Probably he doesn’t know how large the ocean is.
And neither do you.
But he realises it.
And what does he do, I ask you.
He sits down in it.
He reposes in the immediate as if it were infinity – which it is.
That is religion, and the duck has it.
I like the little duck.
He doesn’t know much.
But he has religion.

To Tony Romo for making the Pro Bowl. He’s had a great year, and deserves to be recognized. But…

Mr. Romo, in the future, when the Cowboys play the Philadelphia Eagles, could you kindly refrain from bringing your girlfriend to the game? I understand you want to show her off, see her pretty face on national television.

But I want a Super Bowl.

I want to to see you hoist the Vince Lombardi trophy over your head. I want to see Jerry Jones take his fourth world title. I want to see Terrell Owens cry tears of joy over finally winning a title.

That’s not too much for a fan to ask, is it?

(Well, I’d like a suite in the new stadium, but one thing at a time.)

Sen. Joe Biden can be a bit long in the mouth. His heart is in the right place, but his mouth sometimes can’t catch up. His presidential campaign has been hit with a couple of self-inflicted gaffes. But he human like the rest of us. At the end of this story, there are three good life lessons he learned through heart-breaking hardships. Three lessons we can all remember.

For tonight, be still. Hear your breath, feel your heartbeat. Close your eyes. Let stillness fall around you.

It’s two o’clock in the morning. You’re sitting in your apartment in Paris, watching the city sleep in the cold night air, an orangish glow wrapped around it. Off in the distance, the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. You grab a drink, turn on the radio to TSF Jazz, and out comes Johnny Hartman crooning away to Ain’t Misbehaven. You put your feet up, take a sip, breathe deeply, and wonder if such a beautiful moment can come again. Yes, it always does.

If you’ve never heard Johnny Hartman, you’ll missing one of the great voices. You have to listen to him.

In writing the last post, I remembered my first trip to Montreal (I haven’t been back in a long time–I should really go soon). It was New Year’s Eve, years ago, I wanted to do something different (the year before, I was in Times Square). The drive to Albany was uneventful–the Catskills looked great with snow. But about halfway through the Adirondacks, it started to snow. Now, I was in between exits–a long way in between–and I’m starting to think, climbing ever higher into the mountains, that this may not have been too bright.

Nevermind. Ten minutes later, the snow didn’t seem bad, and I pushed on. As I got past Plattsburgh, the landscape became rather bleak–flat, featureless, desert-like. The view didn’t change much over the border, except for all the Cuban cigars shops just inside Quebec. Electrical transmission towers marched relentlessly alongside the highway. Winters here must be hard, I thought. Am I ever going to reach Montreal? Chugging along, I’m mindful of my speed (I don’t want to be stopped by the police–my French is awful). Then, off in the distance, I see a black hump poking up into the gray sky. What is that? Am I seeing things? I get closer, then I realize–it’s Mont Royal.

A new city is about to be discovered.

Years ago, there was a TV show called “Trapper John MD.” It was a sort-of spinoff from M*A*S*H, involving one of the doctors from that show. One of the characters in the spinoff–a hotshot young doctor named Gonzo–lived in an RV in the hospital.

The show came to mind yesterday afternoon as I was on the road yesterday. I was maneuvering through traffic, and came upon an RV, with a small car in tow. The car was absolutely caked in snow and salt from its travels. The license plate, with a familiar tagline–”Je me souviens”–told me where the pair began its journey. Where could these people–you hardly ever travel alone with an RV–be going?

A little further down the road, the picture became a little clearer. Up ahead, there was an identical RV, towing a shed on wheels, also from Quebec. The plot thickens. Here’s my guess–the pair probably left from there yesterday morning (from around Montreal, maybe?), slogging through snow, down the Northway and eventually onto the Garden State Parkway. The last I saw of them, they were heading for the New Jersey Turnpike. That would put their trip to that point at about seven hours or so.

Where next? Hmm. They might have stopped in Maryland overnight (a shopping center parking lot would suffice). This morning, a good stick-to-your-ribs breakfast early, then back down I-95 for a day’s drive. My bet? They are snowbirds heading for Florida for Christmas and New Years. By now, they ought to be in South Carolina or Georgia, in search of another parking lot or truck stop to bed down for the night. The RVs probably have satellite TV, so they’ll fire up the kitchen and cook a nice meal, and relax. Tomorrow, the final push to the holiday destination. And, in a couple of weeks, reverse the process back home.

Safe travels.

I don’t care what the calendar says, I feel younger, more energetic, more mischievous, than that piece of paper tells me.

I’m still working to see if this is true. I know it is, right now, though, I’m a little shaky.

I give everything I’ve got to everything I do. It’s my natural position. Giving less is new, foreign, to me. I rebel sometimes. It’s hard for me to close myself off, to hold back when all I yearn to do give everything of myself.