I recall a familiar refrain. Day one ... I don’t feel like I’m on vacation yet. I had some work that I needed to finish and I worked very efficiently and it was as if I was at home, performing an in-office day. My vacation responder is on doe.
Today, I arrived in Barcelona, got a few goods, performed a work related call, and have been hanging out at my hostel. Now I’m out for dinner. I’m having ????? Imberico. When I asked what the item was (they specialized in it) he pointed to large plastic meat
facsimiles and then cheese. Mixed meat and cheese — extremely based.
Now, I’m sitting down with a beer to write.
What always reminds me of the European Union are the roads. They all have a similar, freshly-painted, narrow look. England doesn’t look like that. England is very confusing or very rural. Barcelona, though, reminds me of Vienna, which reminds me a bit of Amsterdam, which reminds me nothing of London.
My food has arrived and it’s charcuterie. Well, not my bag — but I am in Rome, sooooooooooo.
I visited Catalunya square. The area was quite charming. It was a shopping district built into a promenade and side streets. It had a very adapted-medieval feel.
One thing I am a bit sad about is how unsafe and unsettled I felt. I kept watching my back. Speaking of, my back really hurts. I am walking the 30 day Camino de Santiago, starting two-days from now. My pack seems a bit heavy. Idk how it happened. I weighed it, and maybe a few things snuck in. It was really heavy, after carrying it all day. I might have to lose some items.
The lady at the check in desk at my hostel (ten to go hostel) said something that stuck with me. She said that people walk the Camino alone. She seemed to suggest that even if you walk it with someone, you walk alone. When I asked what she meant, she didn’t respond directly. She said that you meet other people and walk with some of them, but people have different paths on a daily basis — and so even someone you really like should go eventually. This may be true, but I know people come as a group to do this walk .Is she suggesting that’s not the way to do it? More likely this path really does attract a lot of solo walkers. Wow. Who are all these people crazy enough to walk 500 miles by themselves...? I might be wrong about assuming people do this, themselves. My evidence is from the various stories I’ve read, forum posts online, and the movie, The Way, starring Martin Sheen. There seem to be a lot of solo walkers. I think my mentality is a bit off. Every American Ive told about the trip has asked me if my girlfriend is coming with me. I sure wish she was. I don’t want to have this life experience without her as a part of it. Maybe its wise for it to be that way, given the nature of its inception so many years ago. None of these people who ask me, though, have ever done El Camino de Santiago. None have even expressed they once had interest, but they do have opinions. Funny, that’s how it always works. We’re social creatures, and right and wrong can be borne up out of almost anything — even a dead goat.
I’m finishing the charcuterie. This place I’m eating is very — different. There was a small horde of older folks in, watching a football game which finished at 5-0. Why did they stay so long? This is a family restaurant. Where were their kids? They were drinking wine, and this all just seems like very typical European sports culture. They love their soccer in a way Americans cant really conceive of. I’m reminded of Greek culture and the way families gets tied into everything. The Spanish and Greeks both had huge problems with the euro zone, so there’s that. Perhaps they are very similar cultures.
Tomorrow, I take a train to Pamplona, a bus to San Sebastián (which looked REALLY cool) and then a bus to Bayonne, in France. If I have time, I will take a train to St. Pied de Port, and the next morning I will begin my Camino — which I am very excited for.
I’ve downloaded a bunch of Audiobooks for my Camino... I’ve downloaded Overworld — a 2018 Man Booker Shortlister which caught my eye, 2666 (in English and Spanish), a book by Paul Coehlo on the Camino de Santiago, and some others... I cant recall off the top of my head. I’ve started with 2666. IT’S AN ENORMOUS BOOK... Ah, yes, I’ve also downloaded a book my Marcel Proust. I read that former inmates are among the populations that have read Proust, because his works take so much time to read. Whether that’s true or not, I’ll be reading them. Proust’s book is like 25 hours on the Audiobook. 2666 is 39.... and the Spanish version is 46. CHEESE AND RICE. Shouts out to Stephanie for all the Audible Credits I used on these books. Hi Gabbi!
Every year I kick the tires and ask myself does it have another year left in the can? The answer is always yes -- just one more year, one more step, one more time getting up.
This post is about Ramadan -- my fifth personal spiritual practice I began during a time of transition when I was seeking direction in my life.
I began my practice on a tense, fortuitous whim in Maryland during the dog days of Summer of 2014. On that day, I walked from Wheaton, Maryland to an office where my friends were working to deliver flowers. I had the idea, with nothing to do, wandering around Wheaton mall. I thought about the delivery for hours, as I marched to Downtown Silver Spring. I had never been to the office and didn't really call in my visit. I hung out with a street merchant and chatted in Spanish while I waited for any one of my friends in the office to get back to me with an address. I dropped the flowers off to a receptionist I'd never met, and I was too embarassed to see my friends, and too nervous to ask, and I never heard a word of thanks.
I'm unperturbed. I used to get furious about percieved things owed, logical or not. Now, I'm good with what I give regardless of what's given. They say if you love, you have to let go, no?
In Lana Del Rey's Coachella - Woodstock in my Mind she refers to her own little contribution to children and also their parents and the little things and attachments we have, along with dreams they hold so preciously, as they are in their most vulnerable moments, during a third prayer. Perhaps her inner writer got the better of her on that mouthfull. Her contribution, she says, is just that MAYBE her wishes will turn to birds, and birds would send her thoughts your way.
When I tell people I fast for Ramadan, it propels us apart. People percieve me slipping into a foreign identity, and they look at me like they never really knew me. They wonder at whether I am Muslim. Nah, bitch, das a Jedi.
"I could never do that" is what people often say. Today, I was hiking, training on a 10 mile hike for a march I will undertake across Spain. I thought of military training, which is way, way harder. Few people complete that traiting. For my walk, the El Camino de Santiago, more people complete it, but not everyone. Some people have even lost their lives on the pilgrimage.
I don't like when people self-depricate. I wish we'd share fewer inspiration quotes, and live out more dreams. Your dream is not at your 9-5 job. It's in your dreams and maybe in your life, to some extent, if you're lucky, smart, and can quiet your mind.
When people say they cannot do it, they mean they do not want to do it. Perhaps my story will show will help you consider and undertake a ramadan fasting practice...
My story illustrates that continuous work within the spirit, year after year, does culminate in something great. I ate fruit from an invisible tree that grew up on my sweat.
What is attention? This is something I've been thinking of. It's someone else impressing their opinions on you. But in your mind, what is attention? It's conceding a power that is uniquely yours, to recreate the world around you. Does that make sense? Is that what a baby does when it cries out for mama? No, not really. It's not the warm embrace of mom, either, because people seek attention through causing pain and destruction too. When I acted out as a child, I'd feel a compulsion out of anger it even felt like. Other times it feels like getting high on burning garbage. It's a singular, filthy high. It's not a good thing.
You can give yourself attention, too. You can regard the falling in the tree as a gift from your own deepest consciousness and celebrate yourself -- jump up and down, buy a whole pizza, and buy yourself a new car. What is attention? You can give the world around you attention, too, just by narrowing your focus and considering a thing. I am starting to think that the word 'attention' is many things we use the same word for.
Sorry, Qui-Gon, but you will find that you were mistaken about a great many things.
The Fifth Ramadan
The approaching inception (BRAAHMMM) of my fifth and most recent Ramadan brought on my yearly bout of jitters. After some regular ear-pulling and waffling, I was in...
I haven't written in my blog for more than a year. My last post is about Ramadan, actually. That's the last time I shared about my life. I wrote on the subject of intolerability. Specifically, how I would no longer tolerate other people's bullshit. That was a reaction to a grating and lackluster practice.
After that disheartening experience, I wanted to enhance my practice. I sought nothing less than a breakthrough. Without anyone telling me, I had the idea to raise the difficulty of my practice.
I added a personal challenge to my practice. I set out to have four conversations I feared for many years. I believed them to be impossible. These conversations ricocheted around my mind with such regularity they had carved themselves into the walls. They became recurrring, destructive, and negative shadows in my mind. Fear is sadness with teeth. I could not uproot this sadness privately; attention wasnt enough for me. I had to speak with these people and do something more real.
I had forgiven myself and the concerned parties one million times in my head to no avail. I came to realize a difficult truth: I had to talk to the person to exorcise their negative and lingering existence.
July got hella spooky!!!
After each conversation, I told myself I was incapable of the next.
"Our responbility begins with our imagination" -- Haruki Murakami
I believe in that, because I realize it's evident in my most honest moments. When you fail your imagination it's a little death and what people call a reminder of the smallness of the human experience, but there is nothing that forces failure. If a team of monkeys with typrewriters can write the bible, you can succeed in any design of the mind. Time culls your impetus, never your imagination. I think the major skill in life is designing systems that move on your call, so that your designs can still be projected, deftly and powerfully, but what do I know?
After each conversation, I took a humongous breath and gave up on the next one. Days went on and I rededicated myself to my practice of Ramadan each morning, eating my final meal before the sun rose at around 4:30AM. My pain throughout the day, when I felt it in pangs of moments of weakness after a spiritied jog to catch the bus or a long walk in the sun, reminded me of everything I've gone through to get where I am - my whole life in those racing moments. I knew I could do it!!!!! If I could do Ramadan, I could have those conversations.
I don't think its right to use names even in my private blog, so I depart from the specifics right now.
I am still elated I actually did it. In fact, I actually precipitated a tremendous fucking change in my life. I was going to compare it to slamming a sledgehammer into four different dams and one of them breaking loose and creating a new river -- but I think a more appropriate likeness is going around Luigi's mansion kicking furniture and then a great big ghost pops out and you suck it up and catch it in your ghost-vacuum!!! OOOooooOoooOOOOooooo!!! SPOOOOOOKY!
I always felt rejuvinated once I could eat like a normal person again, after Ramadan had ended. But, especially after #4, I always felt like I needed more. Maybe I didnt push myself hard enough was my foremost supposition. Maybe I needed to not wake up late and eat at 6:00am so many times. Maybe I needed to cut water from my practice (which I actually did for the first time during #5 when I met a 16 year old standing up on a chair testifying to the wholistic benefits of his practice and I jumped in as a random person and we celebrated together but I felt guilt when I realized it was fear that held me back from fasting water too and not attention to my own health -- and by the way its total horse shit when people say its not healthy, but im not arguing for that here go goole it -- YEAH I SAID GOOLE AND IM NOT FGONNA CORRECT IT EITHER). Anyway...
What I found was that patience brought reward for all five of my practices to me in the way of the benefit I derived from personal challenges I devised after pushing myself to a higher and more spiritual standard for five consecutive years.
I still have trouble explaining to people why I fast, except for the abundence of strength it affords me, for the firestorm of positive energy it floods my life with. I do not believe in God or Allah as the primogenitor of my benefits, but perhaps the onus, and the reason any of it moves in the first place. I can get down with that. I mean to say that in the moments where I 'cannot do it' I dont defer to a strength outside of myself. I re-dedicate myself in each moment of my practice and that reminds me that I can, indeed do it, becuase I do it every moment anyway and the truth is my mind conceives of impossibilities I simply need to smash through by consciencious effort.
Update after Three Months
Ramadan changed my life. I have a woman I love and we will be living together. Before that I will be walking across the country of Spain, some 500+ kilometers, to reward myself for everything I've given to the world around me. On this trip I will reap the great bounty of things I've given to the world. It sounds paradoxical that I would gain anything when, for in the example of the flowers, I got nothing so much as a thank you -- but some of life's most profound discoveries are in de-puzzled paradox. A gift, without manipulation, should be loved, but does not have to be. The gift is as much to the giver and the reward is to the intention, not the joy it creates. Hmm, again I run into the paradox. Each time you give, you create an anchor within your consciousness and your soul that your mind considers in the amorphous swirl of the subconscious or river of eternal realities (whatever you believe) and there are moments when you call upon each of those anchors to inform your next move. That is very abstract, but that's how I've conceptualized of my own life. I know there's good in my heart and it can create a deep conviction I feel outward from my core and can be seen through my eyes. It's how I've faced down deadly competition and used dancing creativity to surmount impossible odds. It's a reality about the world and a rule that I defer to in every moment, because it's beneficent. Some might call it luck, or god -- I dont name it, I know how to feed and be fed. Right now, I am affixing a bib to my mother fucking self and performing competitive eating water-stretches, so that my stomach can be packed to the max on this trip, and I absolutely know it will. This trip is also dangerous. I've decided to go by myself. I hear that you link up with others on the path, and so that is a possibility, but I acknowledge that I accept a great gift with morbid peril in its shadow. I like to ascribe my willingness to naivety but its not and it never has been. I've always been more than willing to accept dangers other people shy away from and I won't stop until it kills me or (I imagine) I have children who I care too much about being a father for to endanger myself and, thus, them. All of this was galvanized by my Ramadan practice... Like, what the fuck... I've become the biggest proponent of the fast and I look forward to learning about the machination and applying its principles to my life more and more.
I hardly remember the moment. I either dare not to look upon the words or have not found them in my journals when, in July 2014, I swore to myself I would, in my own thoughts... 1. Move to Seattle 2. Start Two Businesses 3. Move to Morocco... I succeeded in the first two and I am now going to Morocco, not to move, but to visit expectorante. In my mind, that means with the expectation of greatness to come on your sleeves. Yes, come on your sleeves -- it's the way to live. With the come on your sleeves so that everybody knows. A friend, Jerica, called me expectorante -- I believe was the word she used. In my memory, it is. I've either co-opted another word to this usage or I am correct. My investigation into Google suggests that I am wrong. Maybe it's local slang from Puerto Rico. Who is John Galt? I will go to Morocco with the opportunism of a colonizer, making connections and sensing opportunity. I will truly explore the countryside and draught deeply. It's the carrot I've held before me and I will take a bite becuase that's what's done with the carrot. Whether this is a grave misstep or not I'm not totally sure. It seems wrong to walk across Spain on a spiritual journey and then embark on a trip of luxurient business consideration in a strange land. Then again, I am the kind of guy who will eat ice cream on a lettuce leaf for breakfast. Still, there's something niggling that feels wrong here. I will continue to think and write of it. I believe that everyone feels a draw to zig and zag as they near the finish line, but that's something humans must never follow (?)
Centered in a grove of trees arranged in an octagon, I've taken just my wireless keyboard out and am typing. I write freely and I feel uninhibited... I think I am among wise men in a temple, standing as proudly and as frozen as marble statues. They are like the sages in Ocarina of Time.
I am now looking at a third tree and this one is very different from butt crack tree and strong tree. This one is something like Frankenstein's lab assistant, Igor. This tree gives off an impression that it did not live a healthy life, for it is shorter, twisted, scarred with indentations, and it only has one burst of leaves. I am thinking of this tree's human statue. This is a man who suffered through a winter and icy solitude in his final stage of life. It made him sick and haunted his branches, which jut out like rigid and dead tendrils and hang up in the air like teathered bones. HEH. This tree has conceded the race for more sun loooong ago. What about you? The tip of this tree, though shorter, takes him into the great canopies of two other trees. His life ended differently than all the others will because it opted out of society. This tree died consequently died with others. Really in the arms of loved ones in a way that someone fighting in the rat race of society never can due to ego. Dwarf tree dies enmeshed in the canopies of two great trees that meet right atop the dwarf tree, where it would most certainly have the greatest advantage in fighting off the other trees' desire for more light, if it had wanted to fight. Igor tree has a first burst of leaves, but not a second. It is a small burst of leaves, lower than in the other trees; I can almost jump and touch the lowest leaf on this tree. Now I am closer to Igor and see there is more to this tree! As I continue to look, I notice there are no cut ins at all. These are mushrooms! Aha! Why does only this tree have mushrooms on it and no others? Maybe this is the youthful malign (is that a word? FUCK it, MY BLOG) that stunted its life. Hmm, well anyway it lived a life just as good as the others, though I can see this tree had a harder time.
All of these trees have the same long and narrow trunk. Maybe they've all come from the same primogenitor and look the same because the conditions of their youth were similar, except for one tree that is just a stump because it has been split by some event unknown. All of these trees have branches jutting out from their trunk at two points -- at their midpoint and tallest point.
The trees become unique at about halfway up. One has a deep rivet, one that looks like a butt crack. Another is straight and tall all the way up through its top. Other than having a distinct feeling of strength, it is just like the first, except for that when it bursts out in branches at its middle and its top, the explosions are larger and more verdant. Maybe these are periods of great creativity. Can you say that both a baby and sapling have their entire biology determined at birth and what happens to them which alters that trajectory is not worthy of praise or of blame because the input is hella complex and the interpretation/integration process involves all of that pre-determined biology? No credit or blame belongs because we are like flutes to wind? We have logic, but in a sense we are unable to dodge what life throws at us, similar to a tree -- which we dont blame for anything. Things like time and chemicals can alter us in ways we do not see or understand because we make sense of them after they have passed. Our entire blame structure is built on the expectations of reaction to particular stimuli; i.e. Cry when sad. A friend told me she is working on not laughing as much, and I told her this is the worst thing she can do. You should not fight against your most basic proclivity towards happiness. A perfectly good man is ruined by trauma the same way a tree is struck by lightning.
A grove of trees can tell a whole story of life and time. A statue is a snapshot, meant to misdirect your senses and make you think you know a man. A piece of art is more like a statue than a tree. Art is not anthropomorphic or humanistic, though, like a statue. It can be but whatever. Instead it involves a larger spectrum that is inherently undetermined, unintelligible, and unique to the viewier. Artists and thinkers have called this confusing mess of symbols in art a reflection for the viewer. I love how Oscar Wilde puts it in the preface to Dorian Gray. Trees, however, are not like art or statues. They tell no lies in the stories of their life from beginning to its end and even offer a full perspective on how the beginning is to be considered, relative to the end of life. I mean to say you know the beginning of the story by looking at the end of it and you see the complete relationship of birth and life to death in a tree. As the tree grows up, it grows out and becomes all the more satisfying and deep, but it is always complete. It is a poem, not art.
"Responsibility starts where the imagination begins." - Kafka on the Shore
Frederick Douglass' House Museum in Anacostia, MD/DC (Hood AF)
There are many trees around me and actually more further out in a second ring. These trees are very different. I dont want to think about trees anymore and I'd like to move on somewhere else. In the distance, an old steel school alarm bell rings. Im back to real life, suddenly. Im in an oasis in the middle of the hood, and there are mosquitos biting my sun burned body. On my way! Just musings that sink to the bottom of my mind, where I can reach them.
Three old wise-men and their riddles. Three old wise men pondering a blue game of chess.
Ive finished Ramadan and I feel unsatisfied. I think my suffering was not enough. I began the period with such focus and spirituality but fell out of it as easily as I might slip out of a dress. I feel shame because I went on vacation and did not keep up my practice. The 'rules' of Ramadan say this is okay, and so I trusted that, but it does not feel okay to me.
Today I feel like my decisions will have everlasting permanence. I feel like the worldis going to end tomorrow and that today is the only day where anything matters. Like there is no time. Why do I feel like there is no time? Is this a normal thing? I am almost sure it is not, but my memory is foggy right now. I am like the force was when Palpatine was rising to power. Things were clouded and even the Jedi, the seers, could not see. I am in this fog. I Think... No I dont need to think about anything.
I just need to relax.
I need to take the time to take the time. I know that I am in the eye of a hurricane.
I feel bad for myself. Oh, the weather is coming and it'll be bad this time -- im sure of it. But why do I delve into the deepest beauty for me that Seattle has to offer. It must be to rid myself of this moss that has grown over me.
I think I went into Trump's DC and came out so swampy that I cant stand myself or anyone else. Wow. That's really what happened. I have a bad taste in my heart because I licked dirty materialism, vapidity, and a million stories everyone told themselves. In truth they're puppets to ego. Ego. Ego. Ego. Ego. Ego. Eet goes where you go.
My mind is colonized. That's a hard truth. I believe that everything is socially constructed -- I almost believe in a blank slate. No, today I do believe in a blank slate. I think that the world is a maze ants have tunneled into shit and if you're not tunneling you're making the rounds in other peoples tunnels. It's all shit and doesn't matter anyway. You stomp, 6 legs deep, into shit. You skitter and scatter through pipes so tight you smack your dangling ball sack on them and so smelly we learn just not to smell really at all.
Yes, we are ants. Not mice. Not dolphins. We are the ants. Our cities are ant mounds. Our tallest buildings look like termite hives turned upside down and that makes sense. They are subterranean and we are not. The queen is an interesting allegorical comparison. She exists for us too but im not sure how to talk about her because our queen is abstract. Our queen is Beyoncé. Our queen sleeps in bed with us with her huge ass (which is all we want) and is there the next morning to soothe or shatter us. In either case, she becomes our attention and our focus and our drive and our meaning and takes from us the morning's golden magnificence. Fuck 12.
I feel very free right now. Just now, as I
write to you, I have pushed myself off of a bench and fallen into the
grass of the Seattle Japanese Garden because I was slouching too much to
use my keyboard. I am writing in my favorite way. Blindly. I will edit
what I have written, but I cannot see when I type. I like to write on my
wireless keyboard. I still dont like this angle... hmmm. I must move
then.
...
I totally forgot to write about the seven days of tolerability. I am treating myself to seven days of experiences that are tolerable. Experiences that are intolerable are multiplicitous; too numerous to list. Some typical seattle intolerabilities I will not put up with are 1. Homeless people acting a fool just to troll 2. People trying to avoid saying hello on the sidewalks 3. Wearing uncomfortable clothes to fit in. I will try my best to have an experience each night which lets me get away from these things but is also to my liking. Today I went to the Seattle Japanese Garden, my favorite alcove in the Washington Arboretum, and then I spent too much money at Nishima Sushi. I appreciate good service in restaurants, but that is really hard to find -- especially on the West Coast. People are filling up my water way too often, asking me more than a polite amount of conversation, just sort of being half-genuine/half-customer-oriented half-wits. Sometimes I make friends behind the bar or in the restaurant; dont fake it, though. Feel it for real. Dont fake it. IF people are intolerable to me on the streets, I will try to kill them with kindness. Yesterday, some guy threw something at my foot and I did get mad at him. I was caught off guard. I am sorry. It is tolerable that you throw something at me, provided you have a good reason. It was like 10PM and the dude said it was an accident -- unlikely, but maybe it was.
Today a homeless man came up to me and yelled and was like spitting on me so I bonked him on his head. Intolerable.
Shortly thereafter, a person trying to get signatures for some sort of ACLU something and then some environmental company waved at me like they knew me. This is intolerable. Don't try to manipulate my emotions. I waved at her and said "No!" She said 'I was going to give you 10 dollars." I considered this and said to her "I am more expensive."
People are being very inappropriate to me on a daily basis and for seven days I will treat myself to not having to deal with them at all if they want to come at me sideways.
The reason I am doing the seven days of tolerability is because Ive just finished my own personal practice of Ramadan and I feel like there is no reward on the other end of the practice for me. If you are Muslim, you have a big festival called EID where you get to celebrate with your family and have a great time all day or waste away on Instagram commenting things like "DEAD" and liking memes about how youre not doing anything for EID. I dont have a community to celebrate the end of Ramadan with. Ive tried celebrating with the Muslim folk but their celebration is too religious. I am not uncomfortable with them. They are extremely kind, welcoming (mostly), and last year I actually made peace with a 6'5/6 homeless dude who I had beef with from a random rap battle. I will not recount that tale here, now. That man and I made peace; big + for me lol.
This year I had an extremely solitary practice. I have decided to take seven days to really treat myself well and according to what I think is best for me, regardless of convention -- as best I can. My writing comes off as very insensitive and pejorative and that is how I am feeling, but I am also able to tap into a calm and open spiritedness I cultivated during long days of no eating. I am frustrated and feel I've betrayed myself by breaking my practice early.
On Staring at a Person
I recently read about staring and what your relationship with staring says about you. I have always had a hell of a relationship with staring. When I was a child, I would stare people down and I would relish when they would stare back and it would become a stare off. One time everything changed. I felt a sudden onset of fear and had to avert my eyes. That fear has been with me ever since. I've learned to resist it; sometimes I have to lie, sometimes I dont. I still try to hold a stare because I am trying to prove something to myself -- that I do not fear someone preening into my emotional state, regardless of whether I feel good or bad; but its not always easy at all. There was also a time where a teacher invited us to stare into a partner's eyes for as long as we could. That was a very important person to me and that was a endlessly mystifying half moment. Another thing I dont like is getting engaged in a conversation with overly concentrated, disengaged eyes. This is when both of you are staring RIGHT into eachothers eyes and both have really wide eyes like youre super engaged in the conversation. In truth, none of your eyes are saying anything. Both of your eyes have this gloss of falsified interest showing. That is the ultimate bull shit. Im going to poke myself in the eye the next time Im in that situation and just be like 'sorry, I had to break the lie.'
I like to write about days that will one day make me laugh and cry. I know they will make me laugh and cry some day because I can tell they are the sweetest days of a bittersweet stage of my life that might be fleeting faster than I can know. Im doubt this ‘feeling’ I have about myself and the world around me will carry through to my elder years. Part of the reason why is because I see how fickle my beliefs about my own life have been in the past. When I was younger, I would make silent determinations to myself: I would never get ‘old’ or that I would find a way to make every year better than the one that came before it. These statements fell apart like how trees die — bit by bit, hidden to the eye as they become hollow and then a storm hits and suddenly they’re definitely dead forever.
“every year of life just gets better.” -- dumb me
Libraries in Seattle give away a few free tickets to the local museums through a link on their main website. I happened to be perusing the other day and got myself tickets to the Aquarium. Nobody seemed to be available, so I went by myself. The place was swamped with little children running around exclaiming and crawing over each other and doing what kids do. My sister called me the second I stepped into the building: “You dummy! Didnt you know Thursdays are field trip days?” It annoyed and kind of upset me at first, but I warmed up to it by the end. I plugged my Beats by Dr. Dre headphones into some recommendations for atmospheric underwater-y music; Ott and Tipper and I sauntered through the aquarium. I met a really nice older man giving fish their daily feeding and I felt like I could see through him to his life as a college kid studying biology at university. I hung out with him for 30 minutes — mostly just staring into coral — and watching how differently octopus, fish, crustaceans, vegetation, and eels react to food. A little dark haired, bespectacled, olive skinned girl from one of the field trip groups scooted in front of me and asked some questions of the old man about the fish — what they eat and something, rather. As I tried to leave the aquarium, all signs were telling me to stick around a bit longer, and that same girl ended up sitting right at my foot for the day’s Octopus Feeding. She interrupted the presentation to ask questions twice, despite the request to ‘hold questions.' That’s a future scientist :). the octopus was cool. I liken its consistency to ball skin, but on a scale I had never considered. It’s lobe head — its ‘mantle’ — really does look like a testie. The feeding ended up being lackluster and I left for my office.
Ancient Grounds "Coffee Shop" -- World's Best Latte (Read: Coffee from Elf)
I never really wanted to end up at my office, but it was my destination until, I came by a sign “Seattle’s most interesting and best latte???” I walked by the sign, laughing to myself. I looked back at the other side of the stand up sign and it said “Seattle’s best latte.” I appreciated the additional security. I headed into Ancient Grounds. It was the kind of mish-mash of ideas that belongs back in the era of mom and pop and book shops and the 50’s before anything made sense. The owner was a gaunt, towering fellow and some sort of collector of artifacts — from Japan, China, and mostly some African country(s?) I couldnt identify. There was a woman with great cleavage talking to an older man about real estate and I sat down to a mediocre latte and broke out my computer for some office work. I had a second latte which the man assured me would be half priced (and wasnt) and asked some questions about collecting and selling things. The man expressed typical old-man ‘this is a dying industry’ thoughts and I left. His store gave me the idea of buying dirt cheap hardbacks from my local workplace and reselling them at the internet for moderate profits. If I can streamline the process, I think I could have a solid literary side hustle going on — so that’s why we’ve got to protect the coral reef and biodiversity.
"Moisture is the essence of wetness, and wetness is the essence of beauty."-- Derek Zoolander
Bitch dont kill my invertebrate
I took the bus over to Bellevue and was early for my appointment. I had more than an hour to burn and NBA playoffs were on so I decided to stop into one of my favorite local bars for a quiet drink. As I head to the bar and am about 10 feet away, I register Richard Sherman in my periphery, sitting dead-center with company. I sit a few chairs away take out my computer and order a bud light. Richard Sherman is rooting for the Oklahoma City Thunder, who are playing the Houston Rockets. I recently heard a quote saying something like that you can’t not treat a celebrity like a celebrity; you can only try to keep your cool. I didnt want to feed into that and so I left the guy alone even when one fan initiated a request for autographs and people flash flooded into an orderly line. I was contented with sharing his presence and just appreciating what I know is good about him and his ethics and interpersonal strength: Good things to meditate on as a 20-something. Better than xhampster, anyways. I had my drink and did some computer and left the bar.
I finished my afternoon tutoring session and decided to do something I shouldn’t. See, while I was tutoring a girl sat down at the library-volunteer-tutor table and verbalised that there was no one there to help her. Indeed, there was someone at the 2nd tutor table but he seemed to be wilfully ignoring the girl. I overheard him and he was a garbage tutor. Don’t quit your day job, buddy. I sat next to her at the otherwise vacant volunteer table and asked if I could help. She was happy for me to help and I tried to keep it together for her while I planned exit strategies depending on who might get pissed at me. Once I had sat down, I wouldnt let myself leave until the girl got the help she needed. When we had finished, the little girl announced her own name as ‘Ebony’ and offered to shake my hand. It was really sweet.
Thinking about that fear I felt when I sat down to help Ebony got me to reflect about a quote I told myself as I began to hear its antitheses among my peers: “I will never be one of those creepy guys that ‘feels old.’” I’ve found out life is alot more complicated than I thought it was and I have accepted my transition along with corresponding rapid hair loss. In that moment, I felt embarrassed that I was a full grown man putting his neck on a chopping block in order to impress a child. They do that in the movies, but not in real life. My smile is half as charming as a rule-breaking, young Brad Pitt and my quick wit is like 1/10 that — and I am vastly underpaid.
Really, Ebony knew everything and was a really smart girl. I think she was just looking for a push, which I felt compelled to give. If you believe in something, you simply must stand up — balding and all. That’s why it’s cool to share space with someone like Richard Sherman, who can be brave and express his thoughts. I can do the same at my best, but my ability to articulate goes right out the window. In fact — OMG — today Im walking in downtown Seattle and a young girl who looks rough around the edges clasps her hands together in a begging gesture and asks me for some money to get on the bus. I say no, and she says “faggot.” I almost spit out the words "did you just call me a faggot?” She cant hold my gaze. She says “Yeah, I called you a faggot, faggot.” I retort “YOURE…” and I eat the rest of my words and walk away. I wish I could have channeled Kid Cudi and pointed out that she couldnt say those words and look into my eyes. I wish I could have channeled Lil B and told her that if she hates me I love her too. The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People says to use principles you believe in — ostensibly ‘good' ones — as the foundations for action. I didnt have that in me and it was all I could do to walk away. I wonder if I can change that about me. Being so serious. I wonder if I should. A younger me might have done any of those things. What would you have done?
How much does a dollar really cost? Embrace your (hair) loss, I am a shark hat.
This journal entry is based on experiences from my short week in Eugene, Oregon.
Having the place and time to explore along with will and curiosity is a simple recipe for returning to a calmer mindset. I started this journey questioning my path in life; what will I be doing in 5 years and why? I didnt find treasure at the end of any rainbow (I did find a leprechaun), but I got back up on my two feet and feel confident and satisfied.
"Sometimes people see a possible next step, but are not ready for it. They can get there and do it, but the cost will be seven times inflated.”
My best qualities, ones I’ve always known and love in me, had been muted and I had been feeling alot of anger related to loneliness.
Late Sunday evening, I purchased a one-way ticket for the following morning. I threw together a packed bag and hopped on the 7-hr bus south. My good friend, Daniel, picked me up in his same truck and that evening we went grocery shopping and stayed in watching Young Frankenstein.
I left early in the morning. I walked on the side of a busy road crowded with slow moving cars into the center of town. My backpack full of books, journals, and my computer. I flipped out Google Maps and decided I would go to where the map’s yellow-coded land information indicated the dense center of town. I found many interesting thrift stores, mom and pop bakeries, tabletop and computer gaming hangouts, and a copy of Pokemon Sun for $28.00 (which I did not buy).
Create a small rhythm. Once you can ride, enjoy the difference. Try something new. Embrace your excellence. Time and focus determine your reality.
Shadowfox cafe’s mascot Tommo sniffed me out as a friend. He sat on my table and sniffed around my space. Tommo let me pet him, gnawed on me a bit, and even tasted my English Breakfast Tea.
My destination was Oregon University. I stopped at coffee shops on the way to people watch and do company admin work, emails, etc. My path was partially determined by Pokemon Go, which I flipped open to find rare creatures from time to time.
Vero Coffee was a large doll-house estate converted into a two-story, dainty, airy and bright coffee shop. A perfect place to spend a few hours people watching and funnelling refills.
I sat outdoors on a small, two-table patio facing the main thoroughfare. People walked, biked, and drove by. A church for the science of christ (stfu) was directly across the street. I watched people come and go. Eventually, a girl joined me out on the patio. I felt an immense pressure against saying hello or speaking. When she did something like try to squeeze by, my reactions were jerk. I dislike this mode I can get into and it usually resists my attempts to calm myself. What I’ve found, though, is that actions speak louder than words — always. Try talking and the connection, if it is possible, will shine through and burn away everything fighting it. Any throw away line or question will elucidate both of your purposes and time will push you where you need to go.
I finally spoke. We conversed about plans for life, our recent past, struggles, travels; of cultural norms, of unease, loneliness, anger, and all of the little rocks and gems we clutch close and really just want to show everyone on the playground. We lifted each other up and shared motivation, which is always limitless and meant to be shared in everything you do. I learned that any stranger is dealing with struggles not so very different from my own put me at ease.
It seems you basically have to catch people in a beginners mindset or in a reflective state in order to connect with them. As I was writing this, a roommate and friend walked by my room and I greeted her warmly. She held my gaze for a moment and shifted right back forward and marched on like she had just seen a squirrel and was ready to move on with life. Cold. But, though it seems every time you attempt to reach out you get bit or find nothing, reaching out and finding something in someone, for 10 minutes or life, will remind you of why you reach out in the first place.
I entered this trip because things were getting really heavy. My worries and depression had been amplifying and the weight was hurting me. I was in a cycle and psychological trap.
I’m writing this here because I want to share my own story for the people I’ve been speaking with who are dealing with the same existential issues in their mid-late 20’s. I have one main message for you: everyone is in the same boat with you. If you reach out boldly, life will surprise you.
I lied on my back in thought. I reclined on a fallen redwood in the middle of luscious nature left to grow, carpet, die, and rebuild, undisturbed. It rained lightly and the moisture had soaked into the vegetation to its saturation point. Everything was teeming and dripping with fullness, making the forest’s greens glow. Lying prostrate, tilted toward an iron-grey sky, sense and sensibility burned off of my perspective like when an old film reel finishes on a projected screen, and in my head I played with my brain like spaceship controls. Now, this was Pod Racing. The grey skies melted endlessly into and reflected into themselves ad infinitum. In the foreground, the forest canopy leaves, symmetric structures, danced in nautilus-shapes and spirals on stretched and twisting branches. Under forest temple skies, I considered self infatuation, romance, narcissism, sadness, anger, targets and anchors, and nightmares. Log it. Pull it apart. Move on.
Hakone Open-Air Art Museum was built 50 years ago and is chiefly remarkable for its the infusion of the natural backdrop into the sculpture viewing experience. The sculptures themselves are very very cool. The integration of nature is next level. If you are a plant nerd, you will also have a good time. There's alot of attention to detail and they have little plaques documenting what species they have. The museum path is windy and long and reminds me of a zoo. I love zoos and I felt like a kid at a zoo... sprinting between exhibits, taking a second to feel them out, and then move.
Another Jedi Art Temple
"A walking tour should be gone upon alone, because freedom is of the essence; because you should be able to stop and go on, and follow this way or that, as the freak takes you; and because you must have your own pace, and neither trot alongside a champion walker, nor mince in time with a girl. And then you must be open to all impressions and let your thoughts take colour from what you see. You should be as a pipe for any wind to play upon ... He cannot tell whether he puts his knapsack on, or takes it off, with more delight. The excitement of the departure puts him in key for that of the arrival. Whatever he does is not only a reward in itself, but will be further rewarded in the sequel; and so pleasure leads on to pleasure in an endless chain … We become thus, in some sense, a centre of beauty; we are provocative of beauty, much as a gentle and sincere character is provocative of sincerity and gentleness in others. "
Japan is the contemporary art capital of the world. It shits on everything.
It shits on the Guggenheim.
It shits on London.
It shits on Washington DC.
There's still magic here.
The Descent ...
You descend into the Open Air Museum, down an escalator into a beautiful, mysterious glass corridor. I’ve seen this strange patterned stone construction in many buildings in Japan — especially their art museums. I’ve come to love it. It reminds me of the only magical stone structures I’ve encountered, and those are the Jedi temples various from Star Wars games, like Jedi Outcast or Dark Forces II.
I shall include pictures but leave out a play by play of the various exhibits. I want to include that they have an exhibit of 319 original Picassos (bruh), the "Symphonic Sculture” a tower of stained glass containing a spiral staircase to the top, and a legit public steam foot bath.
WeLoveHakoneArtMuseum
The only thing about Hakone which I regret is that I felt I stumbled into it too easily. There was no journey. I consumed it the way I consume my Facebook page — which I had to delete. Before I knew it, it was gone — like the world of Spirited Away. I appreciated the way that movie starts with a tunnel and this experience starts with one as well.
