it's all about choice.

For many years I've wanted as many choices as I could get.  Often I wasn't willing to give other people choices.  Well yes, I gave them 'choices', but it was really a list of bullet points that I came up with:
"Do you want A, B, C or none of the above.  Tell me quick, which one you want, or I'll come up with more choices."

When I gave people 'choices',it was really just a list of options.  Real freedom isn't a list of options: it is allowing the other person to tell you what it is that they need. 'Allowing' is the operative word in the previous sentence.  Most of the time I demanded a choice of the options that I gave  to other people.

In the other blog, you will still find a 'list' of options.  What you will also find in the other blog, is arguments to get you to come from my point of view.  

I still enjoy arguments, not everyone does.  If you enjoy arguments, go to the other blog.  If you want heartfelt serenity, stay here.  When I go into the 'shady space' here, I will do my best to bring 'the light' back inside.

It is not what I am accustomed to doing when I write.

This is going to be tough....

Playing Golf with Tiger Woods

 This weekend I said, “Happy Trails” to Kirstin and John. Will I ever see them again? Yes, but maybe not in the corporal sense. You never know what could happen.

Sometimes when people pass out of our lives, we can carry so much of them in our hearts that they will never die or go away. Other times in the mourning process, we mourn not for the person, but for ourselves; we want more of that person.

The Orange County Syndrome: “good enough, isn't good enough. I want more.”

Kirstin showed me her latest blog entry while I was at her house. I was so excited to read it on the computer that it was originally written on. It was, as everything she writes always is, a work of heartfelt beauty. Sharing writing with her is like playing golf with Tiger Woods; you feel honored, incapable and silly all the same time. If you're comfortable by being embarrassed, playing golf with Tiger Woods and sharing writing with Kirstin is the same thing.

The piece she wrote was entitled, “Celebration”. You can read it on snowbirdredux.com. It was about scattering ashes of loved ones that had passed.

 Kirstin's mother, Harriet was someone I knew. I do mourn her passing. I never really got enough of her, but that is probably more of my 'Orange County Syndrome'. If I had spent more time around Harriet, I'm sure she could have taught me the true meaning of joy. Joy is something I'm just now learning how to live with and express. I need to learn “ good enough should be good enough.”

 Kevin was Kirstin's son. I only met him a few times. It was like talking to all the exuberant witty and thoughtful parts of myself. Sometimes when you see parts of yourself in others, it makes you feel good about yourself. Other times when you meet someone with all your “less developed qualities,” you feel like a jerk. Kevin made me feel good about myself. Kevin's life on this planet was cut short, but he lives so vibrantly in the hearts of his mother and his sister, that his life is still inside of them.

I have friends and family that live in my heart too. I don't constantly mourn them because I still have so much of them that lives on inside of me. At my ripe old age, there are also people that are still alive now that I won't have to mourn too much when they die. So much of them will continue to live within me.

To effectively move through the mourning process, you need to get past the Orange County Syndrome. 'Good enough' is sometimes all you get. In the larger picture, that is all you're supposed to get. Otherwise, you don't appreciate what you had or what you have; you just want more.

How to learn to meditate

 “Church, you want to start going to church?” A moment of horror struck me when my former girlfriend Karlee mentioned this some 30 years ago.

“Christ, I hate going to church!” That's what I said 30 years ago. I don't hate church anymore: Sometimes it's fun, sometimes it's meaningful.

At the time, she suggested this endeavor, my religious activities were confined to Zen, sex, drugs and rock 'n roll; not always in that order.

“It doesn't have to be like it was when you were a kid. There are different kinds of churches,” she was making every effort to go easy on me.

“Let's try two churches and see which one you like,” she suggested.

“Well, all right...”

Both 'churches' were okay. One of them was a 'foundation.' By California law, a church must have a registered set of beliefs. The one that was classified as a foundation refused to do this. You can easily guess which one I liked best. Both of these places had meditation classes. “Hey, I can go for that!” I said at the time (maybe I could get out of church, if I took a meditation class at night).

I was doing my best to preserve this relationship with Karlee, she had weird ideas that were different from my weird ideas. Besides being stunningly beautiful, (what a schnoz this woman had!) she was a great talker. When I think of all the girlfriends in my life, she could out talk anyone. A lot of men hate this. I didn't. Still don't.

So anyway, I went to one of the classes at one of the churches. Man, it was cool. Esoteric head centered stuff was right up my alley. “Let's go to the other one!” I said. I'm getting into this now. I'm 23 years old. I'm the youngest 'FNG' (Fairly New Guy) in the class and getting a lot of support from the other people in the class. I don't think Karlee went to the second class, maybe she did. This was no longer about doing what she wanted. I wanted to learn to meditate. In any case, I walked into the second class at the other church, and there is this raving beautiful woman talking to the instructor, waving her hands, talking a mile a minute.

Oh, oh, focus, focus: “Lee, you've got a girlfriend quit looking at other women.” I can do this, I said to myself at the time and sat down in a metal folding chair.(Metal folding chairs are a good way to meditate. They keep you in your head.) I listened to this woman, but resisted looking at her. Then she stopped talking and leaned back into her chair. When she leaned back in her chair, in the seat next to her, was a much younger woman, still and poised. She was wearing a thick white ribbed sweater with red trim, nothing provocative. Although she was very young (at this point in my life, only older women were attractive to me) she was one of the most stunning women I had ever seen.

“So how is this going to work?” I remember saying to myself, “this must be some kind of a karmic test of my will.” I endured it. It was a struggle to sit through the class and not look at these two women.

After the class, the attractive older woman came up to me and introduced herself. “Hello my name is Kirsten... yada yada yada. This is my daughter, Muse.”

I don't remember much of that first conversation, except, trying not to make it obvious that I was gee-gawing both of them.

Where the heck was Karlee through all of this? I don't remember. But by God, I was determined to learn how to meditate. Damn the gunboats, full speed ahead. I consciously subsided any lower desires that I may have had while I was in class. Outside of class, well, I lost my composure. I would think about them: Kirstin's profuse verbal soliloquies, and Muse's stunning composure. How long did this go on? Years. At some point, I broke up with Karlee, not because of Kirstin or Muse, but because Karlee suspected I was having an affair with another attractive woman in class. (I was just friends with that woman also. Okay, sure, I thought about it. It was the plague of being a 20-some-year-old male.)

Referring back to the title “how to learn to meditate.” It's not about shutting things out. Take everything with you. Don't obsess, but on the other hand, don't deny perceptions. Everything has its place in human consciousness, just keep it in its place. Tough to do if you're a male in your 20's.

Sometime  during all of this, after Karlee was out of the picture, Muse and I went to the Orange Street Fair. She was a lot of fun to be around. She could easily flit from one thought to another. Her mother Kirstin on the other hand, was extremely focused and direct in her conversation. Muse and I were lounging on the grass on the traffic circle in Orange. At this point in Muse's life, she was probably still cute and pretty, not yet elevated to beautiful status. But hey, I'm in my 20's. It's worth a shot. I say something like, “How about if we have sex sometime?”

“Nah, I don't think so,” was Muse's reply, something simple and calm.

Now with most women in my life, when that question gets popped, there is an uncomfortable distance from there on out. Not so with Muse. On the way home from the street fair she was more comfortable, and talked with less inhibition. Once the ice was broken, it was free sailing. Most guys would say, “What a bummer...” Well, I was weird. Now I knew that Muse was weird too.

That was, and is, magic.

After 30 years, she still knows me better than anyone. We call each other 'friends'. I am really more of a fan and she is a celebrity. She does get ticked off when I put her on a pedestal.

Muse, I put a lot of woman on pedestals.

Take a number.

Get over it.

Thirty-some years later, Muse has become a beautiful wise sage. I'm always learning a lot from her. What could she possibly learn from me? Well, she could learn to take compliments a little more graciously...

Her mother Kirstin? I don't talk to her nearly as much as I talk to Muse these days. Kirstin writes a blog that I read every day. I can feel her heart and poetry in everything she writes. Is it just because I know her? I don't think so. This woman really can write. And honestly, even though her daughter is the Muse, Kirstin can take a lot of credit for putting me in front of this keyboard as much as I am.

Kirstin is moving far away to Minnesota. As long as she writes her blog, I can still be with her every day. I won't be saying 'good bye' to her this weekend when I go to her house, I'll just be saying 'Happy Trails.'

How to learn to Meditate? Your consciousness really can handle everything you've ever done. Our teacher used to say, “Conserve Substance, it has its limits. Utilize Consciousness, it is limitless.” If you are a 20 year old male, buck up dude. You'll eventually stop chasing tail, you'll start chasing rainbows and eventually the gold you find will be pure light. It may take 30 years, but dude, its one helluva ride.

Happy Trails.

Looking and Seeing

  Spirits don't talk to me. Sometimes I sense spirits, that's usually as far as it goes. Very rarely, there is a Voice that makes a statement. Most of the time this happens in a dream. The Voice is clear and calm. It says one sentence and then it is gone. This has happened maybe five times in my life, maybe more. I don't pay too much attention unless my own voice isn't yammering...

“How rare is that?”

(To borrow a phrase used often by two of my friends.)

Talking and speaking are different from one another too, just as looking and seeing are different. 'Looking' can be frantic or casual, you can do it with your mind or your eyeballs. Seeing is dynamic. It uses more of the senses than just sight.

Talking implies that there are two parties involved. Speaking can involve only one party. It is one thing to talk to yourself, quite another to 'speak' to one's self. Chew on that awhile.

(I'll talk, you chew.)

Recently someone read me the riot act for my 'sometimes less than kind verbal skills'. Most people hate being criticized. I will pay for criticism if I don't get it for free. I can 'hear' compliments, but I want to 'listen' to criticism.

Back to sometimes hearing a voice... No, it is not the voice of God. It's just some dude. I'm not going to worry or wonder where the voice comes from. I already have too many things to think about. (Hmm, maybe if I examined how I felt about 'things', I wouldn't 'think' about things so much. Just a thought...)

Anyway, the Voice caught me off guard yesterday. I was watching a movie. Four words interrupted the movie. I don't know where they came from,

“Stop looking, start living.”

The Voice didn't say, “stop watching, start living,” or“stop listening, start living.”

I know what I heard.

The Voice was not a commentary on the content of the movie. Nope, it just popped out of somewhere. As usual, when this voice spoke, I knew exactly what it meant...

Stop looking for ways to make things better, start absorbing life.

Stop looking for justification for not doing what you need to do.

Stop looking for what you want, live out your needs.

Stop looking, stop just observing and SEE.

Absorb what all your senses are telling you.

Look in the mind later, not first.

First and foremost, live your life.

It is the mind that looks. The eyes, working as the window to the soul, see. I feel blessed to have this voice speak to me on rare occasions. God help me if I heard voices all the time like some other people do.

Dang, considering how much I talk to myself, it could get 'real' noisy in here...

The Future: Driving with your fingers, Dancing with your feet

 When we were in high school, we would frequently discuss what the future would be like. Of course there would be flying cars, nearly everyone agreed on that point. “The government will invade our privacy. There will be mind control, etc. etc. etc.” We dreamed of flying cars, but had nightmares about the government.

There needed to be some indicator, one specific incident that would tell us the future had arrived. This was mine, “When you hear 'Stairway to Heaven' converted to muzak and played in the supermarket, that will be the future.” I came up with that indicator in 1972.The future arrived in 1977.

“The future is here!” I yelled in the store at that time. People looked at me strangely. Considering my long hair and beard, they probably thought I was stoned. I wasn't. (At least, not just then I wasn't.)

So that was that. Darn, the future was here, and no flying cars. The next 34 years, I twiddled my thumbs waiting for that technology. 2011 didn't exactly give me a flying car, but it was close. This Easter, I took a road trip to see my sister and my brother. The driver was me. My wife usually did the driving. She is now my ex-wife. So she wasn't in the picture this time. I was doing this trip solo, or so I told myself.

The Subaru is the first car that I have ever had that has cruise control. The Subaru, also unlike my other cars, has a CD player and a fairly good radio. Alone with AAA maps from the computer, a CD player and a loud radio, I started on my trip.

It was good at first. Listening to music, driving with my fingers and dancing with my feet. (Thanks to cruise control) 'Alone' is a space I am not accustomed to being in. Halfway to my sister's house, the directions started getting more difficult to follow.

“How am I going to do this alone?”

I picked up three hitchhikers. Not strangers and by no means navigators. They were three imaginary friends: Dorothy, Karlee, and Muse. Why those three women? Any of my male friends would have been just as concerned as I was about.' getting there' These three imaginary friends (that really do exist in flesh and blood) would be more concerned about, 'going there'. For these three: Dorothy, Karlee and Muse, the trip is more important than the destination.

Carly was invited aboard for her endless salty dog stories. I loved the way this woman could talk for hours. Dorothy was there for her caustic, outrageous humor, and Muse:Department of Esoteric Commentary and Psychological Evaluation.

Maybe the future is all about cheating and violating certain standards. My feet weren't enslaved by the petals on the floor. There was music and dancing inside of the car. And the really big cheat about my future: once you have real friends, no matter if they're in front of you are not, they can always be with you when you need them.

I continued to struggle with the computer map instructions, but I had friends, imaginary 'real' friends that laughed at me and with me. The Subaru really wouldn't have been big enough to fit all four of us comfortably. However, considering the size of my heart these days, I could have carried a busload of imaginary 'real' friends from the past and present, in that little four-cylinder flying car.

Thanks for Serving and Grandma Wendy will Have to Wait

 Oscar, my new tenant wears a hat that says “Pilot Classes of 1944.” When we were in the library today, a man came up to Oscar and said, “thanks for serving.” Thank you indeed Oscar.[refer to:Oscar Framed: Hanging in Process] Oscar and I also looked at more photographs today. We were both avid photographers at one time. He was interested in seeing some of my work. So I went and got some old photos to show him. He was more interested in content, I was more interested in technique.

There were two pictures, that really sparked some memories for me. The two photographic images incorporated the use of reflections: one in the glass of a framed print, the other in a mirror. Before writing, I chronicled my life with photographs. Some were snapshots, but only some. Most of the photographs I took were carefully composed. My life would have been different if I had taken as much care with my verbal communication as I did with taking pictures.

“Sometimes you just spew things out. Not everyone wants to hear that,” is what Muse said the other day. She was right. She's usually right when it comes to her observations of me.

Back to the photos... the one in the glass of the framed print shows an image of Muse and I in the reflection of the glass. My reflection shows me adjusting the light, she is posing for the picture. It really is a good picture, a black-and-white, taken almost 30 years ago.

When my girlfriend at the time, Karlee, saw the picture of Muse and I she was a little jealous, “You don't take pictures of us like that!”

“Okay, fine. Let's take some pictures,” and I got out the equipment.

It is also a good picture 30 years later. There's a big difference between the two photographs: The first picture is of Muse and me, I'm adjusting the light/ the second picture is of Karlee and me: I'm adjusting the light, and also being a jerk. You can see this in Karlee's face in the photograph.

“Sometimes when you talk to people, you're looking for a reaction, not a connection.”

That was Muse again: dead on the money with that statement, as usual.
 Here's what I did in the second photograph a long time ago. While I was setting it up, I kept talking to Karlee about the technique I used in the photograph of Muse and myself. I was waiting for a particularly contemptuous look on Karlee's face, then I snapped the picture. Jerk. I have been a jerk lots of times in my life.

That brings us to why grandma Wendy will have to wait.[Refer to: The Esoteric Heretic]After telling Muse with much excitement and pride about my new meditation technique, she said, “Have you forgiven yourself?”

Oops, there just when my balloon. This woman never fails to blow me out of the water, shoot me out of the sky or knock me off my feet. Just as Oscar is a veteran of World War II, Muse is a veteran of the many skirmishes that I have fought with myself. Sometimes she and I have been in the foxhole together, firing side-by-side. Sometimes she was commander-in-chief of the many battles I have fought with myself.

 I always hope that I'm there for her the way she has been for me. Oscar and the Muse are veterans with purple hearts, made of pure gold.

Thanks for serving.

 Grandma Wendy will have to wait...

 I need to forgive myself and adjust more than just the lights.