Geologists say that millions of years ago all the continents were connected. The Americas, Africa and Asia were bunched up in one large cluster and the rest of earth was covered by water. Slowly, the land masses spread apart and moved across the globe in a phenomenon known as continental drift. The continents still are moving at the same speed today. It's just that we can't see the movement because it is so slow.
Massive changes occur all around us that are imperceptible because of their speed. Two weeks ago I returned to my childhood home. I didn't stay long. In fact, I just stopped my car for a moment on the street in front of the small house in which I grew up. Two children were playing on the small front yard that seemed enormous to me when I was a child. As I sat in my car I realized how much things do change. I remembered my friend Alan and me running and chasing one another from one side of the yard to the other. Our jackets were unzipped and our noses were running but we didn't care.
As I watched those boys and pondered how it seemed like an eternity since I was their age an old woman walked toward my car. I recognized her as Mrs. O'Donnell, the neighbor who treated me so kindly years ago. I got out to say hello to her. Her expression was unchanged. I told her who I was and asked her to recall the many happy hours we spent together on her patio. A flicker of recognition lit in her eyes. She tilted her head sideways as if to get another angle on me. Finally, she said that she always knew I would turn out to be a pervert. Sitting there in my car watching those innocent boys playing in the yard – it was disgusting, she said.
Before I could protest she turned and walked away toward her house. I was devastated. She was dear to me and I had to put things right between us. So I got back in my car and drove slowly forward. She was standing at her mail box looking through the envelopes. I pulled up right beside her and blasted my car horn and sped off.
In my rearview mirror I could see my childhood home becoming smaller and more distant. And I could see Mrs. O'Donnell's mail fluttering down, landing like doves and gathering around her motionless body.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Nothingness
Eastern artists believe that their work should have space in it for viewers to fill. If it's too complete, if it leaves no room for interpretation, then those who view it cannot take an active part in understanding it. A water pitcher's clay form is not its essence; the empty space inside is what makes it useful. Similarly, good art allows beholders to enter the work and be in it, artist from the east believe.
That's why I love donuts. Not only are they delicious, but they're profound. Just think – a piece of fried dough is not a donut if it doesn't have a hole in the center. It's the negative space occupying a donut's middle that creates its essence. In other words, nothingness and donutness are synonymous.
If you quiet your thoughts and concentrate on the nothingness all around you, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, donuts appear everywhere. Amazing realizations will come as you meditate; the cavernous space filling the Mall of America is simply vast donutness. The volumes of air inside the Houston Astrodome are donutness.
Moving through space astounded and delighted by the swirling donut space all around you is a delicious way of life, especially when your favorites emerge from the void. Like the kind with sprinkles.
That's why I love donuts. Not only are they delicious, but they're profound. Just think – a piece of fried dough is not a donut if it doesn't have a hole in the center. It's the negative space occupying a donut's middle that creates its essence. In other words, nothingness and donutness are synonymous.
If you quiet your thoughts and concentrate on the nothingness all around you, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, donuts appear everywhere. Amazing realizations will come as you meditate; the cavernous space filling the Mall of America is simply vast donutness. The volumes of air inside the Houston Astrodome are donutness.
Moving through space astounded and delighted by the swirling donut space all around you is a delicious way of life, especially when your favorites emerge from the void. Like the kind with sprinkles.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Rain
Rather than the fancy teardrop shape we normally associate with raindrops, rain is round. That's because the sphere is geometry’s most efficient shape since it contains more volume for surface area than any other shape. So with their elastic nature, droplets of falling water naturally become spherical.
Not until dripping from gutters or running down windows does rain elongate into a teardrop shape. This is when rain becomes meaningful to people with poetic natures. If you're out in it, rain is just wet. But if you can be dry and look at it and maybe drink some special blend of tea, then it reminds you of tears and you can conjure up all your sad memories and believe that the whole world is crying for you.
Once when my friend Alan and I were having lunch at a little cafe downtown, the clouds thickened and went darker. As we ate rain began to fall. At first it just dotted the sidewalk out front with splotches. Then it picked pace and poured. The rain streamed down the cafe's front window like thousands of tears. Alan and I fell silent as we ate.
Soon the rain stopped and the clouds thinned and the sun shone through. Alan and I left the cafe feeling that something important had happened to us, like we had somehow changed. As we walked Alan said it was the rain. I think it was the four beers each.
Not until dripping from gutters or running down windows does rain elongate into a teardrop shape. This is when rain becomes meaningful to people with poetic natures. If you're out in it, rain is just wet. But if you can be dry and look at it and maybe drink some special blend of tea, then it reminds you of tears and you can conjure up all your sad memories and believe that the whole world is crying for you.
Once when my friend Alan and I were having lunch at a little cafe downtown, the clouds thickened and went darker. As we ate rain began to fall. At first it just dotted the sidewalk out front with splotches. Then it picked pace and poured. The rain streamed down the cafe's front window like thousands of tears. Alan and I fell silent as we ate.
Soon the rain stopped and the clouds thinned and the sun shone through. Alan and I left the cafe feeling that something important had happened to us, like we had somehow changed. As we walked Alan said it was the rain. I think it was the four beers each.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Convenience
Humans are self-maximalizing creatures. Whatever requires the least effort and produces the greatest result is the best way for us. It’s not that we’re lazy; our evolution as a species owes much to our self-maximalizing nature, in fact.
That's why I wear nothing but swimming trunks - the kind with the built-in underpants. Men's swimming trunks are the ultimate garment because they've got the underpants right in them.
Convenience stores are a great help, too. My friend Alan and I were on our way to a little get-together one evening and needed to pick up ice and snacks for our host. As I was deciding between the 8-pound bag and the 16-pounder, Alan began a conversation with the cashier. Alan had noticed this person's unusual name on his nametag and Alan just loves to find out where people are from - it's sort of a hobby for him. Just as kids in a car search for license plates from different states, Alan likes to collect chats with people from foreign lands.
Alan asked the cashier where he was from and it sounded as if the fellow said, “Souvlakia.” Alan remarked that he’d never heard of the country and thought that Souvlakia was a Greek dessert. The man behind the counter said that, no, it wasn't a dessert at all. In fact, he went on to say that the average temperature of Souvlakia is quite cool that there's not so much sand.
Alan stood silently beside me as I paid for the ice and the music in the store played.
That's why I wear nothing but swimming trunks - the kind with the built-in underpants. Men's swimming trunks are the ultimate garment because they've got the underpants right in them.
Convenience stores are a great help, too. My friend Alan and I were on our way to a little get-together one evening and needed to pick up ice and snacks for our host. As I was deciding between the 8-pound bag and the 16-pounder, Alan began a conversation with the cashier. Alan had noticed this person's unusual name on his nametag and Alan just loves to find out where people are from - it's sort of a hobby for him. Just as kids in a car search for license plates from different states, Alan likes to collect chats with people from foreign lands.
Alan asked the cashier where he was from and it sounded as if the fellow said, “Souvlakia.” Alan remarked that he’d never heard of the country and thought that Souvlakia was a Greek dessert. The man behind the counter said that, no, it wasn't a dessert at all. In fact, he went on to say that the average temperature of Souvlakia is quite cool that there's not so much sand.
Alan stood silently beside me as I paid for the ice and the music in the store played.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Names
Names greatly influence how we feel about people. We assume that a guy named "Nick" will be much cooler than a guy named "Norbert." This is terribly unfair, of course. That’s why nicknames are so important; nicknames give us the chance to rename someone based on their true character. After all, you know exactly what to expect before you meet a guy nicknamed "No-Neck."
Certain ancient cultures have known this for ages. A Native American tribal custom is to take a name later in life that signifies a certain talent or favorable trait. A name such as Running Wind means so much more than, say, Phil. Probably a guy named Running Wind runs fast or never stays anywhere long. Maybe he moves quietly and invisibly. Phil, who knows?
Once when he was traveling out west, my friend Alan met a real Native American in an airport. They chatted for a time and, according to Alan, found great common ground between them. Alan said they became so close, in fact, that this Native American revealed his own authentic tribal name to Alan, which is something done only with intimate friends, apparently. This man said his tribal name was 'Frequent Flyer.' What a coincidence to meet him in an airport, I thought.
Alan said that the Native American man then gave Alan his own tribal name, which according to this man, is another sign of intimacy. He named Alan “Squinting Nipples.” Alan, of course, was very proud of this.
When I asked Alan what Squinting Nipples meant he told me that the Native American man defined it as “he who sees with his heart.” That's nice. But I think the name means "he who bothers nice Native American person at the airport."
Certain ancient cultures have known this for ages. A Native American tribal custom is to take a name later in life that signifies a certain talent or favorable trait. A name such as Running Wind means so much more than, say, Phil. Probably a guy named Running Wind runs fast or never stays anywhere long. Maybe he moves quietly and invisibly. Phil, who knows?
Once when he was traveling out west, my friend Alan met a real Native American in an airport. They chatted for a time and, according to Alan, found great common ground between them. Alan said they became so close, in fact, that this Native American revealed his own authentic tribal name to Alan, which is something done only with intimate friends, apparently. This man said his tribal name was 'Frequent Flyer.' What a coincidence to meet him in an airport, I thought.
Alan said that the Native American man then gave Alan his own tribal name, which according to this man, is another sign of intimacy. He named Alan “Squinting Nipples.” Alan, of course, was very proud of this.
When I asked Alan what Squinting Nipples meant he told me that the Native American man defined it as “he who sees with his heart.” That's nice. But I think the name means "he who bothers nice Native American person at the airport."
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Opera
The process of human communication is a miraculous thing. How we use words, body language and tone of voice to exchange ideas and emotions is highly evolved and complex.
Take the word 'stop' for example. You can say, "Stop!" very urgently to a person punching you in the head indicating that you would like the punching of your head to continue no longer. On the other hand, you can also say, "Stop ..." with a smile and a flip of your wrist when someone is complimenting you and it means to please continue. How we use our voices often carries as much meaning as the words we chose.
Opera singers are good at this. Everything they sing sounds so dramatic. I went to the opera once with my friend Alan. I don't understand Italian but Alan does, so he told me what the singers were saying as the opera progressed. This one opera guy was singing like his heart was breaking right before us. His performance was so emotional that it drove me to tears.
Still sobbing, I turned expectantly to Alan after the big crescendo to discover what tragedy had befallen the hero. Alan told me that he was singing about how he likes his bath warm but not too hot, and how you just can't get good prosciutto in Tuscany. I felt dumb for having cried but, boy, that guy could sing.
Take the word 'stop' for example. You can say, "Stop!" very urgently to a person punching you in the head indicating that you would like the punching of your head to continue no longer. On the other hand, you can also say, "Stop ..." with a smile and a flip of your wrist when someone is complimenting you and it means to please continue. How we use our voices often carries as much meaning as the words we chose.
Opera singers are good at this. Everything they sing sounds so dramatic. I went to the opera once with my friend Alan. I don't understand Italian but Alan does, so he told me what the singers were saying as the opera progressed. This one opera guy was singing like his heart was breaking right before us. His performance was so emotional that it drove me to tears.
Still sobbing, I turned expectantly to Alan after the big crescendo to discover what tragedy had befallen the hero. Alan told me that he was singing about how he likes his bath warm but not too hot, and how you just can't get good prosciutto in Tuscany. I felt dumb for having cried but, boy, that guy could sing.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Wisdom
Seeing for yourself the great expanse of the Grand Canyon is a life-changing event. The canyon's enormity and the strength of the forces that created it are so huge that there is no way to see it and not feel different about your self. Niagara Falls causes the same reaction; you feel smaller and humble.
My friend Alan has plastic souvenirs from these two landmarks. He displays them proudly on his mantle. At a small gathering he once threw, another guest asked about the significance of the chintzy objects over his fireplace. Alan's chest filled with pride as he took them in hand. As he described his feelings about The Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls, all other conversations quietly died down. Alan was so emphatic about his descriptions that he was impossible to ignore.
He told of how he went to these places as a younger man searching for meaning. The great hidden truths were locked in these places of geological wonder, Alan felt, and he believed he discovered their keys. Life was not about the fantastic, Alan told us, it was about appreciating the everyday. Witnessing the enormity of The Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls revealed to him that there is wonder in everything, no matter how insignificant. You just have to look.
You can imagine the effect this had on his party. Some guests were hugging and weeping while others just simply sat and smiled with the contentment of true wisdom. As I was beginning to see Alan's point, I noticed that he was gone from the room. All of us were so focused on what we had learned that he left unnoticed.
Together we all looked excitedly through the house for Alan. Was he gazing at the fish swimming languidly in his aquarium? Was he staring deeply into a piece of wheat bread to discover its complex surface? Where was he? We found him in the den trying on all our coats.
My friend Alan has plastic souvenirs from these two landmarks. He displays them proudly on his mantle. At a small gathering he once threw, another guest asked about the significance of the chintzy objects over his fireplace. Alan's chest filled with pride as he took them in hand. As he described his feelings about The Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls, all other conversations quietly died down. Alan was so emphatic about his descriptions that he was impossible to ignore.
He told of how he went to these places as a younger man searching for meaning. The great hidden truths were locked in these places of geological wonder, Alan felt, and he believed he discovered their keys. Life was not about the fantastic, Alan told us, it was about appreciating the everyday. Witnessing the enormity of The Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls revealed to him that there is wonder in everything, no matter how insignificant. You just have to look.
You can imagine the effect this had on his party. Some guests were hugging and weeping while others just simply sat and smiled with the contentment of true wisdom. As I was beginning to see Alan's point, I noticed that he was gone from the room. All of us were so focused on what we had learned that he left unnoticed.
Together we all looked excitedly through the house for Alan. Was he gazing at the fish swimming languidly in his aquarium? Was he staring deeply into a piece of wheat bread to discover its complex surface? Where was he? We found him in the den trying on all our coats.
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