![]() |
Reason Stewvirtual sightings of plausible explanations |
![]() |
Abroaddel.icio.usengadget waxy links TechCrunch Google News CNN US News RefDesk The Onion EurekAlert Science Update Wayne's Word ARTSnLETTERS uncyclopedia votsUltimate Valley Buses Glendale Lib Phx Lib IFP/PHX phx movies IMDb usaa B of A cox aps Visiting Angels Daily Zen Daily Joke Daily Word Yahoo's Picks WorldWideWords eSlang AcronymFinder urban dict. Wikipedia milk-n-cookies fan & ball Yeti sports moock nuno mira macroMike quasimondo nerdgurl Molly Ward AboardedP postWP post edP blog WP blog edParadigm helm bookmarks myFlash lagomorté archives resumé Aztec cocoa fingerstyle sans azwaldo bioblogy entomoblogy False Teeth Nestle Creek |
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Reading "Zen Flesh, Zen Bones" is like sitting on a bench in a park overlooking a sailboat race: You watch first this boat, then that one, noting lines and shapes and colors; Your focus moves from one to another and then another in short turns and gusts; Soon you are studying the group as a whole, glimpsing patterns in design or trends in movement; Then one boat slows your attention and the dance nearly stops so that you can begin to project yourself out over the water until the deck rolls slippery beneath foot sense, and coarse rope pulls at your mind's hand, and you imagine actually balancing such forces of wind, water, and waves.
Reading "The Three Pillars of Zen" is like building a sailboat. posted at 2:56 AM | link Monday, September 20, 2004
How fragile I must be.
I was stuck in a horrific mope. A recent consulting job fell out in a ten-day spasm of frustration and false accusations. Bit of hubris in that: I had become quite pleased with the work I was doing, and all the money I was receiving. The sudden change dashed a plan to move from my father's house into a place of my own. On top of this I had not seen my younger son in over six weeks. Various attempts to spend time with Ian had failed. "Dad" just might not fit any more - at least not in the same way. Fast food feeding and massive doses of chocolate ensued. The cable-TV remote became my prosthetic will. I had forgotten my current mantra: Happiness is overrated, aim for contentment. (This is - despite the sound of it - optimistic on my part if only for being realistic. If, in the balance, "all is well" or "things turn out alright in the end" then one has beaten the odds.) Quite stuck. Then my son called. We spoke that day for over an hour. Found the gumption later to get off my ass and do something. I may not be working, I may not be writing, but I am now volunteering at the local Democratic campaign headquarters. First time I have been politically active. (The Bush administration is criminal - I hope enough people realize this in time.) In any case, once again, I am content. posted at 2:22 AM | link
|
![]() |