318/365

falling into the well of the
bookshelf again hoping
to find a bit of inspiration
before landing with a thud
at the bottom empty handed,
i thumb the spines, plucking
a random buddhist title
gathering dust and growing mold
on the engaged spiritual life.
apparently this type of growth
does not blossom by simply living.
passing decades and satchels of pain
alone are not remedies for understanding
the simplest truths. the pink highlighted
passages exclaimed with marks
taunting me with cruel reminders:
you gotta do the work in the well-
don’t ask what the world needs.
ask yourself what makes you come alive,
and go do that, because what the world needs
is people who have come alive.

putting the book back on the shelf
its work done, i’m left thinking:
when will i finally learn to listen?

275/365

bought a blue checkered blazer
and a red tie at the mall today,
for a wedding next week,
as well as a bottle of gin and
another one of makers mark.
not sure if this makes me feel old
or relevant. another paradox:
like long silver hair, tattoos
and a gut. mid-life straddlin’
the past and the future-
what coulda beens versus
what still might be’s.

the ice cubes clanking to the bottom
of a plastic glass. the frantic fizz of
root beer fills the room. every
carbonated bubble exploding
like a paparazzi of flashbulbs.

this should be a commercial.
this should be a movie scene.
this should be a photograph.

sometimes the cat jumps
on the couch wanting desperately
to be pet. vibrating with a purr
so that all you can do is rest the urge
to squeeze her till her bones break
from love. slow down. a gentle rub
of her nose. ears between your fingers.
her eyes closing. her throat shaking
with the acceptance of love.

maybe all it needs to be is
an appreciation of the moment.
an awareness that we are here
and alive and mindful enough
to be present to remember
just long enough so that
life might become this poem.

218/365

it’s unfortunate
so much anxiety
is tethered to unknown,
uncertain futures.

everyone tangling themselves
into tight tangled knots
over what might be.

planning for predictions
and projections.
prognosticators with a
disappointing tolerance
for ambiguity.

it’s one thing to be prepared
with contingencies
and strategic plans,

but somewhere an elephant rubs against an acacia tree,
a squadron off manta rays pull up to a cleaning station
and the giant redwoods wind a different kind of clock.

be.
here.
now.

is the only wellbeing
session you will need.

185/365

show me something
you don’t hurry
and i’ll show
you love.

hands in dough
voices wrestling in the head,
that’s the way the world
keeps on happening.
be interested in it,
the highlighted passages
coalescing with a defiant
urge to be done with it already.

how might he perform
the acts of his life
without desire?

the word enthusiasm
originates from the greek
            eνθουσιασμός
            from ἐν and θεός
            and οὐσία,
meaning possessed
by [a] god's essence.

the purple book
with brown paper bag pages
sitting on his father’s shelf
as a child, taught him all
he ever needed to learn:
            be here now.

there’s no better feeling
than hearing a song,
            you know will mess
            with your organs,
for the first time.  
like the perfect friend
you’ve been needing to meet.

show me something
you don’t hurry
and i’ll show
you love.

181/365

he wanted to be free
of the bondage
of his own identity.

twelve words
highlighted orange
in the book a friend
gave him.
 
a dim dark room
exhausted from
the bombardment
of perceptions
from the outside word.

the best mirror
the insides of eyelids,
the anchoring of breath
the quiet solitude
of a resting ear drum,
the idle tongue,
hands folded together
into a simple mudra.

the voice in his head
never stopping
incessantly chattering:

what?
what is it you want
to say so badly?
if you’re going
to make so much noise,
demand so much attention,
then say something worthwhile.

a gentle hum.
a quiet vibration.
freedom is always near.

137/365

the young man scoffs
at the middle way.
everything in moderation
feels like a cop out.
the chav more prone to
intemperance
than impermanence.

gautama awoke
and set forth the
wheel of dharma
steer clear of the
extremes,
his whispers buried
in the highlighted
passages of well-worn books.

but there has always been
more than one book
upon the young man’s shelves:

the road of excess leads
to the palace of wisdom;
for we never know
what is enough until
we know what is
more than enough.

the edge
there is no honest way
to explain it because
the only people
who really know
where it is
are the ones
who have gone over.

what use does the
middle aged man
have for the edge
and the excess
needed to find it?

don't go in and hide;
don't come out and shine;
stand stock-still in the middle.

136/365

all i can do
is sit in this
single moment,
naming each
emotion as it falls
as a disparate stone
into this yawning well;
echoes and ripples
disrupting the otherwise
silent gloaming.

desperate to detach from
the need to control,
attachment being
the root of suffering,
or so they say.

it is loud
to hear
what we
are silent about,
but what can
privilege
possibly have
to worry about?

the world
is collapsing
in on itself
in the gaza strip,
and i may have
to do my job
via a computer
for a few weeks.

echoes and ripples.
single moments.
disparate stones.
yawning wells.
the gloaming.
a collapsing world.
the root of suffering.
the need to control.

it is loud
to hear
what we
are silent about:
the sound of oppression
is booming.

all i can do
is sit in this
single moment
and selfishly
write about
myself again
instead of them.

what can
privilege
possibly have
to worry about?

myself again instead of them.
myself again instead of them.
myself again instead of them.
 

83/365

how do i tend my demons
the young man wondered?
wash your dish, the old man said.

washing the dishes
is like bathing a baby
buddha.

will i ever love and be loved
the young man pondered?
wash your dish, the old man said.

the profane is the sacred.
everyday mind is buddha’s mind.

why can’t i be accepted for who i am
the young man thought?
wash your dish, the old man said.

the idea that doing dishes is unpleasant
only occurs to us when we are not doing them.

what can i do with all this anger
the young man mused?
wash your dish, the old man said.

each thought, each action
in the sunlight of awareness becomes sacred.

when might i be satisfied and find enough
the young man considered?
wash your dish, the old man said.

while washing the dishes
you should only be washing the dishes,
which means that while washing the dishes
you should be completely aware of the fact
that you are washing the dishes.

when i was thirteen
i asked my dad to teach me.
he asked, “have you eaten dinner?”
i replied, “yes, i have."
“then go wash your dish,” he said.

the advice felt lazy to me as a kid,
especially in a house with a sink full of dishes.

but now leaning toward fifty
when i’m standing at the sink
i think of my old man.

What A Girl Is

Everyone says that learning from mistakes is the best way to learn, but it can be frustrating as hell, especially when you look back at the mistake and it feels idiotic and so obvious. I guess the key is not to repeat the mistake you learn from. Today was a pretty mellow day of putting out my first tiny fire, with success I might add, and making sure that our team is ready for tomorrow. There are only so many times you can check and double check the details and I am pretty sure we are good to go.


Whether as a kid or a teacher, I have always loved the first day of school. And now as a parent there is an added level of excitement. It is such a time of hope and positive energy. Seeing old friends, meeting new teachers, we all set such lofty goals. There is a buzz in the air throughout the day, and it is a buzz that fuels me.


…


Didn’t get up to much today. Took the girls to basketball and apparently after Skye lost control of the ball while dribbling in a scrimmage, some little boy made a comment about how she’s not strong enough to play basketball. What the hell right? Where does this masculinity come from that is so determined to put down girls?


Kaia and Skye fell in love with this show on the Disney channel called Liv and Maddie this summer. It is cute and funny and sends a pretty good message. The other day there was an episode about how boys rate girls at school and the main characters creates a song telling boys that girls aren’t a “number” and that they don’t need the boys’ unsolicited advice. So after today’s incident Skye was able to make the connection with what that boy said and the lyrics from What a Girl Is:


“On a scale from 1 to 10, I am perfect like I am.
I don't need your number, we don't need your number.
And the stupid magazines, want me to change my everything.
It don't even matter, they're not taking my power.
I'm so over all of these voices around,
They've said enough it's my turn let's get loud.
I'll show you what a girl is, 'cause all of me is perfect.”


We were putting together some Lego and listening to the song and she said, “Next time, I will just tell the boy that I don’t need your opinion, thank you. Please just leave me alone.” #thatsmygirl


In somewhat related news, I am reading Jon Krakauer’s late about rape culture on college campuses and Mairin and I decided that the girls need to go to an all girls' school. My god! What a world women need to navigate. Good thing Skye is starting early by taking control of her body.


…


After some work at school, basketball practice, and making Lego, we headed out to a quick dinner at Brewerkz and the girls were asleep by 7:30. Now it is time to relax a bit before the big day.


I was talking to my mom today about all the weird mojo in my universe right now and the pain and suffering so many people around me are experiencing and she said, “It can be hard to face, but this is it. This is life. No one says it is easy, but we live it and try to make our way as best we can. Have a good conversation with yourself and ground yourself so you can move on.”

What A Day

Last night was long and cold. I slept on a mattress on the ground with a sheet and when I went to sleep it was too hot to breath. I though I had imagined a blanket in the bathroom, but didn’t think twice about grabbing it. At some point in the night, I am guessing around 3am, I was freezing. My initial thoughts were to simply curl up in the sheets, as the thought of venturing into the darkness to grab the blanket felt like too big of a chore; I chose to suffer instead. I am not sure why this decision to allow myself to freeze felt like the right choice, but for at lead an hour I lay motionless in the darkness under a sheet freezing. Until of course, Kaia woke up and said she was cold. She was also sleeping on the floor on a mattress.


She decided to jump in bed with Mairin and Skye right after I got her the blanket. So finally, I was saved. I jumped back on my mattress and quickly allowed myself to be swallowed by it. I fell in and out of a shallow sleep until the morning.


What a day. We started with a nice breakfast and then we packed a lunch and headed to The Narrows- a thirty minute hike up the creek to a nice deep pool with a rock slide. The water was freezing, but the sun was so hot and perfect that we spent a large part of our day there. Skye was beyond adventurous and was always the first onion the water and even led the hike for most of the time. Kaia was a bit more cautious and was freaked out, I think, by the coldness of the water. I have rarely seen her so far from her comfort zone. Eventually, we all got in and had a good swim and delicious lunch. Alas, no photos as I was trying to be disconnected and device free.


A bit of down time and back at the baths. I was alone tonight, and although I only had twenty minutes, I took the time to walk down to the creek after the sauna and even fit in a quick mediation sitting on the deck by myself. These are the things I miss most about the states. The opportunity one has to be alone in nature. If we lived in the states, I would do so much camping and adventure nature stuff. Or at least, that is what I tell myself. Today was brilliant just walking along this creek with the the girls, my wife and my mom. All of us walking under the sun, skin toasted and brown, the gravel beneath our feet. Miles away from the chaos of the world with little to do but eat, swim, sleep.


It’s not all relaxing here however. Being at a remote Zen retreat with two young children can be nerve racking. There are an eclectic group of guests here, walking around in various states of quiet. So even room level conversations between two kids under ten, sounds a few decibels too high. There have been a lot of shushes and be quiets, but overall the girls have been great.


After dinner, they both went to the baths for a second time with my mom, while I attended a dharma talk by the head of this Zen Center. Her message was a simple one: when it feels like there are hundreds, thousands or even millions of things coming at you at once- don’t try to control any of it. We are the universe in its entirety. We are the freedom and the entanglement. So the more we sit and trust that the universe will work itself out, the more we will see that it will.


The mood of the talk was nice. Dim lights, robes, bells, chants and her calming voice in the semi- darkness.


Tonight I am armed and prepared for the darkness. Although it feels too hot to sleep, I will prepare not one but two blankest for the pre-dawn frost, I am certain will come. In the morning we will eat breakfast and get back on the crazy long road back to the coast and civilization. We will spend the day and one night in Monterrey with my mom, before we head north again.


I am just so proud of her for being here and living here and processing here. It is a special place and I am so happy that we made the drive and were able to experience it with her.


I am now thinking when in my life, I might be able to spend a substantial amount of time here. It might have to be years after the girls have grown up. I may have to wait for the rest of my life to present me with the opportunity, but I look at my mom and see how patient and persistent she has been, and I am hopeful.


Someday, I will come back and spend at least a few weeks here.

Plunge

I was up at five forty-five when the early alarm went off. We had a big day of travel and I was awake and couldn’t sleep. Once we had the car loaded, the kids fed and everyone ready to go- we were only twenty minutes behind schedule. A quick coffee and we were on the 580 headed toward the Oakland, Gilroy, Salinas and eventually Carmel Valley and Tassajara.

The city driving was boring and uneventful. Pockets of traffic kept the ride through the industrial wasteland and strip malls unimpressive. Things got a bit better after San Jose, but the real adventure started once we hit the dirt rode about ten miles outside of Carmel Valley, a quaint little village off the coast at the foot of the Los Pedros mountains and state park. I was expecting a rough but relatively short winding rode, but man! We were really in the middle of nowhere. nearly two hours later, we were about to turn back, certain that we had somehow taken a wrong turn. There was no way that the Tassajara Zen Center could actually be this remote. But after seeing the first car in nearly two hours, and asking directions, we realized that we were indeed on the right track.

It must have been nearly a hundred degrees when we arrived, but this was stunning country. Our car was blanketed with dust and we were a bit rough around the edges, but watching the girls run up and hug my mom made it all worth it. Kaia is nearly has tall as Mahin which is strange to say the least. We had a quick lunch of bread, corn chowder and kale salad before we headed up the creek to fund a nice swim hole.

Despite everyone being nearly baked alive all day, it took awhile to acclimate to the freezing water. After passing two deer, we found a nice spot that was deep enough to swim, so we enjoyed the setting early evening sun. All I could think about was how much Jenn would love this place.

Back at the center, we all took a bath at the communal, Japanese bath house. The girls on one side and me alone on the other. There is a natural spring plunge bath, a sauna, a cool bath and access down to the creek.

Clothing is optional. And while a few older gentlemen sat on the porch chatting away in front of the creek, I stripped down and had a great cold shower, a hot plunge and a cool off shower before we headed for dinner.

Dinner! Wow. Thai veggie curry, rice, some peanut sauce and BBQ tofu, cabbage and I think a rhubarb salad with onions. Finished off by a peach cobbler and a coffee. I ate so much that I had a hard time getting up.

After dinner, my mom showed us around- meditation hall, the woodshop, library and her tiny cute little room just off the creek. I can’t believe that she is finally here. She has been wanting to live here for years and to see her finish off her first year and be able to share that with her is amazing. The people here so far are so calm and kind. Lots of smiles and bows and introductions.

So that’s day one. It is nearly ten pm and it is still pretty warm. No fan. No AC. There was a mix up with our room, so we are all four crammed in a pretty tight space, but once I stop to think about the fact that we are about two hours in the heart of the California wilderness, everything feels okay.

Did I mention that Kaia was so impressed with the bath house that she and my mom are there as I type these words? I think back to the times I spent with my grandmother and how special they seem even now. The two of them must be so happy to be sitting along the creek, in a hot plunge pool whispering whatever it is that grandmothers and their granddaughters discuss. They have a lot to catch up on and to know that they are able to do it in this setting, on this night, fills be with unnameable joy.

We Give In. We Push.

I voted today. For the first time. Ever.

Well, that’s not true. I tried to get an absentee ballot in 2004, but I think my Nader vote got lost somewhere in the mail. But today, I am pretty sure I completed the Global Primary procedure correctly and for the first time, in my life, I was able to see past my cynicism of American politics. I voted!

For the first time in my life there is a candidate who champions my values: equality, diversity, closing the income gap, universal healthcare, concern for the environment, a peaceful and diplomatic foreign policy. I have found an anti-corporate leftist, liberal, progressive, tree hugging, socialist running for the President of the USA.

There is still a long way until in June, and in the back of my mind I am still convinced that there is no way the American ruling class will allow such a candidate represent the American working class. Somehow, Clinton will squirm her way back into the lead and she will most likely be the candidate for the DNC, but for now if I can help Bernie in anyway, I am going to ehlp. And for the first time in my life, I feel empowered that my vote is a step in that direction.

For the first time, I feel a part of the American democratic experience. This feeling of hope and empowerment has to mean something to the progressive movement. It feels like we might actually have a voice in the void created by decades of Reaganesque Neo-Liberal policies that have gutted the American middle class.

I do not feel nearly as strongly about Clinton, and I am not sure if I will vote for her if she becomes the candidate. I most likely will, but it is imprint to state that my vote today was not for the DNC, but for Bernie Sanders and I think there is a difference. Clinton will get my vote because the idea of a Republican presidency is too terrifying, but I am not at all inspired by another four years of Clinton in The White House.

Wow. That cynicism creeps up quickly. This was meant to be a post about joy and hope and empowerment. I voted today because I #feeltheburn. I hope I am scalded by it for months to come. I would love to see Bernie go up against any of the asshats from the GOP. I am hopeful that although America is divided and disillusioned, when push comes to shove, we will prove to be a nation of kindness and compassion, and that we will elect a leader who will try to help the majority Americans instead of blaming our problems on other people.

…

Happy International Women’s Day to anyone who has had the privilege of knowing, loving, working with, raising, being, or learning from a powerful independent woman. I have been privileged to have known so many such women.

I am thankful for your consistent guidance, your unwavering patience, and unflinching battle for equality. As a man, I know my understanding of my privilege has taken me a lifetime to internalize. I have had to come to terms with my own insecurities to truly empathize with the plight and frustration of not only the women in my life, but all women worldwide.

I have been lucky to learn about women from girlfriends, bosses, teachers, co-workers, friends, students, my children and of course Mairin. I know that I am far from being a worthy son, father, friend or husband, but I am also aware enough to understand that like all education, becoming a useful feminist is a lifelong commitment.

We read, we talk, we teach, we observe, we empathize, we question, we explore, we travel, we apologize, we give in, we push, we are grateful for the opportunity to work toward equality for all.

…

Reminder to self- Slow down. Breathe. Enjoy the small moments. It will all get done. Get more sleep. Drink more water. Smile. Don’t be so grumpy. Play your guitar more often and set up an open mic, it has been too long. Get back to the novel now that things are settling down. Clean your desk it will help clean your mind.

Another Day

Another day. Another round of classes and meetings and announcements and briefings and emails and conversations about important things and not so important things and reading the news and worthless gossip and Trump and Sanders and Clinton and Leo.


Another day. Another round of broken fleeting thoughts and balloons deflating in the globe and massive clouds and delicious salads at lunch and cheese-less pizza with olives and chili flakes and everyone’s crusts.


Another day. Another round of sore shoulders and crackling bones and wrists that might not make it to the end and aching muscles because of over use or others in a state of constant entropy.


Another day. Another round of reading essays and commenting on leads and evidence and relevance of big ideas and getting kids excited about words and ideas and books and literary magazines and the future.


Another day. Another round of small talk and hallway smiles and “how’s it goings,” only so we can all lament on how busy we all are, or how much we are looking forward to the next break or how exhausting it all is.


Another day. Another round of watching the first touch rugby game and sitting out in the sun wishing that she could be a bit more aggressive and competitive and run a bit faster and come quicker to the ball, only to wonder why any of those traits will ever be useful. Thinking it is a dog-eat-dog world, but none of us are dogs.


Another day. Another round of being too tired to interact with Skyelar when we get home and falling asleep on the couch as they finish up dinner and making another promises to carve out more time to be a friend and a model and a father and less of a parent.


Another day. Another blank page and me and you and these words.

…

I want to drink more water. Worry less and take sides less often. I want to go with the flow and not be too bothered by the options of the internet. I want to smile more and compliment people without feeling self-conscious. I want to want less.

…

There are a lot of things coming up that I am looking forward to. I know I should be living in the now, but here is a quick look- Friday drinks and Frisbee Golf, Death Cab for Cutie show next week, Beer Craft things, Singapore Professional Wrestling, Persian New Year, a trip to Koh Lipe, possible Triathlon to name a few…..

Here to There

My feet don’t like shoes and rarely feel comfortable in socks. They have been married to Rainbow Hemp flip-flops for at least five years. The bottom of my feet are worn and calloused and usually dry. They have created a thick later of dead skin just in case the flip-flops wear out. A home made armor of sorts. They love the touch of sand and the salty sea. They feel the burn of the hot concrete at pool’s edge. They’re not pretty. And they’re not meant to be. They’ve been around and have served me well.

The pinkies are disappearing. It’s like they have an evolutionary head-start and could be gone in my lifetime. They shed the pinky-nails years ago. Now they’re just stumps with a clump of calcium at the tips. They both fold under the nearest toe like runty piglets snuggling for shelter. The nails on the big toes are made of stronger stuff. They are currently coated with specks of weeks old golden nail polish. They like to be lacquered, usually in black, somehow makes them feel more masculine when in polish. They’re saying, "yeah we are wearing ladies paint, but damn it, look at us- we are rugged and can walk miles in bare-feet. We have been to nearly every continent and recently learned how to run long distances. We can do anything."

My feet are covered with large veins and hairier than I remember. Small tufts on every knuckle and a bigger patch on the crown. As a teenager, I suffered from long-term athlete's foot, which was ironic because I rarely associated myself with athletes. For years, I tried to rid myself of the fungus, apparently all I needed was a good pair of flip-flops and the open air. The skin between my toes is drier now and crackles like a reptile’s, the way I imagine a good foot should. One toenail has inexplicably turned black. It doesn’t hurt, so I am hopeful it will not fall off and cause me pain or intervene with my running schedule.

I have been an American size ten and a half since I was in high school and my left foot is almost a half size bigger than my right, so it is more like an eleven. When I have to wear shoes, my feet prefer Vans, though they miss Doc Martin boots. At the moment I have three pairs of shoes- one pair are brand new and the other two are in various states of decay. My feet wear shoes until they fall apart. They never wear leather.

My feet like to hike and trek and stand on paddle boards. They wish that they could have learned to surf, and although they feel cramped they miss being shoved into fins. They have never climbed a mountain and are wondering what the hell we are waiting for. Mount Kenya is right there they tell me every time we go to Daraja.

My feet feel strong and solid and literally ground me, although the ankles feel more and more frail each year. The finger-prints have been rubbed raw and tell few stories these days. Or maybe there is only one story all feet tell- memories blurring together one step at a time. Walking in circles until we all lay down.

My feet don’t like the cold or snow or being bundled up. They cannot breathe and feel suffocated in that darkness. They have not smelled in years and they are proud of this fact. Open air feet are free and happy. They are my roots, each tendon playing its role like a sophisticated machine.

I love my feet even if they are ugly and old and weary and tough. I love that they are both still working like champions to take me from here to there and back again. 

…

Survived a late Sunday afternoon Ikea run, but we needed a few things- my bedside lamp just stopped working. Came home with a plant/herb shelf for the balcony I am pretty excited about and Mairin bought a stand up desk for her classroom. I spent an hour putting the things together, switching back and forth between a zen-like calm proving to myself that I am a mature and confident man, and a frustrated rapid breathing monster who just couldn’t get that damn screw in straight to save his life. Such is the art of mindfulness.

Looking forward to growing some flowers and herbs on that shelf in the next few weeks. We have four small balconies and except for two small pomegranate trees we have little else in the way of greenery. I hoping this shelf will change all that. It’s funny how a busy life will force you to forget the little things that could bring you joy.

…

The night ended with me snuggling Kaia on the couch as we watched Supergirl. Made me think about how big she is getting and how soon she will not want to snuggle with her dad anymore. I remembered her as a toddler in Doha and as a little girl in Jakarta and I swelled with an unnamable pride and a crippling sadness. I spoke with my mom today and she said how much she missed me. I wonder how much she misses the times we shared on a couch as she held her baby. This parenting thing seems to get harder and more complicated the longer you do it.

My mom told me that they published one of her poems on the Tassajara website. Here are a few lines I found:

The little girl within,
surrounded by the mountains,
grounded on the land,
with the intention in her heart
to walk the path of compassion
on this earth.

A Lie and A Scam

I’ve never lived alone.

Never in my life have I had my “own” place. As a kid, I obviously lived with my family till I was eighteen at which point I moved to San Diego and shared a room with some dude named Josh in the dorms for a semester. Then I was back in San Rafael where I shared an apartment with Anthony on Fourth street. From there we moved to 1576 with Ant, Josh and Einar​. Then a few trips down to San Diego ago in houses with Jeff​, Gabe​, and Jason​. A trip back to Novato- 760 something- with Ant and Jason where I didn’t even have a room. I had a double bed in the living room. We planned to build a paper mache dome bubble over my space, but that never materialised. That house was actually more about decay than construction.

Eventually Anthony and I moved to San Francisco and our place on Haight Street. From there to the ghetto pad on Natoma alley South of Market with Justin​, Ant and Chris​. That didn’t last too long, and I was in the studio in the Tenderloin in the sunlight studio on Jones street with Cortney​.

After that off to Mozambique in training with twenty other people and then…..actually there were a few months when I lived in Qussico that I had my own place. Sure I had no furniture, water, electricity, or friends and it rained everyday I was there, but it was my own space. Then Mairin moved in and from there we moved to NYC with Ari and the rest is history.

I am not sure I could handle being alone. I think I could romanticise the solitude- imagine a tortured artist man cave with vinyl records, full ash trays and Bukowski books. Some kind of recording space and stacks of books, but the reality of the loneliness would be soul crushing for me.

We watched How To Be Single, an average romantic comedy about being alone and single or in a relationship. It got me thinking about the places I have lived and the people who inhabited those spaces with me. It made me grateful for you all. No matter how introverted I sometimes feel, I know that I love the idea of having a full home with a family and people I can talk to and argue with and share with and eat with and fall asleep next to and love and be loved by.

…

Sometimes out of nowhere I think- what if everyone who I think likes me, actually hates me? What if the self I have created and believe to be my true self is actually an obnoxious asshole that people just tolerate? What if when I am not around people talk about how they are glad I am not around? What if I am not invited to things because people prefer not to have me around? What if I spend so much time alone, not out of choice, but because people choose to leave me out?

What if the likes don’t really mean like?

What if I’ve never gotten it right, just a series of almosts or way offs. Pretend smiles and false friendships. Surface loves and cordial smiles. Professionalisms but never friendships. Sometimes out of nowhere I think…and then just like that it passes.

…

We talked about mindfulness today during mentor class. I don’t like that the term has become so cliche and jargon-y. It feels like everyone is talking about it these days, so did we. But it was nice. I shared my experiences with mediation- talked about how hard it is for me to mediate, but I also explained how and why I appreciate it. I told them about my mom living at Tassajara and training to be a Zen priest. I felt pride sharing her story. My students looked at and listened to me thoughtfully. I turned the lights low and we did some deep breathing. We sat in silence and they looked calm and serene and peaceful and attentive for a few minutes. I book talked Peace is Everystep and one of my quieter girls checked it out and said she wants to give it a try.

I hope she finds some wisdom in it.

Students learn when we share what we know and love with them as authentically as we can. 

Everything else is a lie and scam.

The Cracks Appear And Let You In

The R.E.M song in the car tonight took me back to the little Jones Street apartment and the days before Mozambique. Taking the trolley to SFSU, compiling my finally credits, writing shitty plays that no one would ever read about cliche characters on  Greyhound buses traveling nowhere, working at Kulletos and Pier 23. It was a time when I had crawled my way out of the darkness and the broken glass tables and nights of madness.

We bought furniture and cooked meals, smoked cigarettes on the little fire escape as San Francisco churned below us.

Graduation was months away, followed by a the long road and the unknown-  NYC and the dark continent just beyond reach in October.

It’s crazy how relationships that felt so real, fade and dissolve into fragmented memories we access at random times in cars years later in the future. Missing you tonight Cortney​.

So many of you, linger in those dark corners, leaking into my consciousness when the musics makes the cracks appear and let you in.

...

It rained for most of the day and besides getting lunch and going out to dinner, nothing felt urgent enough to warrant much attention.

...

I chatted with my mom in the morning, and she told me how tired she is working in the kitchen at the Tassajara Zen Center. But also how much she loves it.

It makes me happy that she is where she has wanted to be for years. She is now on staff at the Zen Center and living her dream and on her path- studying to be a Buddhist priest. I can’t wait to see her this summer and for the girls to see her in her element.

Lessons Learned:

• Be careful of the emotional charge music can carry. 
• It might take a life time, but at some point you can live your dream. 
• Not everyday needs a lesson

1. Tell the story of a song and here it takes you. 
2. What’s something you end up doing before you die? 

Recklessness Of Youth

I’m a bit obsessed with the song Landslide these days. Not sure why, might have something to do with these words:

"Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?"

 I strum it. I fingerpick it. I sing it.  I am listening to it right now.

12:24 am Saturday night.

Another night with friends. A little all you can eat pizza, all you can drink beer and a bit of a Sake night cap.

I still seem to brag about the recklessness of my youth. Tales of Hunter S. Thompson and wild nights in the 90’s seem to be the stories I love to tell and assume you love to hear, but my stories these days are a bit more tame.

Slightly hungover, lazy distant unimpressive parenting. Mid day nap. That hour by the pool when the kids were hungry and under-slept and all I wanted was for them to disappear.

Slightly hungover, lazy distant unimpressive husbanding. She wanted to leave, but I chose to stay. The unselfish person would have gone home with her. There is still so much work to do. 41 years and I am still number one, despite all the hopes and promises.

...

I talked to my mom today. She told me she's been asked to be on staff at the Zen Center. She wants to study to be a priest. I told her I was happy for her, but I wasn’t able to tell her how happy I am and how much I love her, not sure why, might be cuz despite what I say, I am still afraid to be vulnerable, especially with the people I love the most.

I also talked with Jason​ and realized that he will be in Kenya in a few weeks when we go to Daraja Academy​. I can’t wait for him to meet Claire​. I am already dreaming of the stars under that African sky. We will miss you Paula​, Jenn​, Shruti​ and Georgina​.

...

Sometimes the days are lukewarm and indifferent. Sometimes the days are slow and sloth-like and there are arguments and your kids might say things like, “Why are you the meanest daddy in the world?”

Some days the clouds move slowly and full and the sun paints the sky with warmth and the breeze blows just so, and the bus comes just as you leave the Sake bar and your friends laugh at your jokes and act like they care about you and maybe you feel a bit of love.

That’s all there is. That piece of love you take with you to bed.

Lessons Learned:

• You are not who you were, but you kind of are, and then you are also who you will become. 
• You are complicated. 
• Sake after midnight is always a good idea. 
• Even at your worst, your wife and kids need a bit more than nothing. Throw them a bone. 

1. What song are you currently obsessed with?
2. When have you been selfish and/or a mediocre partner or parent? 
3. What do you friend love about you?
4. Tell us a crazy story from your youth. 

Make The Grid Work For Me

I've been thinking again. Damn. Will it ever stop? Been thinking about creativity and nature and kids and toughness and grit. Been thinking about how to teach and learn about life while knowing that life can never be taught or learned. Been thinking about climbing mountains and escape, about digging-in and living. Been thinking about the state of my soul and the embarrassment I feel when I use the word soul publicly-- as if somehow the romantic sentimentality of the notion of an inner-spirit will lose me whatever elusive street-cred I falsely feel I have accrued.

These errant thoughts have roots in other fleeting thoughts. Like a cluster of tangled floating kites, my mind tries to untangle from itself, I hope that maybe someday soon I might land. Maybe take some time to unravel the lines and set them free. Free to float and become ensnared again.

Some knots I have been trying to untie: Can I fully live in the present moment, in the situation I have created and not perpetually be waiting for some alternative future? Can I enjoy nature in a city? Can I be creative while working a full-time job? Can I feed my sense of adventure and wanderlust with a family? I have been thinking about many of these things since the beginning of this term, but things have been coming to a head after reading The Circle by Dave Eggers, a student trip to Chiang Mai and most recently after watching 180 South.

Take a look:

After sharing my now predicable (cyclical) boredom with the Internet and humanity in general, Adrienne, suggested I take a year off and do something about my need to.... I am not even sure I can name it. The idea of taking a six month trip to (insert anywhere) sounds about as plausible as taking a trip to the moon.

So what? I just sit and stew?

From pretty early on in my childhood I have had contact with the Green Gulch Zen Center. And for just as long, I have admired and respected the beautiful kind people who live and work there. I have often contemplated what my life would look like, if I lived at a Zen monastery working on a farm and meditated every morning. And now, after watching 180 South, I am left contemplating what my life would like if I was some bearded mountain climbing, surfing adventurer. If I was single and had made some very different choices, perhaps I too could enjoy life affirming freedom and adventure by surfing off the coast of Easter Island, but that is not my reality.

I am the proud and happy father of two amazing kids, I have a job that I absolutely love and a wife and partner who loves and supports most of what I do, think and feel. My point being that I cannot just drop everything and move to a monastery or take a six month trip to Patagonia. Part of me has always thought of those lifestyles as a sort of cheating. I mean, anyone can be Zen master when surrounded by a sangha. But what about those of us, that for whatever reason are living "normal" lives? Are we to be deprived of the marrow of life, if we simply go about our business and raise families and do our jobs?

More questions: How does one bring Zen to daily life? How can I be adventurous while living in a city? How can one satiate a soul while bound my the trappings of a life consumed by materialism? Important questions? No? I have friends who are quitting their jobs to become Dive masters or Outdoor Ed facilitators. And I have nothing but respect for them and their choices, but apart from radically changing my life what can I do? I do not want to live off the grid, so how can I make the grid work for me?

I thought I had some ideas and more answers, but this post might just be a series of questions. Looking forward to some of your suggestions and thoughts. The comments are yours. Let me know what you think or wise friends.

A Variety of Intensities

It's been a while. Hello. I've missed you. Like an old friend here you are again. That familiar feeling of unraveling into the blank-- a soft parachute of music and a bliss that comes from the direction-less-drift murmuring in the darkness...

We've been living in our place for a month in a few days; it feels like home. This is good. This is fine. It is right. It works. We have a great view. Take a look:

cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo shared by Intrepidteacher 

 No really,  it is really sweet:

cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo shared by Intrepidteacher

I have taken the Bedok Reservoir under my wing and am using her as my latest muse. I watch her ripple and move, reflect the sun and shine. She, although a man-made puddle, absorbs my need for nature and reminds me that we live on a planet made of water. I watch clouds amble across her face, sometimes stopping for nutriment, other times dropping a storm. The trees on her banks sometimes ink-like at other times verdant candles. She's good to me.

Before you are too envious, let me tell you about the other one--her cranky, loud and much more boisterous sister: The Site. Yes, if you move a few feet outside the frame you see this:

cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo shared by Intrepidteacher

 

A different beast to be sure. Loud and insistent, she's a hive of activity, a state of calm panic--she's my contradiction, my balance.

Anyone can become a monk at a monastery. Hyperbolic? Ok fine you are right, not anybody, but you must admit it is easier to find peace, nirvana, whatever you want to call it, at a place where you sip organic green teas and are greeting with a compassionate Namaste and gentle nod at every turn.

Try tuning into the sounds of hammers and diggers and cranes and metal and concrete and progress under your nose. Try watching men sweat and toil and build and become insects in front of your eyes and see where your mind goes. It is a much more interesting experience I assure you. 

My view is a daily reminder to me of balance and humility, both in the face of tender nature and a more brutal humanity. Of course it would be nice to stare off into the azure horizon and enjoy the water in silence, but I'm training myself to fully appreciate the The Site just as much as the reservoir. I stare and think and search. I create beauty in what I see. What I feel. How I think.

cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo shared by Intrepidteacher

 

I am reminded that life is rarely perfect and that expectations toward any sense of perfection, or of how things could be, should be, would be if...lead to disappointment and pain. Peace comes from the ability to be aware of reality and accept it. Modify it. Sculpt it. Absorb it. Love it, no matter what the look or the sound. The Site is my reminder that reality is built from the ground on-up-on the backs of  proud dark men from the Indian sub-continent. Our world of air conditioners and luxurious sexy Apple products is rooted in dust and labor and fear and broken dreams. It is important to be rooted in reality when you are living on the fourteenth floor.

But remember, dear reader,  my porch is a place of balance, so before you suggest I take a leap from her loving arms, look across the water and breath in the slow moving clouds. Watch the sun exploding several times a time in a variety of intensities.

This is the life I have stumbled into. Why I am standing on the porch watching, and not back-broken and building is not for me to answer. All I can do is live my life with as much awareness as I can and share the stories I see.

People often say we have a great view. They are right! I hope to capture more of my space in sound and music and video and more, but in the meantime you can follow the pictures at this set on Flickr. 

cc licensed ( BY NC ) flickr photo shared by Intrepidteacher

MCA

The first thing Mairin said to me this morning when I woke up was,

"MCA is dead. It's all over Facebook."

I thought what I always think when someone dies--My Kitty is a Flower post. I rolled over in bed and stared at the sunshine as it crept into the room and smiled. I pretended I was above death and grief and sadness, because I claim not to believe in attachment, birth, death--you know the drill. Zen 101. I mean why would anyone mourn the death of a true Bodhisattva?

Later, after we all woke up, she took Kaia shopping and left Skye and I alone at home. We blasted Beastie Boy songs, while I swore that his death should not be a reason to mourn, but a reason to celebrate. I tweeted one great MCA line and after another and even made this:


Somewhere in the middle of that video, I started to get choked up. I felt a staggering sense of loss; one that I could barely handle. I need something else. Something more. I sat down and made this:

I will miss you MCA. Thank you for being such an amazing teacher and inspiration. I would not be who I am without you.