Some of you might think I'm winking at you, but really, I'm not... It's the stress and dry eye irritation that's causing this involuntary spasm in my left eye. You might think it annoying to have someone's eye twitching at you, but believe you me it's far worse to have this constant tugging on your upper eyelid.
Even harder to figure out is how to de-stress to alleviate the eye twitching. I've wondered about just poking out the eye, but that still leaves the eyelid which is the actual part that's twitching. Also possible is to walk around with a fish bowl over my head thus immersing my eyes constantly in h2o. A third possibility is to walk around with my eyes closed all the time -- might create a bit of traffic flow problem, but if people will stay out of my way, they'll be fine.
Any suggestions?
August 28, 2009
August 27, 2009
August 21, 2009
August 20, 2009
When there's been too much self-reflection...
...Then, she realized, dear God, she's underachieving! Are there people out there who have higher expectations for her? What is she doing in this lifetime? Pushing paper? Hole-punching? Is she making anyone happy? Is she happy? What is happiness?
August 18, 2009
Atrophied Synaptic Connections: NOT Dead and Gone!
I love the sounds in this sentence:
"Atrophied synaptic connections in the decisive regions of the prefrontal cortex resprouted, while the overgrown dendritic vines of the habit-prone sensorimotor striatum retreated."
Read on:
Reporting earlier this summer in the journal Science, Nuno Sousa of the Life and Health Sciences Research Institute at the University of Minho in Portugal and his colleagues described experiments in which chronically stressed rats lost their elastic rat cunning and instead fell back on familiar routines and rote responses, like compulsively pressing a bar for food pellets they had no intention of eating.
Moreover, the rats’ behavioral perturbations were reflected by a pair of complementary changes in their underlying neural circuitry. On the one hand, regions of the brain associated with executive decision-making and goal-directed behaviors had shriveled, while, conversely, brain sectors linked to habit formation had bloomed.
In other words, the rodents were now cognitively predisposed to keep doing the same things over and over, to run laps in the same dead-ended rat race rather than seek a pipeline to greener sewers. “Behaviors become habitual faster in stressed animals than in the controls, and worse, the stressed animals can’t shift back to goal-directed behaviors when that would be the better approach,” Dr. Sousa said. “I call this a vicious circle.”
"Atrophied synaptic connections in the decisive regions of the prefrontal cortex resprouted, while the overgrown dendritic vines of the habit-prone sensorimotor striatum retreated."
Read on:
Reporting earlier this summer in the journal Science, Nuno Sousa of the Life and Health Sciences Research Institute at the University of Minho in Portugal and his colleagues described experiments in which chronically stressed rats lost their elastic rat cunning and instead fell back on familiar routines and rote responses, like compulsively pressing a bar for food pellets they had no intention of eating.
Moreover, the rats’ behavioral perturbations were reflected by a pair of complementary changes in their underlying neural circuitry. On the one hand, regions of the brain associated with executive decision-making and goal-directed behaviors had shriveled, while, conversely, brain sectors linked to habit formation had bloomed.
In other words, the rodents were now cognitively predisposed to keep doing the same things over and over, to run laps in the same dead-ended rat race rather than seek a pipeline to greener sewers. “Behaviors become habitual faster in stressed animals than in the controls, and worse, the stressed animals can’t shift back to goal-directed behaviors when that would be the better approach,” Dr. Sousa said. “I call this a vicious circle.”
Water Crisis & Asia
Scientists have warned Asian countries that they face chronic food shortages and likely social unrest if they do not improve water management.
Experts say: "countries in south and east Asia must spend billions of dollars to improve antiquated crop irrigation to cope with rapid population increases.
Without water productivity gains, south Asia would need 57% more water for irrigated agriculture and east Asia 70% more...
Given the scarcity of land and water, and growing water needs for cities, such a scenario is untenable...
The scenarios forecast do not factor in the impact of global warming, which will likely make rainfall more erratic and less plentiful in some agricultural regions over the coming decades...
Experts say: "countries in south and east Asia must spend billions of dollars to improve antiquated crop irrigation to cope with rapid population increases.
Without water productivity gains, south Asia would need 57% more water for irrigated agriculture and east Asia 70% more...
Given the scarcity of land and water, and growing water needs for cities, such a scenario is untenable...
The scenarios forecast do not factor in the impact of global warming, which will likely make rainfall more erratic and less plentiful in some agricultural regions over the coming decades...
August 17, 2009
Can You Hear Me Now?
Sunday, as I was walking home from the rose garden, I passed by an area where my cellphone could not receive a strong cell signal. My conversation with the Sis was abruptly interrupted with loud buzzing and whirring noises, plus strange sounds similar to robotic voices. Interrupted in the middle of my engrossed storytelling, I immediately sequed into "Hullo? Hullo? Can you hear me? Can you hear me now? I can't hear anything...Hullo?"
In the worry of trying to connect with the Sis, I couldn't hear what she was saying and so we were throwing signals back and forth to each other, but neither really connecting with any coherence. We were not connecting b/c of bad reception -- and it was not just the cellphone towers that were guilty of bad reception. I wasn't tuned in, either, being too busy to hear anything but the sound of my own voice being echoed back to me.
It made me think of this coming week's lesson in I Kings 8.
Yesterday (Aug. 16th) was the anniversary of the first message to be sent successfully across the TransAtlantic Telegraph Cable. The endeavor to extend a cable across the oceans is only one of many, many attempts to improve the way human beings communicate with one another. Sometimes, it takes way too long -- the first message to be transmitted through the 1858 telegraph cable (from Queen of England to President Buchanan) took 17 hours to transmit (according to Wikipedia!). Imagine waiting to receive that message!!
Sometimes, we don't connect like we want to. I have been playing phone tag with quite a few friends lately. One lives in Florida (three hour difference!) and another lives in LA. Yet another lives in Texas and another lives in Viet Nam. We simply don't connect -- bad timing, bad signals, etc. We end up leaving messages with one another like a virtual "poke" to say "Hey, you still alive over there?" and we wait to see if there are big news we need to check in about.
There are few things we can rely on, but one sure thing is that God hears our prayers. When you "pray toward" God, you're connected. There's no such thing as a bad connection. You might not like what you get from the other end of the line, but what you're receiving and hearing depends heavily on what you're willing to listen to, as well.
Regardless of what worship house/building/tent we construct, we know that God is available 24/7. And, even better, you can be friend or foe, foreigner or native (ha ha those distinctions are soooo relative), anyone can get in on "the family plan". You don't have to be part of the Favorite 5, and you don't have to the part of the Top 10, and you don't have to be on the same calling plan. If you want to connect, you'll be surprised to know the Listener is already on the line.
In the worry of trying to connect with the Sis, I couldn't hear what she was saying and so we were throwing signals back and forth to each other, but neither really connecting with any coherence. We were not connecting b/c of bad reception -- and it was not just the cellphone towers that were guilty of bad reception. I wasn't tuned in, either, being too busy to hear anything but the sound of my own voice being echoed back to me.
It made me think of this coming week's lesson in I Kings 8.
8:1 Then Solomon assembled the elders of Israel and all the heads of the tribes, the leaders of the ancestral houses of the Israelites, before King Solomon in Jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the covenant of the LORD out of the city of David, which is Zion.
8:6 Then the priests brought the ark of the covenant of the LORD to its place, in the inner sanctuary of the house, in the most holy place, underneath the wings of the cherubim.
8:10 And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the LORD,
8:11 so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the LORD filled the house of the LORD.
8:22 Then Solomon stood before the altar of the LORD in the presence of all the assembly of Israel, and spread out his hands to heaven.
8:23 He said, "O LORD, God of Israel, there is no God like you in heaven above or on earth beneath, keeping covenant and steadfast love for your servants who walk before you with all their heart,
8:24 the covenant that you kept for your servant my father David as you declared to him; you promised with your mouth and have this day fulfilled with your hand.
8:25 Therefore, O LORD, God of Israel, keep for your servant my father David that which you promised him, saying, 'There shall never fail you a successor before me to sit on the throne of Israel, if only your children look to their way, to walk before me as you have walked before me.'
8:26 Therefore, O God of Israel, let your word be confirmed, which you promised to your servant my father David.
8:27 "But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!
8:28 Regard your servant's prayer and his plea, O LORD my God, heeding the cry and the prayer that your servant prays to you today;
8:29 that your eyes may be open night and day toward this house, the place of which you said, 'My name shall be there,' that you may heed the prayer that your servant prays toward this place.
8:30 Hear the plea of your servant and of your people Israel when they pray toward this place; O hear in heaven your dwelling place; heed and forgive.
8:41 "Likewise when a foreigner, who is not of your people Israel, comes from a distant land because of your name
8:42 --for they shall hear of your great name, your mighty hand, and your outstretched arm--when a foreigner comes and prays toward this house,
8:43 then hear in heaven your dwelling place, and do according to all that the foreigner calls to you, so that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your people Israel, and so that they may know that your name has been invoked on this house that I have built.
- I Kings 8
Yesterday (Aug. 16th) was the anniversary of the first message to be sent successfully across the TransAtlantic Telegraph Cable. The endeavor to extend a cable across the oceans is only one of many, many attempts to improve the way human beings communicate with one another. Sometimes, it takes way too long -- the first message to be transmitted through the 1858 telegraph cable (from Queen of England to President Buchanan) took 17 hours to transmit (according to Wikipedia!). Imagine waiting to receive that message!!
Sometimes, we don't connect like we want to. I have been playing phone tag with quite a few friends lately. One lives in Florida (three hour difference!) and another lives in LA. Yet another lives in Texas and another lives in Viet Nam. We simply don't connect -- bad timing, bad signals, etc. We end up leaving messages with one another like a virtual "poke" to say "Hey, you still alive over there?" and we wait to see if there are big news we need to check in about.
There are few things we can rely on, but one sure thing is that God hears our prayers. When you "pray toward" God, you're connected. There's no such thing as a bad connection. You might not like what you get from the other end of the line, but what you're receiving and hearing depends heavily on what you're willing to listen to, as well.
Regardless of what worship house/building/tent we construct, we know that God is available 24/7. And, even better, you can be friend or foe, foreigner or native (ha ha those distinctions are soooo relative), anyone can get in on "the family plan". You don't have to be part of the Favorite 5, and you don't have to the part of the Top 10, and you don't have to be on the same calling plan. If you want to connect, you'll be surprised to know the Listener is already on the line.
August 14, 2009
open / like a hinge
I wanted
the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while
- excerpted from "Dogfish" in Dream Work by Mary Oliver
the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while
- excerpted from "Dogfish" in Dream Work by Mary Oliver
Because wax imitations taste so good...?
So here I am thinking again about the Bread of Life passage in John 6, still trying to figure out what it all means to eat the real bread and not the fake one, not the one w/ empty calories that won't fill me, that won't sustain me w/ "eternal life" (anyone try to explain that one to me?).
I am reminded of an episode of the t.v. show "I Love Lucy" in which Lucy is invited to dinner at the house of Ricky's boss. The couples were supposed to have a beautiful, delicious dinner prepared by the boss's wife, but due to several Lucy-esque mishaps, the Ricardos are over an hour late and therefore miss dinner entirely. Alas, alas. Because she missed her meals, Lucy is starving as she sits in the boss's nicely decorated living room. Spying a gorgeous plate of fruits sitting on the coffee table, in desperation, Lucy grabs what appeared to be a juicy apple only to discover she had taken a huge chunk of empty, tasteless wax apple. Not only that, the wax imitation is stuck in her mouth and to Ricky's chagrin, she is unable to remove the thing without some un-gentle help from the hostess.
Lucy's escapade is comical, but in many ways, I identify with Lucy's predicament. There have been many, many instances in which I feel hollowed out with hunger and I'm taken over by some maniac with a fiendish, narrow-minded focus on satiating that insatiable hunger. And when the agony rips me apart, I find myself willingly, blindly, maniacally reaching for some cheap, empty, tasteless product to fill me up. And of course those things never fill me up. I end up in a ridiculous, figurative pose of empty waxen apple in my open mouth -- not unlike a pig hollowed out and ready for the fire.
On my spiritual journey, too, I've often reached for the waxen substitute instead of going to the real, true source of spiritual nourishment. Eating better, said my associate pastor, is about tasting the one, true Bread of Life. It's the stuff that Michael Pollan would be proud of -- the wholeness, the organic, the true source of sustenance.
There are three things that I have to remember:
1. Never let yourself become so spiritually hungry that you reach for things without looking.
2. Know the difference between the real fruit/bread and the waxen imitation.
3. Always have a buddy around who has quick hands and who can help remove you from a pickled situation.
6:51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
6:52 The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?"
6:53 So Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.
6:54 Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day;
6:55 for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.
6:56 Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.
6:57 Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me.
6:58 This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever."
- John 6:51-58
I am reminded of an episode of the t.v. show "I Love Lucy" in which Lucy is invited to dinner at the house of Ricky's boss. The couples were supposed to have a beautiful, delicious dinner prepared by the boss's wife, but due to several Lucy-esque mishaps, the Ricardos are over an hour late and therefore miss dinner entirely. Alas, alas. Because she missed her meals, Lucy is starving as she sits in the boss's nicely decorated living room. Spying a gorgeous plate of fruits sitting on the coffee table, in desperation, Lucy grabs what appeared to be a juicy apple only to discover she had taken a huge chunk of empty, tasteless wax apple. Not only that, the wax imitation is stuck in her mouth and to Ricky's chagrin, she is unable to remove the thing without some un-gentle help from the hostess.
Lucy's escapade is comical, but in many ways, I identify with Lucy's predicament. There have been many, many instances in which I feel hollowed out with hunger and I'm taken over by some maniac with a fiendish, narrow-minded focus on satiating that insatiable hunger. And when the agony rips me apart, I find myself willingly, blindly, maniacally reaching for some cheap, empty, tasteless product to fill me up. And of course those things never fill me up. I end up in a ridiculous, figurative pose of empty waxen apple in my open mouth -- not unlike a pig hollowed out and ready for the fire.
On my spiritual journey, too, I've often reached for the waxen substitute instead of going to the real, true source of spiritual nourishment. Eating better, said my associate pastor, is about tasting the one, true Bread of Life. It's the stuff that Michael Pollan would be proud of -- the wholeness, the organic, the true source of sustenance.
There are three things that I have to remember:
1. Never let yourself become so spiritually hungry that you reach for things without looking.
2. Know the difference between the real fruit/bread and the waxen imitation.
3. Always have a buddy around who has quick hands and who can help remove you from a pickled situation.
August 13, 2009
Chew the Fat
For these past few weeks, our lectionary has invited us to investigate what it means to eat of the Break of Life. This coming Sunday, we are asked to chew on the verses recorded in the gospel of John 6:51-58, in which Jesus challenges us to eat his flesh and drink his blood. We are not asked to eat the fluff that still keeps us hungry, the empty calories, or the un-healthful. We are asked to partake of the real sustenance, the real "soul" food, to eat better so that we could be filled spiritually and soul-fully.
As I think about these verses, I can't help but remember Millennium Development Goal #1 of the UN Millennium Campaign: Eradicate hunger and extreme poverty.
I'm quite certain I have never been truly hungry in all the years that I've been alive. A friend of mine from Viet Nam described it artfully, but I can't remember the words he used in the analogy. True hunger is agonizing pain. It is absolute, extreme gnawing pain. You feel like you can eat 10 bowls of rice in one sitting, but you are given half a bowl to eat for the entire day. You want to stuff the entire breadloaf into your mouth but you only get a morsel that disintegrates in your fingertips. You get just a bit, but never more. This abiding hunger stays with you for days and days without relief.
How, then, does one chew on the flesh and bone of Jesus for eternal life? How do we fill aching stomachs and soothe empty, protruding bellies with the spiritually nourishing Bread of Life?
In Brazil, the project called "Fome Zero" (Zero Hunger) carries a very lofty (and perhaps unrealistic?) goal of providing every Brazilian with three meals a day. I don't imagine that the meals are elaborate five-course meals or sushi buffets, but this goal might very well be considered an insurmountable challenge, considering that "one quarter of Brazil's 170 million people live below the poverty line" (according to EndPoverty2015.org).
When a nation's citizens are starving with physical hunger, how can we bring them to, or bring to them, the Bread of Life? How do we embody the Bread of Life? After we eat the bread which is the bread of life and drink from the cup which is the cup of salvation, how do we embody that newness, that fulfillment, that nourishment, that satisfaction?
Chew on this, chew, chew, chew...
As I think about these verses, I can't help but remember Millennium Development Goal #1 of the UN Millennium Campaign: Eradicate hunger and extreme poverty.
Did you know?
One third of deaths – some 18 million people a year or 50,000 per day – are due to poverty-related causes. That’s 270 million people since 1990, the majority women and children, roughly equal to the population of the US. (Reality of Aid 2004)
Every year more than 10 million children die of hunger and preventable diseases – that’s over 30,000 per day and one every 3 seconds. (80 Million Lives, 2003 / Bread for the World / UNICEF / World Health Organization)
I'm quite certain I have never been truly hungry in all the years that I've been alive. A friend of mine from Viet Nam described it artfully, but I can't remember the words he used in the analogy. True hunger is agonizing pain. It is absolute, extreme gnawing pain. You feel like you can eat 10 bowls of rice in one sitting, but you are given half a bowl to eat for the entire day. You want to stuff the entire breadloaf into your mouth but you only get a morsel that disintegrates in your fingertips. You get just a bit, but never more. This abiding hunger stays with you for days and days without relief.
How, then, does one chew on the flesh and bone of Jesus for eternal life? How do we fill aching stomachs and soothe empty, protruding bellies with the spiritually nourishing Bread of Life?
In Brazil, the project called "Fome Zero" (Zero Hunger) carries a very lofty (and perhaps unrealistic?) goal of providing every Brazilian with three meals a day. I don't imagine that the meals are elaborate five-course meals or sushi buffets, but this goal might very well be considered an insurmountable challenge, considering that "one quarter of Brazil's 170 million people live below the poverty line" (according to EndPoverty2015.org).
When a nation's citizens are starving with physical hunger, how can we bring them to, or bring to them, the Bread of Life? How do we embody the Bread of Life? After we eat the bread which is the bread of life and drink from the cup which is the cup of salvation, how do we embody that newness, that fulfillment, that nourishment, that satisfaction?
Chew on this, chew, chew, chew...
Churches in the Current Recession
Not less people in the pews, but less full collection plates? Saving that $3 latte for the Sunday offering? Looking for divine inspiration, seeking ways to live out your call in a recession?
Thoughts about our churches in the current recession, by Dr. Marion Grau.
Thoughts about our churches in the current recession, by Dr. Marion Grau.
August 11, 2009
Chew On This
When the swine flu swept through various parts of our nation, many were afraid of catching this sticky little virus from unexpected sources. Not surprisingly, quite a few people were afraid of taking communion during worship services. The questions of hygiene and holy communion cropped up, I'm sure, especially during those moments when we were standing in line waiting to receive the host, or kneeling at the altar waiting for the chalice. I'm certain a good number of people probably wondered if the servers at their church had thoroughly washed their hands prior to administering.
In response to (or perhaps anticipation of) the concerns over eucharistic health issues, the Dean of Chapel at our school disseminated a notice to the community explaining the precautions that had been taken, reassuring one and all that drinking from a metal chalice might in fact be more sanitary than intinction -- imagine all those grimy fingers possibly dipping into that wine! Yuck.
However disgusting that all might seem, and however unsanitary the steps might appear, precautionary measures aside, I understand that partaking of the broken body of Christ requires a certain faith in the mystery of communion. We are, after all, eating of the fragments, chewing on the bits and pieces, grinding, gnawing, and swallowing all that have been offered.
When I think of this week's lectionary (from John 6:51-58), I ponder about the challenge/invitation/call we hear from Jesus: "eat my flesh" and "drink my blood".
Chew, grind, crush, gnaw, masticate, roll it around and crunch it up, soften or reduce it to pulp then swallow. It's one tough piece of meat, and chewing on it is going to take all your energy and concentration. (Or does it?)
And perhaps, it's the swine flu causing us to question, to reconsider whether or not we partake. Other times, it's something different causing us to pause, to hesitate.
What would you say has been causing you (me, her, him, them) to not chew on this bread of life, not eat from the table?
If you choose not to partake, there's so much more lost than just the swine flu. You might fear this little sickness, but you'll miss out on the sweet nourishment, too, especially the abiding in part. You lose out completely. The whole part about being one bread, one body? Lost. Eternal life? Lost.
Come, taste and see.
In response to (or perhaps anticipation of) the concerns over eucharistic health issues, the Dean of Chapel at our school disseminated a notice to the community explaining the precautions that had been taken, reassuring one and all that drinking from a metal chalice might in fact be more sanitary than intinction -- imagine all those grimy fingers possibly dipping into that wine! Yuck.
However disgusting that all might seem, and however unsanitary the steps might appear, precautionary measures aside, I understand that partaking of the broken body of Christ requires a certain faith in the mystery of communion. We are, after all, eating of the fragments, chewing on the bits and pieces, grinding, gnawing, and swallowing all that have been offered.
When I think of this week's lectionary (from John 6:51-58), I ponder about the challenge/invitation/call we hear from Jesus: "eat my flesh" and "drink my blood".
Chew, grind, crush, gnaw, masticate, roll it around and crunch it up, soften or reduce it to pulp then swallow. It's one tough piece of meat, and chewing on it is going to take all your energy and concentration. (Or does it?)
And perhaps, it's the swine flu causing us to question, to reconsider whether or not we partake. Other times, it's something different causing us to pause, to hesitate.
What would you say has been causing you (me, her, him, them) to not chew on this bread of life, not eat from the table?
If you choose not to partake, there's so much more lost than just the swine flu. You might fear this little sickness, but you'll miss out on the sweet nourishment, too, especially the abiding in part. You lose out completely. The whole part about being one bread, one body? Lost. Eternal life? Lost.
Come, taste and see.
6:51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
6:52 The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?"
6:53 So Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.
6:54 Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day;
6:55 for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.
6:56 Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.
6:57 Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me.
6:58 This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever."
- John 6:51-58
August 9, 2009
BBK: Blocked by "Knowing"
This week's HATnote is about BBK, something that was expounded upon by our new associate pastor in today's message based on John 6. One who suffers from BBK is unable to expand her horizons, incapable of moving beyond her "mental blocks". What she presumes to already know may be stereotyped, inaccurate, and entirely fictitious, but BBK typically renders one's mental faculties into mush. She suffers, in short, from a bad, bad case of self-intervention from encountering the "new".
Two samples from my own case-study:
1) Going to museums. I like to view and review everything in a museum. I never know whether I will like this painting or that painting, and I don't know if I enjoy or don't enjoy a particular artist until I see his/her work, so I try to see everything -- even stuff that are tucked in a some backlit corner of the SF MOMA (if some curator put it there, then I should look at it to see if I like it, right?). This is one reason why many of my friends don't like visiting museums with me. I take 2 hours to view what others would view very selectively within 1 hour. Lesson: Visit more museums more often in order to cultivate greater discerning taste about museum-stuff. Other lesson: Give friends ample warning.
2) Going to jazz shows. Several weeks ago, I saw a notice about this group that would be performing in Berkeley. So I put it on my calendar and made a mental note that although I've never heard of this band, and although I've never heard of the composer they're performing, I would go support them. I was duly warned. ("Avant garde" a certain friend said. "Art song.") But, I thought, in their field, as artists, musicians, experimentalists, they were on the edge, breaking new ground, trying to carve space in the music world for something different.) And, you never know if you'd like them until you try, I thought (oh, so foolishly). Folks, I want to say that I tried my very best to kick my case of the BBK, but I could not stand it. I have never walked out of a jazz performance -- or any performance for that matter -- in my entire life. Eck. I debated waiting until the second set to see if the cellist and the drummer would change things around. But I couldn't wait. I left after two songs. Bummer.
Two samples from my own case-study:
1) Going to museums. I like to view and review everything in a museum. I never know whether I will like this painting or that painting, and I don't know if I enjoy or don't enjoy a particular artist until I see his/her work, so I try to see everything -- even stuff that are tucked in a some backlit corner of the SF MOMA (if some curator put it there, then I should look at it to see if I like it, right?). This is one reason why many of my friends don't like visiting museums with me. I take 2 hours to view what others would view very selectively within 1 hour. Lesson: Visit more museums more often in order to cultivate greater discerning taste about museum-stuff. Other lesson: Give friends ample warning.
2) Going to jazz shows. Several weeks ago, I saw a notice about this group that would be performing in Berkeley. So I put it on my calendar and made a mental note that although I've never heard of this band, and although I've never heard of the composer they're performing, I would go support them. I was duly warned. ("Avant garde" a certain friend said. "Art song.") But, I thought, in their field, as artists, musicians, experimentalists, they were on the edge, breaking new ground, trying to carve space in the music world for something different.) And, you never know if you'd like them until you try, I thought (oh, so foolishly). Folks, I want to say that I tried my very best to kick my case of the BBK, but I could not stand it. I have never walked out of a jazz performance -- or any performance for that matter -- in my entire life. Eck. I debated waiting until the second set to see if the cellist and the drummer would change things around. But I couldn't wait. I left after two songs. Bummer.
August 5, 2009
the Jar that Pours
We are the mirror as well as the face in it.
We are tasting the taste this minute
of eternity. We are pain
and what cures pain, both. We are
the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.
- Rumi
We are tasting the taste this minute
of eternity. We are pain
and what cures pain, both. We are
the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.
- Rumi
August 4, 2009
Chapter 1, in which the turkey is introduced
When I was little, I was terrorized by a little turkey. He lived under the stairs in our old house on Banana Grove Street in Saigon. We did not have a big house, and there were nine people (sometimes more) living in that little building. Perhaps the turkey knew there wasn't much love for him in those quarters. He smelled my young fear.
I did not coddle him. I did not feed him or walk him. He knew I avoided him. My aunt did not want to eat him (We didn't have Thanksgiving, and he was a rather thin turkey with little fat or meat under his plumes) or sell him.
Every day, he would watch me, morning and night, his little eyes focused on me as I held my breath while slinking along the opposite wall. I think he was trying to tell me something I was far too young to understand. I did not know the language of turkeys.
I did not coddle him. I did not feed him or walk him. He knew I avoided him. My aunt did not want to eat him (We didn't have Thanksgiving, and he was a rather thin turkey with little fat or meat under his plumes) or sell him.
Every day, he would watch me, morning and night, his little eyes focused on me as I held my breath while slinking along the opposite wall. I think he was trying to tell me something I was far too young to understand. I did not know the language of turkeys.
August 3, 2009
Let the Wild Rumpus Start!!
One of my favorite children's books, Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak, is being released on October 16, 2009. Yayyy!!!I'm not certain whether I will enjoy the movie as much as I enjoy the book, but it will surely be an adaptation to see.
Right now, I feel like Max. I want to climb in a boat and sail away into some distant jungle.
I want to join in with the wild rumpus, BE the wild rumpus. I want to be THE wildness, be such a rumpus that no one can stop me.
I want to get out of that jungle, or, get into that jungle.
I would like to hide away in that wild suit and jump and roar RAWR!!!
Join me?
August 2, 2009
Up to Tilden's Peace Grove
Somebody's peace grove was visited by us yesterday. We walked a winding path past hillsides covered in fog and mist; we passed by poison oak in brilliant orange, red, and yellows; and we met a little baby snake along the trail... Beyond the tiny lake where three little waterfowl swam toward us looking for food, beyond the scenic route populated by mosquitoes, we hiked to the top. Looking down, all that our eyes could see were mist and green leaves poking here and there through the dense whiteness. We sat on somebody else's peace stones, sipped water, and felt the cold wind whip through our hair and clothing. We talked a bit about nothing -- just words that floated with the sound of the wind.
The trip up was punctuated by pregnant silences, perhaps b/c I was thinking of too many things. As I neared the peace grove, seeing glimpses of pink flowers and maybe a fern here or there, I was called to listen to the wind -- it rustled mightily and I was just stunned silent. It was hard not to pay attention. The trip back, somehow, seemed other-worldly.
The trip up was punctuated by pregnant silences, perhaps b/c I was thinking of too many things. As I neared the peace grove, seeing glimpses of pink flowers and maybe a fern here or there, I was called to listen to the wind -- it rustled mightily and I was just stunned silent. It was hard not to pay attention. The trip back, somehow, seemed other-worldly.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)