What is so wonderful about books?

It’s the wee hours of the morning. I cannot call even my closest friend; even if someone died. Not only would it be a strain on the friendship, but it goes against my severely reserved nature to reach out in such a way, no matter what.

Books, however, are my constant companion. If I lose my vision, I will have lost a very important part of my life. Books can speak both ways; being a writer has taught me that. I can converse with my chosen friends (authors) from anywhere on the world, from any time period that has been recorded faithfully, at any time of my choosing: because of books! That alone is amazing. I can also write to generations of which I have no idea. Granted, my writing may have to run a gauntlet of testing and censorship and beat some wild odds to make it to print and posterity, but it is still in the realm of the possible. I’ve needed to argue with some of these friends, yes. Some of their writings have seemed so disagreeable to my tightly held opinions that I’ve wanted to throw their work across the room. I did once, and felt very foolish, but the material was so silly that I became angry at having my time wasted. So, I can lose my temper with these friends, and they will still speak with me, steady on. Okay, speak to me, not with... But I can answer, and leave a message for the next reader to come along at any hour, in any country, and have the pleasure of my company. That’s how it works, and it does work. I can also end the conversation at any point, and resume it at any point, or never.

If the writer has captured me, and usually this is with the more imaginative works, then I am apt to neglect the relationships with the moving and breathing people around me for a while in order to give my undivided attention to the person behind the marks on the page. Amazing. I want to be able to write like that. I want my writing to be something that people seek out for comfort and companionship. If not comfort, then clarity and consideration.

So, when next I write, I hope to remember this desire: to be a friend to the one who is on the other side of my keystrokes. To say, “This is the way that I see it. Here’s what I’ve found so far. Let the next ones know what you learn from here on, please...” And even if I am my only audience, my own ideal reader, to have written something worth revisiting. Even if only to entertain myself, I would hope that I am entertained, in both of the processes of reading and writing.

Perhaps I have explained how a love of books is born. A loneliness, many might say. But the fact is that I have a crowd of friends on my bookshelf. Some have passed on, yes, and I have met none of them in person. But they have been true to their hearts, and that is why we are friends. I like the person who struggles long enough to get to the level of honesty required to put some things down on the page. That’s a special kind of character. It’s very hard to lie to yourself in writing; so even the books I wish to throw are witnesses to hard-won truths for the author’s moment in time.

Books are worthy of attention, of consideration, and yes, even of throwing if that seems appropriate. The authors and I are friends out my admiration for their craft. Turning to look at the row of books on the shelf, I think about the number of souls involved in the print found there, and find myself reconnecting with the idea of the oneness of us all. Books are the world-wide web of ideas across the seeming limits of time and probability. That is, what is the likelihood that a Russian from the 1800's would upon demand sit in my living room at 2:15 in the morning and tell me a story when I cannot sleep? There’s just too low of a probability of that happening to say that it’s possible. But with books, it’s not only possible, but commonplace. What a wonder!


Our children have been derided for being the generation of instant gratification due to microwaves, tv, video games, etc. But, I think that the fault lies in the invention of the printing press. From that point on, we became accustomed to a level of access to information and ideas that was previously unheard-of. We cannot lay our blame on each new generation and say, “They don’t know how to wait.” I fully accept and admit that my own generation and many before were masters at practicing the immediate simply by having access to so many books. And what a grand acceptance it is! I revel in it!! My heart overflows with gratitude for the invention of the press, for the authors, for the industry of the printed word, for libraries and bookstores, for my teachers. I cannot wait to read my next good book.

My daughter is interested recently in vampires. It seems that the movies of interest on the subject are limited, so she has been driven to books for more stories. She is losing sleep, staying up reading. My husband told her last night, "All you do is read! Go watch TV for a while."

bipartisan politics

Black and white. Good or bad. Yin, yang, high, low, republican, democrat, male, female, yadda yadda yadda. Human beings are pattern seekers, and as such we find a means to categorize in order to wrap our minds around ideas. But our hearts don’t think categorically. I believe that politics are a matter of the heart, that they touch our lives where relationships meet. Political decisions affect how I choose to live with myself, how I stretch and grow with my family, and how I reach into or withdraw from my community. The trick is to get harmony into our categorical divisions.

I was asked recently where I stand on a political issue, and was unable to respond intelligently. I didn’t know the latest reports of who said what and what research was showing to be true. I was able to give a gut-level response as to how I feel about the issue in question, but I couldn’t recite dates and people. My questioner sat, mouth agape, flattened by the idea that I dared to be so ignorant. I maintained a calm exterior, but within myself I was more conflicted than I let on.

The other person started laying out his position with clarity and well-formed sequences of events. It was clear that he wished me to be the judge for myself, which was very gracious. My conflict, however, came from my understanding that the words and ideas he presented for me to judge came from somewhere else, someone else. I would not like to be represented by someone else, and yet we do that to people in decision-making positions without realizing that it’s basically a form of gossip. I still don’t know what the speaker felt, intuitively, about all of it.

I have listened to many versions of the communication style that utilizes second-hand reports (he said that she said, or, the paper said that he said), but am continually amazed that people rely on this method to form their opinions. Though a highly cumbersome method, I would rather interact directly with a person before I form an opinion about him or her, including anyone for whom I rally in politics.

Only, there is a big problem with that idea. I think that if we were able to speak one on one or have a day with our law-makers, we’d find that it becomes increasingly difficult to label them as all one thing and not another. I fear that we might find many to be both republican and democrat in their ideas. We might see our hero’s bad side, and the bad guy’s good side. It would get very confusing, and come election time, we wouldn’t know with whom to side. Unless, of course, we remember that even hearing a position statement from the person’s mouth doesn’t assure us of her or his true position. How is a person to be informed? Enter my metaphysical position that we can know intuitively the direction our country, laws, and decisions are taking. Then what do we do with that knowledge? Another radical idea might be that we make subsequent personal decisions with our knowledge in mind. I’m thinking of Nazi Germany. Many people “sensed” or somehow knew that things were going awry. Others, many benefitting from the twists or at least not losing anything by facing a hard truth, refused to listen to their gut. While that’s an extreme example, my point is that we might do well to stretch our gut-muscles and take them for a walk before we need them on a survival level.

So, maybe our problem is inherent in the system of bipartisan politics. By choosing up sides, we create a social schizophrenia that catalyzes differences rather than helps people to pull alongside one another. Take, for example, a benign event such as moving a fallen log from the road. It doesn’t matter what each person believes to be true about forests, roads, or other people for them to be able to lift together, move the log, and be on their individual ways. Of course, one of them would surely need to call the planning office and see why the trees hadn’t been maintained appropriately along the roadside, and another might think that they all should have carpooled in the first place.

The answer, of course, is another political party. It would be the one party under which we can all unify: mine. We can call ourselves the Schmoozers. We’ll make it a policy to not take a clear stand on one thing over another and wait a long time to make a decision. If you’re thinking, “That’s not me!” you can bet there’s someone else out there saying, “Yes, I’d join that party.”

beliefs

Beliefs are one of the hardest things for us to examine for ourselves. Like faults, beliefs show up in bright colors on another, but appear muted and faint on ourselves. Examining our own beliefs is much like attempting to study our own noses, without aid of a mirror.

This morning I stumbled on a belief system that I have held, and am glad to reconsider. I was thinking that if someone believes that eating something will kill them, maybe hamburgers, that it just might. I went into that thinking because of drinking a healthy juice that tastes nasty... and realizing that I was putting up with the taste in the belief that the juice would keep me healthy. I tend to be pretty skeptical about so-called healthy eating and diets. My particular belief stems from the old idea that it was all called good in the beginning, so it’s all good, in moderation. In my thoughts, I was attributing truth to the idea that belief in something deemed negative (hamburgers) leads to negative results, while I was labeling as bunk the belief that something deemed positive (juices) leads to positive results. That’s a negative belief system I have set up for myself that limits the good in my life and creates a labyrinth of negativity.

But, how do I change my beliefs? It’s my understanding that we develop beliefs out of experiences. It might behoove me to do some experimenting. In fact, I may have already done some experimenting. Maybe I’ve found a well-being from the juice that I don’t get otherwise. Or is the placebo effect? My point is that we hold beliefs so firmly when there are many variables and new experiences out there to help us refine them.

Two fellows were talking about gas versus electric model engines. Their belief is that electric engines are underpowered. They held the conversation while watching a powerful electric model in operation. Their belief is based on experiences from a few years ago, before batteries got fancy. In the present day, they are observing electric model engines which are powerful, but cannot see past their beliefs to process the new information. Such sticky thinking is threatening to me, because I so easily do it. How do we regain flexibility?

Maybe a practice of observation, of labeling what we see in each moment as a new thing, not that same old thing, keeps the elastic in our understanding. Not investing in our beliefs would also help. By that I mean not needing to be right, or correct, or the most astute. Maybe we can regain a sense of play and experimentation and toss ideas around. Maybe we could practice defending the side opposed to our beliefs and see what happens. I don’t know. What I do know is that I don’t want to have evidence of a false belief staring me in the face and my preconceptions standing in the way of my seeing clearly.

So, now I’ll play with the ideas that I have held about negative and positive choices. Maybe I’ll have a hamburger for lunch to observe its effects on my body, now that I’ve had the juice for breakfast. I believe that I am safe to say that I no longer hold any unexamined beliefs. Unless I reread the previous sentence.

Driving Meditation

While our town is in a growth spurt, traffic slows to a painful crawl. City planning and road building that might have anticipated this is now playing catch up. So while the roads are overcrowded, they also have construction going on to remedy the congestion.

I have several options with how to handle the pressure of this forced non-doing. I can rage and rant at being confined to moving in millimeters where once I could sprint. Ask anyone in a wheelchair what such rage can do. It has some potential, but not for me. I can growl at the others on the road and send them sign language of hate. Maybe I can even figure out who was here first. But so what? Someone else was here before me and they let me "in".

I could fret and worry over the cost of gas, the value of my time, our government and city planners, etc. But that gets me too distracted from what is really important: right now.

One time I even tried knitting while in traffic. I wouldn't recommend it. Both the knitting and the driving suffered.

The only useful transformation of traffic time that I have found so far is in doing a driving meditation. It's simple. I breathe in and know that I'm breathing in. Then I breathe out and know I'm breathing out. That's it. I observe the feel of the steering wheel, the sun on my body, the press of the seat on my back. I look at vehicles, people, plants. And I breathe. Upon arrival at my destination, I am ahead of the game by the deep sense of calm and peace that I have gained. Maybe I'm behind on the clock, but I've leapt ahead on what matters to me: peace of mind.

rising market

Our house could sell today for twice what we paid for it only three years ago. I should be happy.

There are just a few holes in my bliss, however: other people. I'm thinking of the people who sold their homes for a now-pittance just before the market escalated (for example, the sellers of our home.) Are they experiencing regrets and losses at their home? Probably.

I'm also thinking of people who are home-buying -- correction -- home-looking. We could not afford to own a home here now if we were shopping for one.

It's been a pattern in Kona that the prices boom and bust. And I keep thinking that I should somehow be happy about the boom. After all, I could potntially profit from it all (if I cared to camp here or move off island after my home sold.)

What keeps coming to mind are words like fair trade prices and reasonable increase.

Granted, my perspective is skewed by the idea that we bought our house to live in, as a home. I'm sure, as an investor, I wouldn't dare to complain. I guess I just need to complain for all the other would-be Home-owners out there.

The Space Between

Life is full of wondrous big events. We have our rites of passage like graduations. We have our travels. We have our amusements. These are the stars by which we sail. And we have our times in between the bright spots. Those times are my focus here.
Traveling helps us to see the spaces between in their full potential. While waiting for my transportation, and while being transported, I have crocheted a full lace tablecloth, knitted socks, conversed for hours with strangers, and read volumes of books. Any of those things taken as a project in my fully-scheduled life would have been impossible. In the spaces between, the impossible becomes possible.
It’s the little bite-sized portions of the spaces between that help them to be so powerful. The big things get broken down into small parts that we can tackle. Graduation, a celebration of completion, is the result of four years of spaces between.
I started traveling by seeing only my destinations. After enough experience, I realized that the process is actually the main event. I’ve seen some fantastic places. In between, I’ve seen that people are basically the same all over the world. I’ve found that down time is one of the most awake states I can have. I’ve learned to sit with myself, sometimes for many hours without end.
Cooking for my family, I catch myself expecting the meal together to be the event. Standing and chatting with my kids while dinner cooks, I see that I have narrowed my focus yet again.
Even the pastime of watching people is an activity unique to the space between. I like to see how people react, respond, and move. I really like to watch someone when they are watching someone else. I wonder who might be watching me watch. We are fun creatures.
The space between can be pretty uncomfortable sometimes. It’s the place where we are stuck, unavoidably examining our motives for what we do or say. It’s a place where we become powerless to make our wishes happen instantly, and so we learn how to handle our frustration, discouragement, and impatience. It’s where we learn to constructively amuse ourselves, an increasing concern in our leisure-rich society.
The next time I’m swamped and wishing for some down time, I think I’ll recall the masses of time I’ve spent waiting for the next thing. Maybe somehow I can transfer some of that vastness of time into a busier phase. And vice versa. The next time I’m trapped by waiting, I can remember the busier days when I would wish for a few minutes to just sit and zone. At the very least, remembering will help me to see that nothing lasts forever, and I can count on a change of pace somewhere along the way.
Waiting for a movie, my daughter and I invented a popcorn game. We giggled and fought over the popcorn, almost made a mess, and had great fun. Her giggle is the best. It was in many ways more satisfying than any of the laughs we had from the movie.
My greatest frustration comes when I am in the active phase and I encounter some obstacle that throws me into a space between. My plans are foiled, and I’m unwilling to look for that supposed hidden lesson. I don’t mind lessons, just Not Now. Isn’t that just why the space between is so good? If not now, when?