Goodbye, Mork...

I had to add just this one more, for posterity.  It's just too perfect.

Carpe Diem, My Captain...

I really don't understand why the death of Robin Williams is hitting me so hard.  As shocked as I was to hear of his death, I was (and still remain) almost as shocked by the depth of my reaction to it.  I mean, sure I've felt saddened by the death of other celebrities before.  I remember being particularly saddened by the death of Heath Ledger, and more recently, Philip Seymour Hoffman.  But I've never been moved to tears like this before.  Celebrities are, by nature, almost fictional characters to us themselves; always removed from our actual lives by cameras and screens.  (I think that might have something to do with why it feels so strange whenever you see one in person - it's almost like TV or a movie coming to life!)  And since we don't really know them personally, there's only so much their death can move us.

Or so I thought.

I don't know why this one hurts so much.  Maybe it's because I grew up with him?  Because I've enjoyed him so much for my entire life?  I remember the rainbow Mork suspenders I had when I was five years old.  (My first cosplay, I guess?)  I remember seeing Popeye in the theaters with my parents just a few years later, and loving it completely.  I have the same memories of Good Morning, Vietnam.  And Hook.  (Oh, Peter Pan!  Why did you have to grow up?!)  I watched Mrs. Doubtfire and Jumanji over and over, just because of the way it delighted both the boy and the man in me at the same time.

And I've seen Dead Poets Society so many times I can practically quote the whole movie.  I don't know when I'll be able to watch that one again now.  At the very least, I know I'll never be able to see it the same way again.

Maybe it's because it was apparently a suicide?  It's possible.  Might be the connection to my own mother's death.  But I haven't reacted this way to other suicides or overdoses, so why this one?  Maybe it's just the fact that suicide adds that final crack of heartbreak to the story.  We didn't just lose one of the greats forever; we lost him to himself, to his own demons, to his own sickness.  It feels like there must've been something that could've saved him.  It feels like it didn't have to end this way.  And it touches us all because, let's face it, haven't each and every one of us been there, or somewhere close to it, at least once in our lives?  But if we could survive it, then why couldn't he?

I think it's true that there are few things more sad in this life, than a funny man, with a broken heart.  His mentor, Jonathan Winters, knew that only too well.  But he survived it anyways.  It's too bad he couldn't be there to help his friend, who clearly needed him more than anyone knew.

Like so, so many of us today, I feel the need to pour my heart out to the memory of this funny man, who's been there my whole life, in some vain and desperate attempt to figure out just what in the fuck it means to live without him now.

Below, I've collected some of my favorites that other people have been sharing today.  Some are funny, some are poignant, some are heart-breaking.  But they all made me feel something.  And that's helped, at least a little.

Here's hoping it can do the same for any of you.

Every time I hear a siren I still say "that's my ride." Thank you Robin Williams. I wish your ride had not arrived.
— John Hodgman (@hodgman) August 11, 2014

Spontaneous tribute appearing at the bench in Boston, made famous from the scene in Good Will Hunting.

We mourn the loss of our friend Robin Williams, who always made us laugh and smile. pic.twitter.com/UOY8LTjVRA
— Sesame Street (@sesamestreet) August 11, 2014

"Robin Williams is not dead, he is just waiting in the jungle until somebody rolls a 5 or 8." -testingonetwothreetesting, via imgur



"One of the funniest people alive died from sadness." - chili1179, via imgur

Nanu nanu.
— SarcasticRover (@SarcasticRover) August 11, 2014

Come on in Rob. I got you.
— Jesus Christ (@jesus) August 11, 2014

The first comment on this image, from NancyNevada, I think says it all:  "When Peter Pan dies, don't tell us to grow up."

Goodbye pal.  Thanks for everything.
— Louis C.K. (@louisck) August 12, 2014

This was reportedly posted to Disney's FB page this morning.  Heart-wrenching.

"But doctor, I AM Pagliacci." That's the only way this makes sense. Can't stand thinking of him being that sad. #RIPRobinWilliams
— Patton Oswalt (@pattonoswalt) August 11, 2014

And finally, this is how I always want to remember him:



Your barbaric YAWP! was heard around the world, sir, and inspired MILLIONS.

And you will always be my captain.

Making Excuses...

I haven't written in a long time.  Long enough that it is beginning to weigh on me.

I've been busy.  I haven't had much time to write.

But I have had time.

And when I've had the time, I haven't had the energy.

And when I've had the energy, and the time, I haven't had the desire.

And when I've had the desire, and the energy, and the time, I haven't been inspired.

And when all my stars have finally aligned in the heavens of my birth, and I have found myself inspired, and with a desire to write, and the energy to do it, and the time to do it in - I haven't had the tools at hand.

It's happened several times while I was driving.  It's happened in the sauna, and the steam room.  It's happened late at night, just as I'm falling asleep.  It's happened while I was rushing to get ready in the morning, late for work.  It's happened in meetings.  It's happened on the toilet.

I've tried to write without keyboard or pen, but I've yet to meet any measure of success.  The process is completely different.  My mind must then be constantly pre-occupied with remembering and reciting and memorizing whatever I've written to that point, while simultaneously trying to determine what comes next.

But when I have a keyboard - or paper and pen in a pinch - I can focus entirely on feeling out the next line; all I have to do is express.

What I realize as I observe this, is that making it up in my head is simply not my style.

But it's all I've got right now.  And I am clogging up.

I'll Stand Before The Lord Of Song...

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Maybe there’s a God above
But all I’ve ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It’s not a cry you can hear at night
It’s not someone who has seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a lonely Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
Remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

          -"Hallelujah"
            Leonard Cohen, Various Positions

By Jove...

I saw Jupiter for the first time recently.

My old elementary school, that I happen to live just a few blocks away from now, has a pretty famous science center attached to it, called the Earth and Space Science Lab.  When I was a kid, they had the only planetarium in the state.  Now they've moved to their own building on campus, that feels almost as big as the rest of the school all by itself, and they've added an observatory, among other educational attractions.  They have shows at the planetarium on a fairly regular basis, and they're cheap, and I'm into astronomy, and it's only a couple blocks from my house, so I sometimes go to these shows, even though the median age in the room is usually about nine.

I don't know what the fuck I expected - it's an elementary school, for fuck's sake.  But, for some reason, I assumed that the shows they put on outside of school hours would attract an older crowd, or at least feature content aimed above a fifth-grade level.  And when I went to my first show, and realized I was the only adult there who hadn't brought a child with them, I felt, once again, like a complete fucking weirdo.  And the whole time, I felt like all the parents were looking at me sideways, like I was standing outside a windowless white van in a clown costume with one hand full of balloons and the other full of roofies.  It was mortifying.  But then I thought, fuck them, I'm hear for the Science!  Then the show turned out to contain about as much educational science information as an episode of Ancient Aliens, and I was back to feeling like the clown with the van and the collection of baby teeth again.  But, still, I continue to go to these things.  I think just because I still geek out about being in the planetarium, just like I did when I was in school there.  And so I still have fun, even if I don't learn very much; and I try to ignore the parents, and their screaming kids.

Anyways, I enjoy it so much (despite myself) that I decided to volunteer there.  They're always advertising that they need volunteers, and it's so nearby, and I could convince myself I was doing a good deed, and it beats washing dishes at the soup kitchen across the street.  Plus, I thought it'd be a good way to get to see the shows without having to buy a ticket.  (It's not like I'm a cheapskate or anything; tickets are only $5.  It's just that their process for purchasing tickets was a bit of a wonky pain-in-the-ass, and I thought it'd be better to do it this way, by doing a good deed, and earning my way into the show, rather than just handing over $5.  And also, not for nothing, but now I don't have to feel like Beelzebozo the Hellclown anymore, because I'm not just the creepy guy hanging out by himself with all the families and children - I work there, so it's okay.)

And it turns out that my favorite perk of volunteering there, is that I get to go out to the observatory and look through their incredibly powerful telescope.

Jupiter has been plainly visible to the naked eye for a couple of months now.  (It's nearly impossible to miss - it's the brightest object in the night sky that isn't the Moon.)  And, as is usually the case during these times when it is visible, I've often found myself standing outside, staring up at it.  This image of Jupiter as a bright, white point in the night sky is therefore very familiar to me.  I often wonder at just how huge that object must be, to be that far away and still be that bright!  (Answer:  Jupiter is the 2nd most massive object in the solar system, next to the Sun.  In fact, if you took every other object in the solar system - every planet, every comet, every asteroid, every Kuiper Belt object - and crushed them all together into one giant ball of stuff, that giant ball would still be less massive than Jupiter!  It is literally more massive than the rest of the solar system, combined.  That is fucking HUGE.)  And I've seen countless pictures of Jupiter before.  We all have.  The various colored layers of swirling gas, the giant red spot.  It's an iconic image.

But this time was different.

I was working in Critter Cove, explaining the weird lives of sea urchins and brittle starfish to six-year-old's, when an intern came in and told me that they had the observatory trained on Jupiter.  I almost dropped the urchin I'd been holding.  Seeing my reaction, the intern laughed and told me that she'd mind the exhibits while I ran out to have a look.  I tried not to knock down any children on my way out of the building, but looking back, I can't guarantee to a certainty that I succeeded in that endeavor.

Shivering in the cold, I leaned into the eyepiece, and saw Jupiter, really saw it, for the first time.

It was as big as a half-dollar.  And I could see all of the stripes of layered gas swirling across it.  (The red spot was apparently on the far side, out of view.)  I could see the four Galilean moons - Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto - lined up in a perfectly straight line to the right of it, on Jupiter's orbital plane.  It was a bit blurry, but still, there was no mistaking it:  that was clearly Jupiter.  And not just an image of Jupiter, but the real thing!  Live and in-person!  I was seeing it, for real, as it was right then, in real-time!  (Or, at least, as it was about forty minutes earlier.  As I said, it's really far away, and so it takes the light a while to reach us.  Which only made the fact that it was the size of a half-dollar and that I could make out so much detail as to actually see each individual layered stripe just that much more impressive!)

It was like meeting a celebrity in-person; you're so intimately familiar with them as this 2-D image inside the box in your living room, that when you suddenly find yourself face-to-face with them as a living, three-dimensional, flesh-and-blood person, there's this strange disconnect in your brain, and things feel just slightly un-real.  And that's how I felt peering through that telescope at the 40-minute-old sight of the greatest planet in our system, the planet that more than any other outside of our own is responsible for our existence.  (Without Jupiter's massive gravity-well situated smack-dab in the middle of the solar system, Earth would be constantly bombarded by comets and asteroids, making it a relatively unstable environment, and therefore a very unlikely place for life to have been able to evolve.)

I lifted my head away from the telescope, and looked out the hole in the roof at the bright point of light in the sky that I had always believed was Jupiter.  I had believed that because the Astronomers told me that was the case, and I chose to believe them; I had no reason not to.  But now, I could see the telescope pointed straight at that point of light.  And I looked back through the eyepiece, and I could see it, plain-as-day, in all of its massive, iconic glory, spinning there in outer space.  It was real.  From that moment on, it was real to me.

Before, I had only believed in Jupiter.  But now I knew it.

Because I had seen it with my own eyes.

Post Title Here...

Now is my time to write.

I've got another hour or two left at work, and nothing to do.  And when I get home I will be busy with other things.  So, now is my time to write.  But I don't feel anything to write about just now.

I've got a list of twenty ideas for things to write about.  Ideas or topics I want to explore, funny or poignant or interesting stories from my life I want to tell, that kind of thing.  All there for an occasion just such as this, where I need to write, but I'm uninspired, or out of ideas.  But I look at that list, and I'm still not feeling anything.  Sure, there are things on there that I could write about.  But if I don't feel inspired to write about them at that moment, if I don't feel a need or a pull to tell this-story-right-here-right-now, then I don't want to write it.  I want to do a good job telling these stories, and writing these essays.  They mean something to me, and I don't want to just toss off something mediocre simply because I couldn't come up with a better idea at the time.  That feels like a waste.  So, even though I've saved these ideas for times just like this, I'm finding that I can't actually use them for times like this.

Ok, so, what else, then?  I guess I have no choice but to do what I'm doing now - basically writing out the internal monologue I'm experiencing regarding the process I'm currently going through.  Not quite stream-of-conciousness, but still a think-it-then-write-it kind of situation.

Wow.  Thrillsville.

So, what else?

My boss and I have been limping around the office like Jerry's Kids all day today.  But at least he's got an excuse - he's fifteen years older than I am, and he played a double-header last night!  I, on the other hand, nearly break my hip just trying to run to first base.  I guess that's what fifteen years of sitting on your ass getting stoned will get you.

She's going out with one her girlfriends tonight.  (Actually, to be truthful, her only girlfriend.  But that's ok - it's still one more friend than I've got.)  They're going to hit some bars and get drunk and try to enjoy themselves while fending off the drunk old men who see them as An Opportunity.  Afterwards, her friend will be spending the night at our place.  Which will be weird for me, because it means I will have to wear pants.

I'm looking forward to having some time alone tonight, actually.  I've enjoyed having Her home lately, no doubt about that.  But I must admit I've also missed the little pieces of time to myself that I used to get each week.  So, having a few hours to be home by myself will be nice.  I plan to spend the time playing video games.  While not wearing pants.

Reading all of this, it strikes me as sounding really pathetic and lonely and sad.  So let me just clarify that I'm not in any way upset right now.  Not at all.  I feel fine.  Not great, but perfectly alright. Not jumping off the walls with excitement or anything, but I'm not depressed or upset at all, either.  Just killing some time until I can go home for the weekend.  Just calling it like I see it.  Just my usual brand of casually brutal honesty.  (Focused inward, as is so often the case.  She thinks I'm too hard on her sometimes, and I often wonder if she has any idea how much harder I always am on myself.)

On a brighter note, we're going to see The Avengers tomorrow night.  In IMAX 3D.  Something I've been excited about, to an unhealthy degree, for literally years.  We went to see Thor and Captain America almost entirely because we considered them to be essentially prequels to The Avengers.  Afterwards, we're going to go out to a late dinner somewhere and geek out over the movie we've just seen.  Which is still one of my all-time favorite things in the world to do with Her.  And I'm going to order a Shirley Temple, and try to enjoy feeling ten years-old again.

Shouldn't be that hard, if I'm honest.  I barely feel post-pubescent as it is.

Maybe she'll let me kiss her when I take her home after dinner.

And maybe, just maybe, if I'm really, really lucky, she'll let me touch her boobies.

A boy can dream...

The Night of Walpurgis...

Believe it or not, meditation isn't always relaxing.

Sometimes, there is no void.  Sometimes, there is instead a flood of creative energy.  Sometimes, meditation can be almost overwhelmingly stimulating.

And today was one of those times.

The rush of ideas was so intense that I could barely concentrate on my breathing, and frequently lost focus.  And count - I counted to 108 breaths, but I'm sure I actually breathed twice that many.  And the inspiration was as varied as it was relentless.  I had ideas for stories I want to write, people I want to contact and the reasons why and the things I want to say to them, projects I want to work on and how I want to go about them, reminders, notes, insights and realizations of every sort.  For a while, try as I might to ignore it and focus on counting my breaths, I was even aware of this very post writing itself out in my head.  But the biggest and most immediate idea that occurred to me during this creative blitzkrieg, and the subject of this entry, is how I'm going to handle the Walpurgisnacht.

So, I had my last drink this past Sunday, and I had my last toke the Sunday before that (that's a story for another post), though it's been many months since I've smoked on a regular basis.  The plan was/is to spend a full year completely sober for the first time in my adult life.  This is something I've known I needed to do for a long time.  I'm a particular kind of addict (I'm sure there's a word for it, but I don't know what it is) - I can be addicted to this for awhile and then put it down, and then be addicted to that for awhile and then put it down, and so on.  I don't really have a drug of choice, per se, though I do have preferences, and there's some drugs I absolutely can't stand.  But what I'm actually addicted to, is getting high, however that happens.  When I quit smoking cigarettes, I compensated by smoking more pot.  When I quit smoking pot, I compensated by drinking more.  And I always knew I was robbing Peter to pay Paul, but at the time Paul was the one threatening to break my kneecaps, so I just told myself I'd deal with Peter later.  But I'm getting older now, and feeling more mortal by the day, and it's time to finally deal with my addictive behavior at the root, rather than dealing with any given addiction to a particular substance one at a time.

But there are some other reasons to do it, as well.  Purely from a health perspective, it'd just be good to give my body a bit of a rest from all the punishment I've put it through the last twenty years or so, now that I'm getting older.  It's also partly an experiment - I just want to see what will happen if I stay completely sober for a year.  It's partly to give my brain chemistry a chance to return to some semblance of normal, and then to re-evaluate and see how I feel, and who I feel I am.  And in part it's also a test - I want to see if I can do this.

Ok, so what does all that have to do with Walpurgisnacht?  The night of April 30th*, aka Walpurgisnacht, or Hexennacht, or Witches' Night, or May Eve, is a very important holy day on the Heathen calendar.  It is the counterpart to Yule, the holiest season of the year, and marks the other pole of the ancient pagan year (the two holidays being approximately six months apart).  As during Yule, it is believed that the barriers between the material world and the spirit world are more permeable on the Night of Walpurgis.  The Eddas (ancient Heathen holy epic lore-poems that comprise much of our knowledge of their religion and culture) tell us that it was on Walpurgisnacht that Odin earned the knowledge and power of the Runes.  He stabbed himself through the chest with his spear, pinning himself upside-down to the World Tree, Yggdrasil, and hung there for nine nights.  On the ninth night, May Eve, he "died" as much as a god-creator can, his consciousness leaving his body and descending to the three wells at the root of the World Tree, wherein he found and took up the Runes.

I know that I hung on a windy tree

nine long nights,

wounded with a spear, dedicated to Odin,

sacrifice self to myself,

on that tree of which no man knows

from where its roots run.

No bread did they give me nor a drink from a horn,

downwards I peered;

I took up the runes, screaming I took them,

then I fell back from there.

                                      -Runatal ("Odin's Rune Song")
                                        The Havamal


It is also the night before May Day (hence "May Eve"), which is, of course, the generative fertility holiday of Spring that gives us Easter and Beltane and all of the other "sex and babies" holidays associated with this time of year in the West.  And so for all of these reasons, Walpurgisnacht is traditionally associated with magick and sorcery (magick, like sex, being another form of creation).

For almost ten years now, I have celebrated Walpurgisnacht in the same way:  enjoying a specific psychedelic sacrament, and performing all manner of sorcery and divination and psycho-spiritual exploration until the Sun comes up on May Day.  So that's put me in a bit of a dilemma regarding how to celebrate this year.  Because I don't want to break this spiritual tradition that I have kept for so long now, but I also don't want to fail at staying sober almost immediately after I've started.  And it's further complicated by the fact that, though I realize it is technically a drug, and would affect my neurochemistry in the exact way I'm trying not to do right now, I really do not view this particular experience to be at all related to what I'm currently attempting to avoid.  What I'm struggling with right now is regular, recreational drug-use, and this is neither of those things.  This is not a fun, pleasurable drug that makes me feel good so that I want to do it all the time.  This drug is an intense, exhausting, highly spiritual experience for me, and more often than not Walpurgisnacht is the one and only time I'll do it all year.  It is impossible to get addicted to it, and I have never craved it.  So, while treating it the same as booze and pot might not be comparing apples and oranges exactly, it certainly doesn't feel like comparing oranges to oranges, either.  More like oranges to tangerines, perhaps.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and it's been weighing on my mind heavily.  My gut, my sense of flow, my sense of my Tao was telling me to go through with it, but when it comes to my instincts telling me to use drugs, it's hard to tell whether it's really my Tao or my addiction masquerading as such.  And I've spent so long training myself to ignore that voice inside me telling me to get high, and I'm focused so much on doing that right now, that even though I felt so strongly in my heart and my gut that it was the right thing to do, in my mind it's seemed like a death-sentence.  But when I examine my feelings, I really do not want to drink or get high right now, which leads me to believe that my desire to do this must be about something more than that.  But then again, "Denial is how it kills you," and I've learned to never let myself accept even the possibility of living in denial.  And so lately I've been leaning towards a compromise, wherein I celebrate the holiday as normal, only minus the sacrament.  It seemed like the only way to do it, really, but it left me feeling very sad for the loss of this unbroken chain of tradition (almost ten years!) and I just could not shake the feeling that I was doing something wrong.

But now I know what to do.  In that lightening storm of ideas that assaulted me during my meditation, it hit me.  And, as so often seems to happen with those "Eureka!" moments, the solution seems so obvious now that I cannot believe I couldn't see it earlier.

I will stay sober from now until Walpurgisnacht, as planned.  And I will celebrate that night, as usual, as I have so many years before.  And then I will start counting my one year of sobriety from the next day, May Day, the day of birth and re-birth and life and renewal.  I'm not really losing anything by restarting my year-countdown on May Day (oh, woe is me, I had to stay sober one year and two weeks minus one day, instead of just one straight year - waah), and I'm gaining a lot more in return.  And the spiritual meaning of it all lines up so nicely:  my year of sobriety, a year of monasticism and self-sacrifice, will span from Walpurgis to Walpurgis, the holy day celebrating self-sacrifice for the acquisition of power and wisdom; and it will begin on May Day, the holy day celebrating life and love and creation.  And having this period of sobriety line up with my spiritual model so well will give me another powerful incentive to see it through, and will significantly increase my chances of success.

It's perfect.  And in my heart, I feel it's true.  I feel it in my gut.  And I feel it too, in my head.  It all lines up.  It all feels right.  It flows, finally.

To sacrifice Self to my Self, with no drink from a horn, until screaming, I fall back from there.

This is my Tao.

...

*corrected from 31st - duh - 4/23/12

The Itch...

I haven't found any inspiration today.

I got a lot accomplished, ticked a lot of items off of my to-do list, laughed and cried at various Moth stories that I listened to all day long, and in just about every way had a wonderful day.  But the whole time, there was this nagging voice in the back of my brain reminding me, "You have to come up with something to write about."  And, I just never did.

It was very frustrating.  But, at the same time, I know that creativity and insight can't be forced.  We can encourage them, but not make them happen.

When I got home, still with no ideas, and the pressure to post mounting, I decided to meditate.  Truthfully, I would've done that anyways, because I had both the time and the desire just then, but I couldn't help but hope that possibly, as an added bonus, the meditation might help spur something creative in me.  Not necessarily give me an idea for something to write about, but maybe make me more receptive to ideas, so that one would be more likely to arise spontaneously.  Or, at the very least, I could write about my meditation; might be kinda boring, but at least it's something to post.

But my attempt to meditate was a complete failure.  I was plagued by physical problems the entire time.  My back started hurting almost immediately, I couldn't find a comfortable position for my legs, and to top it off, there was something irritating my eye that I just could not seem to fix.  I couldn't concentrate at all, and on my fifth attempt of not getting past twenty breaths, I just gave up.  (This is a pattern.  I always have a session like this one - failure due to physical issues - within my first handful of sessions after I start meditating again.)

I could've forced myself to continue if I'd wanted, but there's really no point.  Meditating isn't like exercising, it's not about working through the pain.  It's about relaxing and letting go.  And so if there's some issue that's preventing you from doing that, then it's best to simply stop, and try again later.  I remember my teacher telling me, "If you have an itch while meditating, scratch it.  Do not try to simply ignore it.  That will only make the itch grow and grow until you are entirely focused on it, and are unable to concentrate on anything else.  And then you are not meditating.  It is much better to stop for a moment and scratch the itch.  Then it will go away, and you can return to meditation."

What I realize as I observe all of this, is the Tao of Scratching the Itch.

Sometimes, I'm not going to be able to meditate successfully for one reason or another.  And this is inherent in the practice of meditating - I will not always succeed, anymore than I will always fail, and that is just the Way of Things.  And so when that happens, the best thing to do is not waste any more time or energy than is absolutely necessary trying to do something that isn't working.  As soon as I realize that it isn't working, it is best for me to simply stop, and try again some other time.

Similarly, sometimes I'm not going to be inspired to write anything.  And this is inherent in the practice of writing.  Sometimes I will have something I feel a need to write about, and sometimes I will not, and that is just the Way of Things.  And so when I have nothing to write about, it is best not to waste any more time or energy worrying about it than is absolutely necessary.  Pressuring myself to come up with something meaningful or worthwhile or inspiring to write every day, when I'm not having any meaningful or worthwhile or inspiring ideas, is like trying to resist scratching an itch - soon the pressure to write becomes all I can feel, and being inspired then becomes impossible.  So it is best to simply let it go, and walk away, and try again later.

Go with the Flow.  Take what you get.  Remain open and receptive.  Do not want.  Do not force.  Do not expect.  Let it come as it will, and it will come.

That is The Way.

...

Addendum:  when I read that, it sounds like I'm saying I don't feel the need to post here every day.  That's not what I'm trying to say, but I didn't want to rewrite the above to try and make that clear.  I like the way what I wrote above stands, and so I want to leave it at that.  But please understand that I still intend to try to post something every day.  All I'm trying to change is the way I respond to the pressure inherent in that situation, and to my feeling that anything I post here needs to be somehow insightful or meaningful to a certain degree in order to be worth posting.  Sometimes, my posts might need to be mundane, and I should learn to accept that and be ok with that, because it is an absolutely necessary part of the process.

I do apologize in advance, however, to all three of my readers, for any future posts that might be less than thrilling.

Take What You Can Get...

Well, it was inevitable, really.

Day's almost over, and I've really got to concentrate on my work.  I've got an appointment right after work, and by the time I get out of there I'm going to need to eat dinner.  And then by the time I'm done with that it's going to be nine-thirty or ten o'clock, and I'm fairly certain I'm not going to feel like writing anything at that point.  So, it's now or never.

But despite the fact that I've remained open all day to any form of inspiration that might happen to come to me... nothing has.  So, here I am, feeling like I have to write something, but not having anything to say.

What I realize as I observe this, is the Tao of Acceptance.

I made the effort, but I can't force the issue.  Inspiration is not an act of Will.  All I can do, is try my best, and try to be happy with the results.  And I've done that.  Sure, I would've preferred to have written something meaningful, or beautiful, or profound, or poetic.  But I gave it my best effort.  And in the end, I still took what was inside of me, however mundane it might feel, and cast it out into the world.

And I'm satisfied with that.