Tuesday, December 22, 2015

little things.


"people don't love each other at our age, martha. they please each other, that's all. later on, when they're old and impotent, then they can love someone, really. at our age they just think they do. that's all it is." albert camus, 'a happy death.'

while sitting with a much younger friend in a local coffee shop, a woman wandered wistfully in and soon somehow struck up a conversation. from a small town in british columbia, house-sitting in chelsea, she admitted to a certain feeling of alone-ness. she engaged my friend, so to speak, in a discussion of their respective hopes and aspirations while i surreptitiously sipped some strong coffee. eventually she did turn to me, and said: "you must be retired." i agreed, and so ended my part of the conversation. clearly there was nothing more to say. i am retired... says it all.

my most gratifying connection with women these days is during unpleasant medical procedures. like the female doctor at a clinic in ottawa who insisted on giving me a digital rectal examination. hey, it was a shock, and i did suggest we have dinner first, but i soon gave in. like the nurse during the long-anticipated ankle appointment who instructed me to take my pants off. who was i to argue, even though a simple pull up of the pant-leg would've sufficed (?) i had a biopsy performed on a tiny imperfection on my formerly fascinating face during which the nurse held my hand. i felt there was something deep happening between us, although i've been wrong before.

many people might consider getting to the 'retired' stage in life kind of sad, but not me. my romantic life has been such that this is actually a step up. i'm a happily aging guy. i find myself looking forward to the next problem. the reality is that love and affection abounds, all arounds, and one must appreciate life continuing to offer up opportunities for us to connect. it's a pleasure in the purest sense of the word. if one could actually realize, recognize, cognize that thread linking all the beads together, the sap coursing through all the leaves, the water permeating the waves, how could one ever feel alone (?)

"in the sweetness of friendsip let there be laughter and the sharing of little things. for in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed." khalil gibran. 

Sunday, December 13, 2015

i'm not sayin there's no santa.


"I want the United Church to accept that the Bible is not the authoritative word of God and that God is not where moral authority resides, and to recognize the innumerable divisions religion has created across millennia. If they had the fortitude to say that, I think it could change the conversation of religion around the world. And that’s what I’m betting on." Gretta Vosper, a United Minister in Toronto.

there's been an awful lot of chatter about god over the past couple of thousand years or so. have you noticed? well, i have a weeee problem with all of the great saints and sages, teachers and masters, past and present. i don't know what they're talking about and, frankly, i doubt they know what they're talking about.

why should i believe any of them really knew or know god? if these great people wanna talk about where we come from, where we go, i can handle that. if these great leaders confine their beliefs to a universally shared underlying oneness of all life, i'm in. but, god? why should i believe any of them really knew or know what is god? i'm referring to everyone from jesus to muhammad, from krishna and ramana maharshi to deepak chopra and eckhart tolle. i may as well offend everyone equally.

sai baba of siri said: "there is only one religion, the religion of love. there is only one language, the language of the heart. there is only one class, the class of humanity." up to that point i was right with him, cheering him on. but, then he ends by adding: "there is only one god, he is omnipresent." wtf? and, btw, what's with the 'he' always?

i'm a 'dhyaan yogi', a life-long meditator. that means i don't accept a philosophy, religion or any concept outside of my own direct perception. and through that process of meditation, 'samadhi,' one does experience a cessation of all experience. in other words, one comes to know directly oneself as the very life permeating all, pure, free. i get that. but what is that? for example, what is the state of deep sleep?

mooji, a great teacher who is popular these days, says very few people in the world achieve the goal of self-enquiry, come to know the so-called true self. that of course typically implies he's one of those who has succeeded. well, i get that as well. through meditation the individual dissolves, like a drop of water merges with the whole ocean of life. that's great. what i have a problem with is the assumption that that is somehow akin to the concept of god. where the heck does that ocean come from, a bigger ocean? i may be all wet, but i still don't see where creation ends, or where it began. and i don't believe anyone else has either.

a greek philosophy student asks his teacher: "sir, i understand the world is being held up by atlas. but what is supporting atlas?" his teacher answers: "a huge turtle." "ok, but what is supporting the turtle." the teacher answers, slightly irritated: "another huge turtle." "ah, ok," says the student. then: "but, but, what is holding up that turtle." the teacher, out of patience, barks at his student: "listen, it's just turtles all the way down!"

the buddhist concept of no-self, 'shunya,' just opens the door of our minds to the reality that there's more going on here than what meets the eyes. the buddhist concept of no-self is the same, in my semi-humble opinion, as the hindu all-permeating self. but, what is buddha-consciousness or nirvana? what is brahma-vidya or moksha? what is christ-consciousness or heaven? what is god? the enquiry must necessarily continue.

it must be of great solace to believe that somebody has all the answers: whether it be jesus, krishna, ramana maharshi, mohammad, swami nityanand, sri yukteswar or mooji, aadi shanti, tom, dick or even harry. i aint one of them. what i know through meditation after these years is that it's profoundly relaxing and freeing, that there's obviously more to 'me' than what meets the eyes and there seems to be essentially one life permeating all. i don't know god.

"if we dive deep enough into ourselves, we will find the one thread of universal love that ties all beings together." amma.




   

Friday, December 4, 2015

cruising with dad.


at the ripe old age of ninety-one years, my dad decided he wanted to go on a cruise. he practically begged me to take him on a nice caribbean cruise and my older brother strongly encouraged me to acquiesce to his request. it was only much later that the same brother admitted he would never ever have gone on any such trip with the old guy.

for the life of me, i could not imagine the two of us surviving the voyage without some form of a tragedy happening. there were so many ways for it to go terribly wrong. he could have a stroke on the airplane. he could tumble down the ship's stairs or even fall overboard. he could have a heart-attack. he already had major heart surgery and wore a pacemaker. he could fall in the shower when the boat lurched. he could easily ruin three-thousand peoples' lovely family vacation. i kept wondering: how can the cruise-line allow a ninety-one-year-old guy, who is hard-of-hearing, almost blind and often spectacularly cranky, to go (?) i tried to talk dad out of it. i suggested he try something normal, like sky-diving or bungee-jumping. unfortunately, he remained adamant.

when the big day arrived, i was of course in charge of making sure we both were awake and ready for our pre-arranged taxi at 2:30 in the morning. i was so afraid of over-sleeping that i didn't sleep a wink. i just meditated, sort of, on my side of the apartment, peeking at the clock again and again until it was time. dad was already up, and the taxi was right on time but, as we drove out of the parking-lot, he freaked out. he had left his walking cane behind. i put my hand on dad's arm, told him not to worry. on my way back up to the apartment, however, i was horrified to realize that i had actually forgotten our passports and all our various tickets. if dad had not forgotten his cane... i placed my head against the elevator wall and muttered: 'this is not going to go well.'

although my stress-level was through the roof all the way along, we arrived in ft. lauderdale without incident. in fact, i learned a valuable lesson: getting through the security check is way easier when you're pushing someone in a wheel-chair. once on board the ship, i immediately settled in to literally watching every step dad took. out of all the possible ways the trip could be terrible, however, the one factor i overlooked was dad's propensity for becoming wildly belligerent. he had a problem with everything: registration took too long, his luggage came late to our cabin, his bed was too soft, the towels were too hard.

of course i opted for us to be seated with others at dinner rather than alone. everyone was nice, happy, even joyous. dad remained silent. he was focussed on his salad. the rest of us were just getting to know one another. we were all just eating and talking, eating and talking. especially one lady, a rather loud obnoxious american woman with hair in a bun and aunt phyllis-style glasses. she went on and on until my dear dad, looking up from his soup at me, positively hollered: "you think that lady's ever gonna shut up!?"

after that first night, i opted for us to dine alone. my dad much preferred that as, i'm sure, did many others. one morning while waiting with a bunch of people at the elevator, dad realized he forgot his beloved 'bran buds cereal' in our room. he was addicted to the stuff and startled everyone when he began wailing. "oh for god's sake! oh for god's sake! oh what the hell am i gonna do (?)!" you gotta understand that we were not more than about ten paces away from our door. i put my arm around his shoulders and said: 'dad, it's not these peoples' fault that we forgot your 'bran buds.' you wait here and i will get it." by the end of the week, honestly, i was exhausted.

the one thing dad seemed to really like, perhaps the only thing, was the classical piano music each night in the lobby before dinner. he would sit in a chair near the guy playing and pretend to conduct an orchestra, waving his hand to the music. one evening, he even stood up and waved his cane around demonstrably like it was the baton, swaying with the music while everyone watched, smiled and took pictures.

in the middle of absolutely every night i'd wake up to the sounds of dad sobbing in the bathroom. i was so tired, over-tired in fact. but i'd have to go in, talk a bit, carry him back and tuck him in. he was scared, terrified that he might pee in his bed. i assured him i'd take care of any and every eventuality. it really didn't help. he was too petrified to sleep much. neither of us slept much. even on that very last night i woke up to the same whimpering noises coming from the bathroom. like a zombee, i went in, talked to him, tried to sooth him and put him back to bed. then, about an hour or so later i woke up, shocked. i had peed in my bed! i could not believe it. i was horrified. that next morning of our departure, i handed the cabin boy a rather generous tip, leaned in close and whispered: "i am so sorry, but the old guy peed in his bed."

three years later, as my dad lay dying, he looked up at me and said: "that cruise we went on, that was a good time wasn't it?" i agreed, of course, and then i thought to myself: 'you know, actually, it really was.'