How can my lifetime Xanga expire? Are they trying to guess the date of my death? Do they already know, and they're giving me a heads up? Should I prepare a will? Not that I have anything anyone would want. At least no one with half a brain. Most of the people I've met in life had two brains. One was lost and the other was out looking for it. All that I have, that anyone with any sense at all should want, couldn't be transferred via a last will and testament. Not that a last will and testament matters much anymore. They're nearly always contested these days by people who feel they should have been given whatever they weren't given in the will. What madness! No one contests old tea pots or bibles. They contest money, land, houses, property. Anything that can be turned into cash. They think that is value. Well, perhaps think is too strong a word. It's certainly not the right word for the reaction.

Consider for a moment what a gift it would be if Xanga really was telling me that I was going to expire August 17, 2025. If you knew the exact date of your departure from this realm of the five senses you could pack. Since you couldn't take anything from the realm of the five sense with you, for obvious reasons, you would have to consider how to prepare. There's the lazy man's way. "There is nothing except what is shown to us by the five senses, therefore there is no life beyond the five senses." Some really believe that. Others think they believe something else but live as if they really believed it. The thing is, you can believe something that isn't true. The recalcitrant, would-be-philosophers might wish to know what is true. What's so is what's true. Our problem is that living in the realm of the five senses, and believing we can only know what the five senses tell us or suggest, we can't know anything else, so there must not be anything else. It's laughable really. Like saying there was no microscopic world before the invention of the microscope.

What is so? For me, Xanga expired years ago. It may be gasping now, like a beached fish, but for me it died when they lost their focus and desire to serve. Therefore, it won't be possible for me to expire prior to Xanga's termination. If I should depart the realm of the five sense prior to August 17, 2025 or after will not matter. This may be my final hour. I'm doing all that I need to be doing right now to make sure that if this is my final hour I'm packed and ready.

What's My Line?

They don't give you much to work with here at the new, not so improved Xanga 2.0 do they? Oh well, such is life. I'm not here enough to complain much and I'm not likely to be here even if they did offer anything close to an alternative in the world of blogging.

Why am I here at all? Good question. The other day someone messaged me and told me I looked hilarious (or something like that) in the profile picture. I'm here to explain it. It may take a while so get comfortable if you're interested. If you're not, what are you doing here? I had asked some friends to tell their favorite joke while I shot video of them. They did and then I edited the raw video, added music, various sound effects, titles and pictures to add some punch to the final production. When I had all of them finished I invited everyone over again and showed them the videos. They were really funny and we all had a great time.

Because I never could leave well enough alone I asked them to redo the jokes, in light of what they had seen, to see if they could improve on them. Okay, so that probably was pushing a little too much. Fast forward to about a month or so later. We were set up in my living room with a green screen in the background so I could later add some effects to the video. Bad idea. The original jokes were simple and straightforward. The new jokes turned out to be a production to match The Ten Commandments in complexity.

One of the girls brought props and several costume changes. It was so complex she couldn't remember her lines in what used to be a joke, but had turned into a major production. She was playing a Veterinarian so she had a stethoscope, those strange glasses with the fake nose and mustache, and a cigar. As she was going through her bit it was so stilted that I put all the stuff on and tried to show her some different ways to loosen up in the delivery of the lines. While I was doing that someone in the room took the picture that I've used as a profile picture. They thought that was pretty funny. That's the story of the profile picture. Now I'm going away again.

Whack-O's

Okay, I don't know what your political stand is concerning Xanga 2.0, but for me it's not so bad. I like the idea that comments are moderated. That takes care of so much garbage right off the bat and still leaves the site open to interested parties who aren't maliciously insane, mentally deranged or sexually depraved. No, I didn't cover all the possibilities. I wanted to leave something for you to share. We've all had our share of Whack-O's trolling, defecating, leaving twisted grafiti or otherwise spreading their disease and discontent about their own sorry excuses for a life. Quite a number of years ago I addressed the subject in a piece about Feeding the Monkeys. Since 2.0 all the titles are gone so I can't find it, but it is good.

And now for something completely different!

This font is too small. I don't like it and I can't find how to change it. Seems Xanga has locked up WordPress so they still get to hold you on the leash. I reckon that's what people do in this business. Oh, and what is pulse? We get two categories to start off with. Uncategorized and pulse. I still have a pulse, but it's not Xanga's fault. Okay. I surrender. The is me waving the white flag. Point me in the right direction and I'll try to figure it out.

What's your favorite Whack-O story? By favorite I think we know we didn't have to enjoy their insanity to appreciate their illness.

Still Here?

What's up with this? I thought Xanga bit the dust. No? No one ever tells me anything. At least I'm familiar with WordPress so it's not a complete ice water bath. I'm guessing I still won't have much to say and even fewer people to whom I'll be saying it. Pardon me while I look around and see what can be done with all this.

Oh, hi!

Oops

I was going to write something but changed my mind so I made it go away. Now all I have to say is something Buddha said. It's called the Metta Sutta. Sutta means discourse and Metta means lovingkindness. Put them together and you have Buddha's discourse on lovingkindness. I love it. I've memorized it and repeat it every day after my meditation time. It's a good reminder of what I want my life to be about, what I try to make it about. Here it is:

To reach the state of peace

One skilled in the good

Should be capable and upright

Straightforward, easy to speak to, gentle and not proud

Contented and easily supported

Living lightly with few duties

Wise and with senses calmed

Not arrogant and without greed for supporters

And should not do the least thing the wise would criticize

One should reflect

May all be happy and secure

May all beings be happy at heart

All living beings whether weak or strong

Tall, large, medium or short

Tiny or big, seen or unseen, near or distant, born or to be born

May they all be happy

Let no one deceive another or despise anyone anywhere

Let no one through anger or aversion wish for others to suffer

As a mother would risk her own life to protect her child, her only child

So toward all beings should one cultivate the boundless heart

With lovingkindness for the whole world should one cultivate a boundless heart

Above, below and all around

Without obstruction, without hate and without ill will

Standing or walking, sitting or lying down

Whenever one is awake may one stay with this recollection

This is called the sublime abiding, here and now

One who is virtuous, endowed with vision

Not taken by abuse and having overcome all greed for sensual pleasure

Will not be reborn again.

 Solitude

Recently I've been reading, No Man Is an Island, by Thomas Merton. He was a Trappist Monk, so he knew a little about solitude. I like the sound of the word so I looked up the definition to set it in my mind, making sure I meant what he meant when he used the word. I feel certain he knew what the word meant and didn't just think he did. He wrote somewhere around seventy books. That's not really a big deal since there are people who write that many books and say nothing worth the life of a tree. Merton, on the other hand, had something to say that I think a tree might have been willing to sacrifice itself to help convey to others. Pardon me for digressing a bit here, but I love trees. It pains me to see a tree cut down, especially an old tree. Trees are patient and harmless. I'd like to say kind but it may make it sound to some as if I'm anthropomorphizing trees. Trees are not human. That's probably what makes them naturally harmless. They provide so much to us and ask so little in return. Another nonhuman aspect of their nature. The quality of the air we breath is increased because of trees. They stand there and watch us scurry about like the little idiots we are. We cut them down while they remain mute and patient until the last bit of life is taken from them. It's spring here. The trees are beginning to clothe themselves in green. I like to look at them. I like to listen to them. They have gentle voices. We share 70% identical DNA with oak trees. I don't know. It's just wild to think about that.

Solitude comes from the Latin solitudo, from solus 'alone.'  The dictionary defines solitude as the state or situation of being alone. Through the years I've heard many people complain about being lonely. Being lonely is different from being alone. Even the dictionary knows the difference, but since people don't usually read a dictionary, especially when they think they know the meaning of a word, I'm going to share with you the definition. Lonely is sad because one has no friends or company. When I think of solitude I don't feel the least bit sad. I feel exhilarated, uplifted, at peace and oddly, secure. After reading that one might wonder what kind of friends or company I've had in the past. Same as you've had probably. Some good, some not so much. Merton wrote in one of his Journals:

A Preference for the Chant of Frogs

Warmer. Rain in the night. Frogs again. At first the waterhole (four feet long at most) had one frog or two. Now they are a small nation, loud in the night. The innocent nation, chanting blissfully in praise of the spring rain. Last evening I pruned a few little trees--including the beeches I had planted.

Today I have to go down to see Fr. Vernon Robertson, who evidently wants me to get involved in something--and I will try not to. He has been pestering me to come to Louisville to give a talk at Bellarmine College. And this is confirming me in my resolution to keep out of all that.

Almost every day I have to write a letter to someone refusing an invitation to attend a conference, or a workshop, or to give talks on the contemplative life, or poetry, etc. I can see more and more clearly how for me this would be a sheer waste, a Pascalian diversion, participation in a common delusion. (For others, no: they have the grace and mission to go around talking.) For me what matters is silence, meditation--and writing: but writing is secondary. To willingly and deliberately abandon this to go out and talk would be stupidity--for me. And for others, retirement into my kind of solitude would be equally stupid. They could not do it--and I could not do what they do.

No one bothers me with invitations anymore, especially since I've found this place of solitude. It's palpable. I was reading the above passage from Merton's Journal to a friend. He said, "It sounds like you." I live like a monk. It's a wonderful life for me because I do it easily, happily, peacefully and even eagerly. I must go out to buy a part to fix a leak under the sink in the laundry room. It would take me less time to do it than it does to prepare myself for the excursion. Solitude is sweet.

Worms

Winston Churchill said, I like pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals. I wonder how Mr. Churchill felt about people? Thoughts are different from feelings. Most folks are more comfortable with thinking than they are with feeling, so they bring thoughts to the tops of their heads and stuff their uncomfortable feelings way down deep in dark places inside themselves. This can be problematic. What we can't see, don't know and are unwilling to acknowledge, has power over us. The reason we stuff uncomfortable feelings is so we don't have to acknowledge, see or know about them. Sometimes that's like trying to get those springy worm things back in the can after we open it and they all come, well, springing out. The difference is the feelings with which we are most uncomfortable are usually venomous while those springy worm things that come in a can are nearly harmless. I mean a Red Ryder BB Gun might put an eye out, but I've never heard of a movie about springy worm things that come in a can putting anyone's eye out. If you have I'd like to hear about it. Even the famous (or infamous if you're on the gun control band wagon) Red Ryder BB Gun couldn't put an eye out without some help from a human, unlike those horrible guns that go around killing people everywhere these days. I have this movie in my head where psychotic guns roam the streets, malls and schools of America indiscriminately shooting people. They drag behind them some poor schmuck who they use as their patsy (a person who is easily taken advantage of, especially by being cheated or blamed for something). When the psychotic gun's barrel is heated up and it's low on ammunition it turns on the patsy it's been dragging behind it and finally kills him. Please don't take offense when I define words. It's not that I think you don't know what the word means. It's that I think the meaning of words is being hijacked for propaganda purposes. Since people so often get pissed off and like to attach their rage to words, I'd like them to know exactly what I'm talking about when they decide I'm the anti-Christ. Personally I've never thought that much of myself and the flattery is wasted on me because I don't much care what other's think of me either. Fatal flaw? It's one I can die with.

Winston Churchill was a politician. I like the idea of Winston Churchill, but I don't know if I'd like Winston Churchill himself. It's kind of like marriage. People like the idea of marriage, but the divorce rate nationwide is over fifty percent. I'm thinking the idea was easier to have than the marriage. Back to Sir Winston. I'd like to overlook the fact that he was a politician, because I think politicians and pigs have far too much in common. The idea of Winston Churchill that I entertain is that he was a statesman, not a politician. What's the difference? I'm so glad you asked. According to my desktop dictionary a politician is a person who is professionally involved in politics, especially as a holder of or a candidate for an elected office. Interesting thought. Not very interesting, but there it is. Government was much more honest before politicians were professionals. They used to do it as a duty and service to the country. Once money entered into the equation the people who became politicians did it for the money and not duty and service. That's when they had to add the second definition to the dictionary. This second definition feels more accurate to me. A person who acts in a manipulative and devious way, typically to gain advancement within an organization. A statesman is defined as a skilled, experienced, and respected political leader or figure. Not many of those around are there? Come on, respected? Really? Do you, can you really respect a politician? I suppose it's like stuffing feelings. The less we know of them the easier it is to pretend the feelings we have are harmless, like those springy worm things that come in a can.

What do you think? Do you suppose Winston Churchill was indirectly saying that pigs treat us as equals because we are equals, or because pigs think we are? Surely people, as a rule, don't think they are equal with pigs. Most of the people I've met would be terribly insulted. That would lead to a feeling of outrage and righteous indignation. Two very dangerous feelings when they're stuffed way down in the can of our internal world. When we were kids and we opened one of those cans of springy worm things it was a surprise. Adults today don't like surprises. They like to be pissed off. This is the only conclusion an objective observer with a somewhat rational mind could conclude. I suppose that means it's what a pig might conclude after examining the behavior of our species. If you've read this far I can only beg your pardon for what I'm about to do. Yeah, I'm going to add one more definition. What I didn't tell you about the statesman definition. At the bottom of the definition they added Stateswoman. No, seriously, they really did. A skilled, experienced, and respected female political leader. Why? To quell public outrage no doubt. I like pigs.

Twelve

Yup, twelve years. It's probably not fair to count them this way since I'm not really here anymore. Nevertheless, I do read from time to time. Be happy. I am.

Eleven

It's been eleven years since Bianca invited my wife to come over and sign up for a Free Xanga Weblog. Connie wasn't interested and since I was writing on Yahoo then, back then it was called GeoCities, she passed the invitation along to me. I signed up for a Weblog, not really knowing what a Weblog was or into what it might transform. There weren't many of us back then. We were The Knights of the Old Xanga and the adventure had begun. It got off to a slow start by today's standards but began picking up speed and participants. The Old Internet was nothing like it is now. Everything was slower and smaller. There was no such thing as YouTube and videos were rare. Going viral was still far into the future and unimaginable to most. As with every electronic community we gathered together into ever expanding groups. The Knights of the Old Xanga enjoyed a time of peace and prosperity in an atmosphere that seemed to us like Camelot. For a while it was the best of what people can have as they gather and interact socially. It took a while for human nature to rear its ugly head. It was the gold for which Dragons are greedy that started the first ripples of the fall. The Gold came in the form of eProps. Before The gods ofXangadu realized what they'd created they used to post how many eProps each Weblog had received. The competition wasn't especially fierce in the beginning, but soon the seeds of discontent began to germinate in the hearts of The Knights of the Old Xanga. At first there wasn't a great deal of bloodshed over the coveted eProps. A nick or two here and there with commiserating bandaids quickly applied stanched the flow for a time. Soon The Two Great Dragons, Greed and Self-Love flew into the idyllic kingdom of Xangadu. They were satisfied carrying off a few scattered sheep while The Knights of the Old Xanga slowly formed protective circles brandishing their shields to ward off the insidious assaults against the once peaceful and lovely Xangadu. As the Gold increased so did The Two Great Dragons' Lust for it. Entwined in a heated embrace The Two Great Dragons produced two more Dragons in Xangadu. Pride and Vanity were hatched and grew at an alarming rate. The Knights of the Old Xanga began to turn on one another as the battle grew hotter and more fierce with each new posting of the top eProp scores. The light in hearts grew dim as the Dragons' Darkness spread across Xangadu.

The old banners and standards began to fall one after another as Greed and Self-Love drove The Knights of the Old Xanga lower and lower in search of the golden eProps. Pride and Vanity stirred ever more powerfully in the hearts of The Knights of the Old Xanga and their former camaraderie transformed into a greedy competition that seemed insatiable. Banners once held high were replaced with swords turned against one another. Harsh words flew from camp to camp like poison arrows. Much damage had been done before The gods of Xangadu realized that the imagination of man's heart is subject to Greed. They wisely stopped posting the coveted eProp totals on the front page every day. By this time Xangadu had become like a bustling city where it was hard to know your neighbor personally. The city was divided into different camps as the spirit of adventure waned and the need for walls became clear. The dogs of war had found their way in and were feeding on the scraps The Two Great Dragons had left in their terrible wake. This tale is told in short but in truth it took years for The gods of Xangadu to build the walls. Many of The Knights of the Old Xanga fell on their own swords while others fell prey to the Dragons' Darkness that spread across the land turning brother against brother and sister against sister in their lust for Gold. There yet remain some of The Knights of the Old Xanga, but they are mostly quiet, scarred and worn from a battle that lasted far too long. A battle that was never won and has now taken on a different visage. The Two Great Dragons, now morphed like the legendary Phoenix, still rule the sky over once lovely Xangadu. Their offspring hide away in the caves of men's hearts guarding their treasure and waiting for the cover of darkness.

Thanks

The new header and color scheme are from my friend, @moniet. The fact is she has designed all of the headers I've used for the past . . . Sheesh! I can't even remember how many years. It's been a long time. It's one of those things we ordinarily take for granted. I don't ever want to fall into that trap of taking my friends for granted. No doubt it happens to each of us at one time or another, but it's really a good idea to work on staying awake in that area. We take so much for granted. Hot showers, electricity, flush toilets, running water, grocery stores where we can go pick up food. When you think about it there are so many things we can easily take for granted. When life isn't as nice as we'd like it to be, when things don't appear to be going in a way that's in harmony with our ideas of how it should be, it's productive to simply stop ourselves and remember how good life is and why. It's because of our ability to communicate with one another. Our ability to love one another, to whatever degree we find it in our hearts to do. Love is what you do. It's not what you say. You can say anything. The world is full of words that float around in space and cyberspace. They're attached to nothing. No responsibility, no foundation, nothing. Just words and pixels waiting for us to fill them with meaning. Sure, there are people who pump out words with meaning behind them. Some good and some not so good, but few, very few with awareness, compassion, empathy, mercy and love.

Thank you, @moniet for always being there for me. I do appreciate you, your talents, your eye for beauty and your willingness to pitch in and help make James' World a bright spot.