Back in the mid seventeenth century the Brits began using bloody to add emphasis to an expression of uncertain origin, but is thought to have a connection with the "bloods" (aristocratic rowdies) of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries; hence the phrase bloody drunk (as drunk as a blood) meant very drunk indeed. After the mid eighteenth century until quite recently, bloody used as a swearword was regarded as unprintable, probably from the mistaken belief that it implied a blasphemous reference to the blood of Christ, or that the word was an alteration of "by Our Lady"; hence widespread caution in using the term even in phrases such as bloody battle merely referring to bloodshed.

In America today you can be on the bleeding edge which refers to the expense of buying electronic technology when it first comes out, before the prices drop due to higher production. From bloody being a swear word to the curse of being on the bleeding edge may seem like a big leap but in my mind the two are connected with an interesting phenomenon I've observed over the past forty or so years in my own life. Just a moment ago I had my wife a small digital video camera I've had for years. Video has fascinated me for over thirty years and I've owned VHS video cameras and recorders since when they were two separate units right up to video camcorders that are smaller than the original VHS tapes were. The advances in technology have been extensive and expensive. I know. I've thrown out useless cameras that no one wanted for which I'd paid several times the high end prosumer camcorders. The cost of being on the bleeding edge. When I came back from my first extended stay in Guatemala where I was learning Spanish in a total immersion school my wife was going to her first industry show where she had a booth and some pattern packets to sell. During the show I walked around looking at what people we doing and selling. When I got back I told her there was going to be a lucrative future in making and selling instructional videos and offered to make them for her. In her defense it was her first show and she was in overwhelm with all there was to do. Perhaps that's why the suggestion was batted back at me. Did I say batted back? It was more like it was shot out of a cannon. I never mentioned it again.

A few years ago Connie asked me to shoot, edit and produce an instructional video for her about painting roses. Of course I did it. Now it's time for a new one and she's looking to buy a camera so she can capture video of herself painting and explaining what she's doing. Naturally I offered to let her use one of the video cameras I have. She received the suggestion much better this time. It's only taken her a few days to collect the camera to give it a try this time. If you learn nothing else from being married to the same person for over twenty-seven years you may learn patience and forbearance. It's not always easy but it can be done with persistent effort. There are a number of steps through which we usually pass before we can accept something new. To be on the bleeding edge and know what is going to work before others know can be painful. No wonder they call it the bleeding edge. Bloody hell!

Most folks who know something about me wouldn't call me a quitter. My wife would, but she wouldn't mean it in the way we may think of it. She would say she'd never met anyone in her life who could quit something as quickly, and to her, as easily as I have and do. She tried for years to quit smoking. It was impossible for her to quit and stay quit. Until she did it. She won't smoke again. I know because I know how to quit things like that. It's all a mind game. You have to know how your mind works and then use it to your advantage. She learned that, at least in the area of smoking. The way she sees me isn't the way I see me, but then I'm not her, or you for that matter. I'm not really me either. How I know that is because the me that I know has changed so many times it's hard to keep track. Pretty much, I've quit xanga. The other day I deactivated my facebook account. It was time. What I needed to get from facebook I got. I connected up with a couple of people I knew over thirty years ago. Drove to Arizona to spend a few days with one of them and reconnect with a very important part of my past that I'd quit. The truth appears to be I wasn't ready then but perhaps I am now. If not I'll quit again. Mark Twain said, It's easy to quit smoking. I've done it hundreds of times. That may not be exact but it's the idea that really matters if the idea is what you wish to convey. Not being a bean counter I don't get caught up in the semantics so much. I want the distilled essence of what the man meant. It's the bottom line that matters most to me. Not in the same way as once it did but still, it's the bottom line I want. Today I'm not willing to push someone aside to get it. That's not the way it's always been. I quit that.

The thing is I don't really quit. I stop. There's a difference. Stopping is different from quitting because when you stop you can start again. When you quit you're saying you're not going to do that again. It doesn't work for most people because the mind receives it as a challenge and we don't have that kind of control over our minds. It will win nine out of ten times. Maybe even ninety-nine out of a hundred times. If you stop it's softer and the mind doesn't feel as pushed around, challenged and so it doesn't react by flexing it's considerable muscle. We imagine we can control our minds but that's only because we've never really observed ourselves doing it. It's like seeing a video of yourself dancing or hearing a recording of yourself singing for the first time. It can be quite a shock to see that what we do isn't what we think we do. Why am I writing this? I don't know. I'm going to quit now. Or should I say stop?

Though not much appreciated in modern American society there are some advantages to growing older, apart from the moronic discounts available to seniors. Yes, I'm a senior now, though you'd never know it. I remember how annoying it was being carded when I was young. Now no one will believe I'm sixty-two, well, except for young people who recoil at the sight of a lined face, graying hair and body obviously past the ancient age of thirty. The curious case of Benjamin Button. We end the way we start. Bald, wrinkled and incapable of attending to our own basic needs. The golden years, whatever they may be, are not for sissies. All the mistakes of our youth have lodged themselves deeply into our bodies and serve as reminders of just how foolish the arrogance of youth can make us behave. Yes, well, we've now talked about the uncomfortable parts of aging but that's not all there is to it. I suspect there are few people who have learned anything worth learning over the years who would wish to go back and relive their teen years. I certainly would rather not face those years again. Especially with what I know now. What are these supposed advantages? Well, there's humility if one has played one's cards rightly. Humility may not be something much valued in our youth but in our later years it takes on a value far beyond anything material. It's a rite of passage that opens the door to things that we could never understand properly and fully in our youth.

Lately I am more free to love than ever I was in my youth. Oh, I loved but it wasn't love. It was more psychological masturbation that focused on self and how the other made one feel. If this is still a foreign language to you, regardless of your physical age, there's nothing more I can tell you. If, on the other hand, you have relatively few physical years but some understanding of the selfishness of what we call love, no explanation is necessary. When I was a younger man being a nice guy wasn't something to be worn with pride. Being sweet was probably even worse. Somehow it was lacking the necessary testosterone to embrace readily. On the other hand, if it gave us a chance to score sexually, well hell, damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. When the testosterone finally begins to diminish and reason is allowed to arise everything begins to change. Though it may seem repugnant to us early on it is welcome later. It's like death I suppose. One of the most astounding things I ever read in the Bible was, And in those days men will seek death and will not find it; they will long to die and death flees from them (Rev. 9:6). That's scary if you get it. I don't mean scary in a fearful way but rather in an awe inspiring way that can only come from a deep understanding of life.

Yes, I can be sweet now. I'm able to be a fool without feeling as ashamed about it. It's okay to be soft and yielding without suffering a loss of face or manhood. There's a shift that occurs inside us if we did it right. The shift is from an outer, five senses centered life to an inner centered life that exists with an entirely different set of values. I like it. Oh, that doesn't mean I'm thrilled about dragging around this broken body that was abused and battered by the insanity of my youth. What it does mean is that at this point in the journey the scales have tipped and the balance is bearable. I know it won't always be like this and one day I will welcome death with an open heart and a smile on my face. The Grim Reaper will be someone I will welcome, if I've done it right. What is it I want to say? Nothing really. Just that I am enjoying being able to be more vulnerable and available.

People who have children have reminders running around all the time. Even if they don't see them often after they are grown and living lives of their own. Having no children has never bothered me. On the other hand there are a number of people who have told me I was their first spiritual teacher. That makes me kind of cringe when I hear it. It's not that I don't respect the person's perception or memory. It's more like I cringe at the reminder of my falling shorts. Yeah, I said it that way on purpose. If I don't laugh at it once in a while I'd cry and it's not good to cry all the time. Today I looked up someone from my past on facebook and found him. I've had NO luck finding people on facebook. Either I can't remember their full name or I just can't remember. Having lived in and worked in many different places and known quite a few people over the years makes for a number of memories. Not all of them are good. The thing about hindsight is that you're looking from who you are now, not who you were then. You're looking at who you were then and if you've been even partly diligent about a spiritual path who you are when you're looking back is very different from who you are looking at across the years. All the rationale is available to me. You were young, you did your best, no one is perfect and all the other things that sound like blah, blah, blah, blah, blaaah. You have to read that with the right meter. If you're not musical you may have missed it. It's not that I regret my life. I don't. I don't like how I treated people in the past. To think about it is painful to me and I don't care to become calloused to avoid the pain. My spiritual training reminds me to let it be and remain equanimous. Man, I'm tryin'.

The fellow I found on facebook was someone I'd met shortly after moving to California in 1975. His girlfriend brought him to one of my meetings and he kept coming back. We became friends and shared many wonderful times together. We supported each other through hard times and rejoiced with each other during happy times. He's the one reminded me today that I was his first spiritual teacher. Another person from the same time period had said the same thing some years ago. Fortunately, she had treated me worse than I had treated her so I had no lingering memories of things I needed to clean up with her. All I needed to do was tell her I loved her. Not so with the guy today. I did get to tell him that I thought of him often and loved him always. Then there was the apology that he graciously accepted. He didn't remember me treating him in the same way I remembered. How could he? He doesn't live inside my mind and heart. I do. Perhaps some of what I taught those many years ago made an impact on him. He is forgiving and I can't think of anything I would like people to learn more than that. It says about everything because you have to see who you are first before you can easily forgive. It's a matter of being willing to consider the other person with your own imperfections in mind. For a long time it seemed to me I was forgiving and when it comes to other people I probably am. At least much more forgiving of them than I am of myself. Sound familiar? I know I'm not the only one. There's an army of us out here.

Please don't see this as a fishing expedition. Nothing you can say about me is going to change my mind about me. As our dear friend, Popeye used to say, I yam what I yam. Part of this spiritual path is to learn to know yourself. It wasn't that long ago I thought I did know myself. Boy, was I ever wrong. Another thing he said at which I cringed was, you're the guy who tells it like it is. During my afternoon meditation that came up and I heard that voice in my head that I used to call me say, God I'm so sick of myself. Have you ever wanted to be someone else? I don't mean somebody famous or rich or important. Not someone else like that. Just not you, or better yet, no one. I want to be nobody, nothing, no self because all I can see that a self does is separate itself from others and cause pain and needless misery. The horror of it is that we don't really have to do anything to cause all the misery. The whole idea that we're not one is pretty miserable. If it sounds like I'm whinging, well, maybe I am a little. What I think I'm trying to do is process this so I can get on with my life. It would also be nice if you thought about it a little and then maybe thought it would be a good idea for you to be a little more loving, forgiving and generous.

For the most part I suppose I'm one of those cerebral types. More often than not you will find me sitting on my ass reading a book, writing at the computer or talking to someone or a group of someones. It's not that I don't like physical activity, it's more like physical activity is cyclical for me. Maybe everyone is like that but I don't pay as much attention to everyone as I do to myself. Yeah, it's all about me. That may be the one big thing that makes me different from you. Just kidding. That may be the one big thing we have in common. See? That's what I mean. I'm not a practical joker. I'm more of a facetious or sarcastic cerebrum kind of guy where the practical joker is more a cerebellum type. The cerebellum is the part of the brain at the back of the skull in vertebrates, that's us. Its function is to coordinate and regulate muscular activity. My friend of well over twenty years, Rex, is a cerebellum guy. He puts phone books under your mattress while you're in the shower if you're sharing a hotel room with him. If you're married to him, which I'm not, he puts pennies in the freezer and then tosses a handful of them on your side of the bed while you're in the bathroom. If you've ever asked yourself, Who thinks of shit like that? I'm here to tell you. Rex.

About half a dozen of us were bicycle touring Napa Valley one year, camping out. One night skunks invaded the camp. I've never seen an animal that didn't like Rex. All my dogs have loved him. Alfie was a nut job Dalmatian who got busted twice for biting people. They have a three strikes law here. The third strike they send them to the gas chamber. No appeals. He had one strike left when he died and that was only because his third bite didn't report him or go to the doctor's office. Doctors are mandatory reporters. Rex used to draw a circle around Alfie's eye with a carpenter's crayon. Alfie loved Rex and would let him do anything. Anyway, the skunk went right into Rex' tent and tried to get into the sleeping bag with him. Rex had to shoo him away several times. Finally the skunk left and went to another tent. Rex got his flashlight to see what was going on out there. The skunk was visiting another friend's tent. Steve thinks all animals are either for eating or hunting so he was not fond of the skunk. Probably thought the skunk was an animal totem come to balance his karmic debt with the animal kingdom. Scary. Steve got upset when the light from Rex' flashlight woke him up and he saw the skunk. Rex couln't let it be and told Steve that he made the skunk go over there by shining the light. Who thinks of shit like that? Rex. Steve believed him. Rex doesn't do stuff like that to me. I just tell him I'll shove the flashlight up his ass and he laughs, makes a silly Laurel and Hardy face and stops screwing with me.

All this to say I've spent about every day the past couple of months working in the yard. Must be the physical work cycle. It didn't really occur to me until Connie and I were out to lunch yesterday. Yesterday was Wednesday here in our part of the world. On Wednesday night I have a class where we're studying the Tao-Te-Ching. It was after noon and I still had to meditate and get back out in the yard and finish a big list of things I wanted to (needed to) do. When Connie told me it was Wednesday I groaned, Oh, man, I've got a class tonight. I don't have time for that crap! Connie and I have been married over twenty-seven years. It's probably the first time she's ever heard me say I didn't have time for a class. My usually soft hands look like I've been juggling broken bottles. It takes me about twenty steps to straighten up when I get up out of a chair. The back of my neck is so toasted I've gone beyond redneck to brown neck and I now take a shower at night instead of in the morning. Last night one of the chapters of the Tao we read was speaking directly to me: