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?

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.

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.

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:

The Old Xanga was much different from the New Xanga. It was a frontier town back in 1999. The New Xanga has moved far beyond the Jetsons now into some strange science fiction world where the inhabitants, their customs and language are different. Its identity has shifted with its population. This is not a lament. Everything changes, nothing remains the same for long. As with most other things they are either in the process of being constructed or destructed. From one perspective the New Xanga may not be an improvement. To know its purpose would help us to know if it was fulfilling its design. Before we, the Old Xangans, knew of its true aim we had a purpose for it. It was a community of people who wished to write and share what they wrote with others and get feedback from those others. We wanted to read what others wrote and share our input with them as well. The beings atop Mount Xangus had another design and purpose for Xanga that slowly emerged over the years. To make money. It was an idea in which people were willing to invest their time and money to get back a financial increase. Nothing wrong with that. The idealistic writers who came to Xanga to practice their passion took little thought of it financially because it was free. Another of those misleading words. There were those who were more practical and began discussing the possibility of a different goal than the one we assumed even before there was advertising and paid-for-features. In the beginning it was a level playing field where your personality and ability to ply it were all that caused you to stand apart from the masses. Jason writes that he's considering jumping back into this Xanga game. It's a whole new game and most of the old players have either retired or moved to other teams. Those of us who may remain are much less visible and active than we were in the old game. Jason would be a welcome addition to my little xanga.

UPDATE-O: It appears the reason the xanga spell checker underlined dialouge in red was because I was a dork and transposed the u and g misspelling the word. I was so focused on the new spelling of the word (dialog) that I made a boo boo, typo, whatever-o. Do I feel like an ass? No. I feel fortunate to know someone who was clever enough to find it and kindly point it out to me. I have learned something, though as yet I'm not certain what it is, but I sense it's important. *smile*

Oh, thank xanga for footprints. Now I can track my stalker while my stalker is tracking me. My stalker comes by my site every fifteen minutes day or night, rain or shine, holiday or work day. It doesn't matter. Do you have any idea how important and desired that makes me feel? No? Well, think about it. Not very important because her name is so generic. What kind of stalker goes by the name, notifyBot? Is that Italian, French or Lithuanian? I'll bet notifyBot doesn't shave her legs or armpits. What? I'm sorry. I was born and raised in the United States of America and during the sixties when the hippie chicks who stopped shaving their legs and armpits came around I left. I'm sorry. I'm not that way anymore. You can have an old Greek lady moustache or an elderly Spanish Doña's bigote. I'm okay with that now. It's all the same to me. Who says people don't change. Never mind. I know who says it.

So, you are wondering whether to tell me or not? Perhaps you're considering how to break it to me gently. That's really kind of you. Thank you for your consideration. Really. You're too kind. No, I mean it. Go ahead and tell me. You have a stalker who goes by the same name. It's okay. I don't mind. It was nice to feel special and important even if it was just for a minute or two. I guess that was my fifteen minutes of fame. It really wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I have a feeling a lot of people find that out about fame. What can I say? You didn't like me talking about love either.

It’s a matter of keeping an open mind about love. That’s difficult
because we know that love hurts and we don’t like to hurt. We protect
ourselves from being hurt when we can. We protect parts that have been
wounded in the past. Who hasn’t been wounded while trying to learn what
love is, what it means, how it may be manifested in life without all
the pain, the wounds and the upsets? It takes a courageous soul to keep
looking, keep expanding, keep trying. I confess to not being very
courageous in this area for much of my life. As it draws to a close
however, I find myself again willing to suffer for a greater
understanding of the idea of love and whatever may lie behind it.
Perhaps I’ll be able to risk a little more today than I could
yesterday. Perhaps as age creeps up from behind some parts of our
protective memory will thin or be diminished in some way, freeing us to
dig deeper, see more and expand our idea of what love, real love might
be. Have a lovely day.

You've got to love the entitled morons of La Jolla who will try to save the whales and then see no contradiction in spending upwards of seven hundred thousands of dollars a year to drive the seals off the beach so the children can have a place of their own. It's just this sort of human arrogance that has driven so many species to extinction. It's our earth and they'd better get the hell off it or we'll be forced to eliminate them. If the seals were trying to have their babies in Chuck E. Cheese's I could see the need for barking dog sounds and water hoses to save the seals. That's not necessary though because seals are smarter than humans when it comes to the environment in which they wish to raise their offspring. Honestly, I don't blame the residents of La Jolla or San Diego. How could I? They are like sheep that have gone astray. The fact is that sheep are stupid and once they get lost they're not as smart as pigeons or dogs who can find their way back home. You've got to go out and round up the poor little wooly headed creatures to save them from themselves. I'm not shepherding in La Jolla so they're going to have to sort this out themselves. Either that or a couple of wolves will show up for dinner.

The poor (literally) city of San Diego is going to have to pay the bill to try to appease the few entitled morons who want their beach back. Never mind that the seals were there first. Might makes right when you're arrogant. I admire the city's approach. Barking dog sounds broadcast on the beach from six a.m. to sunset seven days a week would certainly convince me to stay away from the beach. The city will probably be sued to provide ear plugs for the children of the rich and infamous. There's no such thing as a frivolous law suit when we value ourselves as highly as we do. Let all the universe bend the knee and worship our right to do what is in our own short-sighted self-interest. It's part of the human condition that can't be cured by the effects of our insanity. We'll either continue our march toward extinction or we'll begin to see ourselves for what we really are. Pompous, arrogant children playing Russian roulette with a universal revolver. This will be a fight to the death and we don't seem to mind dying as long as we're the last species to do it. Silly when you think about it. The rats and cockroaches are the real survivors.

Update:
A San Diego judge today decided the seals must go according to the law. The legal wrangling will continue for months and months to come while a new state law is passed that will put an end to the arrogance of entitlement. Barking dog sounds and water guns! Sweet Jesus. What will we think of next?

Is it possible to be stupid and still be able to do something well? What's an idiot savant? That's really a rude label but it's all I know. What the French really were saying was learned idiot. According to the dictionary an idiot is a stupid person. So, an idiot savant is a stupid person who displays brilliance in a specific area, especially one involving memory. When I think about it I don't really mind being stupid because I like me better than I ever have. Even if I am stupid I'm a lot more kind than ever I've been. Consistently. It takes a lot of brilliance to be consistently kind. At least it does for me. Perhaps some people are born kinder than others just like some people seem to be born with a better chess mind than others. Chess reminds me of math. I always felt stupid about math too. When I was in Guatemala learning to speak Spanish I felt stupid almost all the time. Every time a child spoke Spanish better than I did I'd mentally abuse myself. Well, some voice in my head verbally abused me. It wasn't me. How do I know that? It kept calling me you. You idiot! You're so stupid. You'll never get it. What's wrong with you? Your father was right about you. It might just as easily have been some teacher's name from school instead of your father.

My strategy is to not sweat being stupid because smart isn't really all that great when it comes to the things that really matter in life. I've known some very smart people. Unfortunately, for one reason or another, they weren't very nice. Some of them were, but they were the minority by a wide margin. Think Enron and the smartest guys in the room. Those guys were not nice people. Politicians are smart (ick), or so they say. My dog is stupid. He's probably the dumbest dog I've ever known but I love him more than any dog I can remember because he's got a good heart. He doesn't seem to mind being stupid as long as he can love and loving seems to make him happy. He loves everybody. If a stranger came around and invited him to go on a walk he'd go, wagging his tail the whole time. He doesn't know about how people can be. He just loves them unconditionally. When I grow up I want to be like my dog.

Spring is my time of year! My friends got together to kick in the money to buy me the Kindle II as a birthday gift. It's got to be one of the all time greatest gifts I've ever received in my life. In the event I don't live long enough to celebrate my upcoming birthday I got the gift a month in advance. I'm sitting here listening to the now deceased Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo'ole sweetly croon Over The Rainbow/What A Wonderful World with the moist eyes of a tenderized heart full of gratitude for the richness and beauty of my life. It's not all peachy keen all the time but overall I'm satisfied with the path I've chosen to stumble along. The malaise of last month turned into something else, as all things must do eventually. Rather than the expected flash of something wonderful it was more like the rising of a tide that lifted everything in my life to a new level that has been much more easily sustained. I'll take this over that every time if I've any choice about it henceforth. A tenderized heart may sound sweet but it really is a painful predicament in a world such as the one of which we are a part. Not everyone is full of peace and love for sentient life. If the truth were to be told we'd have to say only a very few approach such a state of consciousness. Though it couldn't possibly be any other way it's still rather sad to see so many squander so much for so little.

Please remember to be kind. Thanks to whoever it was that gifted me with premium a few years ago. I appreciate your generosity.