Alleged Gravitas

ASHES AND GRACE

2013-11-16T21:24:00.000-05:00

tear me down, lord
burn me to ashes and scatter me to the wind
let me die to my notions, fantasies and delusions

my desires longings yearnings and tears
have brought me to this time and place
where nothing is left except to let go

let me breathe
let my mind be still
let me surrender to the maelstrom
and trust
love and forgive
with nothing left
but ashes and grace

Paul McDonald © 2013

HONOR THE CESSATION POINT

2013-11-10T23:02:00.001-05:00

I haven’t been making regular posts to this blog for quite some time. There are a lot of reasons for this. Chief among them is this haunting feeling that I’m not the same person I was when I began it. I started it back in 2004 or 2005. Alleged Gravitas was a name I came up as a joke and I still kind of like it. However, I no longer relate to it nor do I relate to a good many blog entries I've posted over the years.

There is nothing wrong with the blog posts. I’m often amazed that I could write something so congruent and coherent. Yet often, like any writer who enjoys the process, I always find ways they could be improved.

Essentially, I found my focus moving elsewhere.

Actually my focus changed about the time I moved to Bangkok in 2008 when I decided my time overseas had given me the direction I so eagerly sought. When I moved to Indonesia and Thailand I had no idea what direction my life was going to take. I finally figured it out one afternoon in Jakarta while I was journaling at the school where I taught. I realized I could teach. I realized I enjoyed teaching and I loved the interaction between me and my students. I realized I could be a teacher and, more importantly, TAKE CARE OF MYSELF, instead of hoping blind luck or a mythical god was going to do it for me.

When I returned in 2009, I began my studies for my Masters Degree and managed to pull off a 4.0 GPA. I graduated in January of 2012. I sent out hundreds of resumes. I went on dozens of interviews. I had high hopes. And my hopes were dashed and all that was left was disillusionment and thoughts that I had failed. I began to feel worthless, that I wasn't getting hired because I was a terrible person, that despite all the hard work I had put in to get an education and get a decent job that provided a much needed service… I simply was not wanted.

During this time many friendships and acquaintanceships ended, mostly because it was part of the natural cycle. People are in your life for a while and then you find that you are the only one trying to keep it alive. Then you let go. As Gurumayi Chidvilasanada has wisely said, “Honor the Cessation Point.”

Often the cessation point wasn't up to me because a good many people died. I was now at the age where people had heart attacks, strokes, cancer and all the things that make this body an expendable blob of protoplasm. More than once I pondered what happens when you die. Some of the explanations I’ve encountered have been comforting and others kind of confusing. Is the afterlife like swimming underwater?

It was at this point that I felt the life had been sucked out of me. I stayed inside all the time. I hardly spoke to anyone. I slept constantly. I cried and was convinced my future held no promise. I wanted to die.

After yet another interview that seemed promising only to be met with stony silence I knew I had a decision to make. After a great deal of soul searching I realized that underemployment and unemployment, stressful and humiliating as they were, were no grounds for suicide and in the same moment I was determined not to be defeated. I was indeed going to make it through this and live to tell about it.

But something happened. I became someone else. I became someone who was willing to let it all go. I wasn't going to scheme my way out or put up any resistance. I would surrender this to my Higher Power, The Shakti, or, as I've recently come to call it, the Maelstrom of the Present Moment.

One day I gathered up about ten or fifteen years of journals and did what I once considered unthinkable: I tore them to pieces and threw them out. The represented a past I no longer wanted a part of.

Eventually I got a job. It's a good job and I enjoy it. The financial aspect of my life, though much improved, is still very challenging. It's still a hand to mouth existence, at least for the time being.

However if I continue to write -- and I plan to -- this particular venue will come to an end and another one, somewhere, in some sort of medium, will begin. How that will happen and/or where it will happen remain to be seen. So for now I will Honor the Cessation Point and say Goodbye.

JE NE SAIS PAS (ESSAY)

2013-03-15T18:36:00.005-04:00

A few years ago, I had my astrological chart cast by a Vedic astrologer in an attempt to come up with a cosmic road map. I paid through the nose for this reading, so it’s fair to say I was looking for some nuts and bolts answers – like exactly when I would have a relationship that didn’t crash and burn just after takeoff. Instead, the astrologer told me: “Your mind goes 24 hours a day thinking and wondering, ‘what shall I do, when shall I do it, how will it happen, when will it happen, suppose it doesn’t happen, how do I protect myself, how will I be safe, how will I be in control, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, I don’t know what’s good for me, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know ... ‘” And he adamantly refused to tell me anything I wanted to hear. He also told me to forget about dating, at least until March 2017.

The next day, I took my journal with me to work and wrote down everything I could think of that I didn’t know. Here are some of my observations:

I don’t know if I have any regrets.

I don’t know how to laugh.

I don’t know how to cry.

I don’t know why the harder I try the harder it gets.

I don’t know why my cat prefers the carpet to the litter box.

I don’t know if UFOs exist.

I don’t know if professional wrestlers are faking it or not.

I don’t know if Eddie Haskell is really Alice Cooper.

I don’t know if Elvis is dead or if Jim Morrison is alive and running guns in Honduras.

I don’t know if you’ve heard the one about the Zen vacuum cleaner; It has no attachments ...

I wasn’t sure what to do with all these profound revelations, so I put them into a poem and titled it “Je Ne Sais Pas.”

It reminded me of the time when comedian Steve Martin and a friend got into a deep conversation about the nature of reality, the origin of consciousness and just about every audacious problem under the sun. Suddenly, they figured everything out. Reality made total sense and they had discovered the answers to life’s most complex mysteries. After two seconds of silence, they both looked each other in the eye, burst out laughing and staggered out into the street like a couple of drunks. Two weeks later, Martin got a job writing for the Smothers Brothers.

If there’s anything I can learn from Steve Martin, my astrologer and my journal, it might be that, despite my impassioned protests to the gods, I will have to accept the notion that mystery is an enigmatic practicality and that the most insightful answers are those delivered in silence.

A friend once shared with me a quote by Joseph Campbell that inspires me with its wisdom, comfort and terror: “If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path.”

Paul McDonald is a writer, educator and graduate student who thinks too much. He can be reached at paulmcd06@gmail.com.

Taken from The Highlander Online.

LESSER KNOWN PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES

2012-06-04T01:20:00.000-04:00

Back in the 1950s, when the UFO contactee craze was about as trendy as hula hoops, there was a man named Gabriel Green who claimed to be in touch with beings from Alpha Centauri. Green was the founder and president of the Amalgamated Flying Saucer Clubs of America and, at the behest of his space brothers, ran for President in 1960 on a platform of leadership by enlightened direction. I don’t know how long his campaign lasted, but I do know he later withdrew in order to support then Senator John F. Kennedy. Lest you think Green had a screw loose, bear in mind that the election of 1960 was extremely close, so I’m sure JFK was happy for any support he could get. And Green must have had some pull, because when he ran for the Senate in 1962 he drew over 170,000 votes.

Now that we seem to have narrowed the choice for 2012 between two candidates, I was wondering if there was anyone out there who might add a little enlightened direction to the current political campaign.

Thanks to the Federal Election Commission’s website, I found a few candidates who would definitely make this election more colorful. One such candidate is Jonathon “The Impaler” Sharkey, who is a professional wrestler and self-professed vampire. Mr. Sharkey is a perennial candidate who advocates the drinking of blood and believes in capital maiming, impaling and punishment. He also once called George W. Bush a “wuss.”

Then there’s the ever-lovable Jimmy McMillan, sporting sideburns and mustache reminiscent of our 21st President Chester Alan Arthur. McMillan has been making quite a living off his 2010 New York Gubernatorial campaign slogan, “The Rent Is Too Damn High.” He formed his own political party (The Rent is Too Damn High Party) and a website (therentistoodamnhigh.org) where he sells videos, T-Shirts, “Rent Is Too Damn High” music and advertises his radio call-in show from Detroit. I imagine he usually talks about housing.

McMillan and Sharkey are just two of the over 380 other candidates – Republican, Democrat, Independent, Constitution, Other, None and Unknown – who filed for the 2012 Presidential Election. The list includes Jack Fellure, a Republican turned Prohibitionist, who filed on November 5, 2008, barely a day after President Obama was elected. Mr. Fellure has run for President every four years since 1988 on a platform he says is based on the 1611 King James Bible. He advocates Bibles in the schools, the elimination of the liquor and pornography industries, banning all abortions and blaming America’s problems on dope addicts, sex perverts and atheists.

At one point in my research I was feeling a little overwhelmed and I started to wonder whatever happened to Gabriel Green. Well, it seems he passed away in 2001, but I haven’t been able to find much information on the Amalgamated Flying Saucer Clubs of America. Green has a fairly comprehensive article on Wikipedia and a few interviews posted on YouTube. While I was reading about Green, I realized that there was an innocence and naivete about him that stands in stark contrast to the dozens of candidates currently ranting about guns, taxes and legislating what is loosely defined as a Judeo-Christian Heritage. I wish Green were here now, because, with the current climate of cultural and political divisiveness, I think a little Alpha Centaurian Enlightenment would be a much welcomed distraction.

also found at: http://www.thehighlanderonline.com/all-articles/111-ruminations/523-lesser-known-presidential-candidates-

SHOULD I GET MARRIED? SHOULD I BE GOOD?

2012-04-01T14:49:00.001-04:00

One of my favorite poems is a gem by Gregory Corso titled “Marriage,” that always sets my mind into a squirrel cage of insecurity and possibilities.

Should I get married? Should I be good?

Astound the girl next door with my velvet cape and Faustus Hood?

While I don’t have a velvet cape and don’t exactly know what a Faustus hood is, I’m amazed and even a little frightened at how much I can relate being married to being good. Usually, when someone reaches my age they’ve been married for 20 or 30 years – with kids and grandkids, or married for a second or third time. Since I have never been married, I have a sense of inadequacy, as if I failed my ancestors.

This was all brought home to me recently when I was student teaching at a middle school. The class I taught had tempted me more than once to volunteer for a less stressful job – like maybe a tour of duty in Afghanistan. One day I was shooting the breeze with one young man who had been giving me more than a little grief, when he suddenly asked, “Tell me something. How come you’ve never gotten married?” I’ve been prepared for this question for quite some time, so I told him:

a) I haven’t met anyone I want to marry;
b) I don’t know if I want to be married;
c) God has called me to a higher existence.

He looked at me and said, “Bullshit! You’re not married because you can’t get a girlfriend!”

What could I say? He nailed me. For two days after that, I felt like the words “Can’t Get a Girlfriend” were tattooed on my forehead.

Every so often I’ll hear about one of my friends whose marriage is in trouble. Sometimes it’s infidelity or a separation after years of trying to make it work. Often it’s simply a heartrending story of someone in the midst of a painful divorce. After hearing these stories so often I dared to think just how good it is being single. I remember one Thanksgiving when I told my mom and dad that the one thing I was thankful for was that I wasn’t married. Not because it’s a bad institution, but after years of therapy and soul-searching I think (maybe) that I could very well have gone through what some of my friends have been through.

For example: I was talking with a friend after the break-up of his first marriage. I asked him why he got married in the first place. He told me that it was one of those iconic adult things he wanted to do so he could finally say he had grown up. And I’m afraid I can really relate to thinking that marriage would somehow fix me, I would be grown up and some sort of mysterious transformation would take place and the happily ever after thing would go down. I don’t remember if love was a component in that particular belief system or not.

The other day I got an email from him that read, “Life has been pretty strange these past few months. I met a lady on the Internet ... we dated ... we grew close ... we married ... and then ... strange shortages of cash began to make themselves felt.” He went on to describe his wife’s penchant for substance abuse, and then wrote, “I moved out the next Friday morning. We’re divorcing now and I’m back at the house of my second ex.”

For the record, I have many friends who are very happily married, with partnerships anyone would envy. And I have friends that are more than willing to try again if it didn’t work out the first time. I remember talking with someone when he was getting ready for his third trip down the aisle. His previous breakups were very painful but he wouldn’t allow himself to be mired in bitterness or anger. Despite what he’s been through, he knows that without taking risks he would never learn or grow and to do that you must be willing to embrace every bit of joy and every bit of sorrow that comes your way. As the psychiatrist and author M. Scott Peck said: “The people that make it, that REALLY make it, are those who make themselves available to pain.”

When my youngest cousin got married, and I was suddenly the last of my generation still single, her brother pointed at me and said, “You’re next!” I felt like I was waiting for a bullet. That was almost 20 years ago, but I still wonder if marriage isn’t something looming in my future. The thought of growing old alone does haunt me occasionally. Corso understands my anxiety and offers me a possibility when he writes:

But there's got to be somebody!

Because what if I'm 60 years old and not married,

all alone in a furnished room with pee stains on my underwear

and everybody else is married! All the universe married but me!

Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible

then marriage would be possible –

Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover

so I wait – bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life.

http://www.thehighlanderonline.com/all-articles/111-ruminations/502-should-i-get-married-should-i-be-good

IN RESPONSE TO THE PSEUDO-MANIFESTATION OF HAROLD CAMPING

2011-05-19T20:23:00.026-04:00

LIKE NEON

"Life was filled with guns and wars,
Everyone got trampled on the floor,
I wish we'd all been ready..."*

In the Seventies
Church was the drug culture

Jesus People
Jesus Freaks
Talking in our own hip dialect
Saying things like
"Jesus, the ultimate trip"

We greeted each other with an extended forefinger skyward
We justified our existence
By talking about the end of the world
Pointing to Matthew Chapter Twenty Four
Daniel Chapter Nine
Ezekiel Chapters Thirty Eight and Thirty Nine
And a UN resolution
That formed Israel in 1948

"Two men coming up a hill
One disappears
And one left standing still,
I wish we'd all been ready...”

We talked about The Rapture
Like it was insider information
Those of us in the loop
Would rise into the air
Kick back
And watch The Great Tribulation
Like it was Monday Night Football

One day I read a Parallel Bible
Four translations
Column by column
First Corinthians
Chapter Thirteen

"If I have prophetic powers..."
"I may have the power of prophecy..."
"And comprehend all mysteries..."
"The knowledge of every hidden truth..."

The words glowing and humming
Like neon tongues
Leaping off the page
In four languages

"The sun will be turned to darkness
And the moon to blood
Before the coming of the great and glorious
Day of the Lord..."

This was the time when Jesus was a drug
We would tie off
For Pentecost
We were chosen
To ascend to God's Right Hand
And have His Revenge

"There's no time to wonder why,
The Son has come,
And you've been left behind,
And you've been left behind..."

*I Wish We’d All Been Ready words and music by
Larry Norman ©1969
Beechwood Music Association/J.C. Love Publishing

ONE WHITE BOY'S RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. KING AND MALCOLM X

2011-02-11T10:25:00.003-05:00

When I was growing up in Western Kentucky all I ever heard about Martin Luther King was that he was a communist. My family moved to Birmingham, Alabama after Dr. King's assassination and from what I heard from classmates and several adults who should have known better was that every problem under the sun was Dr. King's fault.

One day I decided to read a book and find out for myself exactly who this man was. Up until then I knew nothing of Rosa Parks, the Montgomery Bus Boycott or Dr.King's "I Have A Dream Speech." The one thing that impressed me was hiscommitment to non-violence. As I read more I became fascinated with theinfluence of Mahatma Gandhi. I later read of book of Gandhi's called "My Experiments with Truth" and that's when I discovered an essentialquality of all great men: the ability to recognize truth, have thecourage to embrace it, and the commitment to follow it through...

Such was also the case with Malcolm X. Unfortunately this little white boy didn't know a thing about Malcolm X until college when someone showed me an interview he did with Alex Haley. Over the years I tried to read his Autobiography, but allowed myself to be distracted everytime I picked it up. It wasn't until I saw Spike Lee's movie and the scenes of Malcolm in Mecca that I began to grasp the depth of this man's greatness. When he was in prison Malcolm recognized the truth in the teachings of the Honorable Dr. Elijah Muhammad. Now those teachings had lead to a deeper truth he was committed to follow. Malcolm X was not a man to run from the truth, or twist it to suit his own personal needs. He embraced the truth and, like, Dr. King, allowed the truth to bring about his rebirth.

It's a terrible injustice that both these men died so young, but the impact of their work is timeless. After Dr. King's assassination I saw a political cartoon of him speaking to Mahatma Gandhi in heaven.Gandhi is smiling at Dr. King and the caption reads: "You know, the absurd things about these assassins is that they think they can actually kill you!"

Also found at: http://www.thehighlanderonline.com/current-issue/111-ruminations/386-one-white-boys-recollections-of-malcolm-x-and-dr-king-

LETTING THE DAYS GO BY

2010-11-06T21:54:00.000-04:00

Well, once again, the holidays are with us. And with the holidays come the inevitable gathering of the tribes to reflect on what the past year has been like. When I reflect on what I wanted and what I actually have I’m not surprised when a song by The Talking Heads begins to play over and over in my head:

“You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
You may find yourself in another part of the world
You may find yourself in a beautiful house
With a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself
Well, how did I get here?’”*

Then I start to go down the checklist. Let’s see:

Shotgun shack? No, a one bedroom apartment is the best I can do there. The car thing? Never owned anything bigger than a Corolla. Another part of the world? Did that. Great for my perspective. Beautiful House? Beautiful Wife? You’re kidding? Right?

Holidays, for me, are always a challenging time in that I get to learn once again how NOT to compare myself to my brothers and cousins and how NOT to take the bait for being the “lone liberal” in the family. For years I made myself miserable by casting myself in that role and really getting into some heavy victim consciousness. It was like I was emitting some kind of vibratory resonance from another part of the same song:

“Same as it ever was
Same as it ever was
Same as it ever was
Same as it ever was…”

I tricked myself into believing I was supposed to gauge the progress of my adulthood along the lines of the tangibles of my brothers. No I did not have and do not have the beautiful house with the beautiful wife and yes, things certainly did appear to be the “same as it ever was…” After a while I decided to kick down the door and took a sojourn overseas for a couple of years. About the same time a member of our family, a cousin, younger than me, was found to have cancer. For me and my cousin, (cousin-in-law actually) life changed quite a bit. I started asking myself “Where does that highway lead to? Am I right? Am I wrong?” and even daring to ask “My God! What Have I done?” Suddenly my mortality came into focus clearer than it ever has. Time had become the great equalizer.

Somehow the fact that the same number of relatives are getting together is a miracle in itself. The oldest generation in my family is approaching 80 and none of us have been immune to health or financial problems. I could claim to have been the victim of unemployment but I’ve seen far worse than me. I’m extremely lucky when I look at what some of my friends have had to endure. These days I don’t care about how much the TV at the family gatherings is running FOX News or football, my cousin (and his wife and kids) are happy he’s alive and well. And I’d rather talk about the job I’m lucky enough to have and the career direction I’m fortunate enough to be taking. I just don’t get to talk about the beautiful house with the beautiful wife….YET!!

*Once In A Lifetime by Brian Eno, David Byrne, Chris Frantz, Jerry Harrison, and Tina Weymouth. © 1980 Sire Records.

Essay also found at thehighlanderonline.com

THe MEANING OF ENLIGHTENMENT PART 1: PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE

2010-10-22T22:05:00.000-04:00

The Meaning of Enlightenment. Part 1: Past, Present, and Future (Andrew Cohen and Ken Wilber) from Integral Life on Vimeo.

THERE'S SOME KISS WE WANT...

2010-10-03T23:19:00.002-04:00

For the past several weeks I've been listening to the mp3 downloads at Future of Love Teleseminar Series at Integral Life. The Series is hosted by Rabbi Marc Gafni, and has included Ken Wilber, Lama Surya Das, Diane Musho Hamilton, Sally Kempton, Deepak Chopra, Andrew Cohen, Mokshananda, Traleg Rimpoche and many other spritual luminaries that are at the heart of the evolution of consciousness.

There's a lot more information you can find at Integral Life, but I'd like to keep it focused on The Future of Love.

I listened to a Q & A session with Sally Kempton and Diane Hamilton that included a wonderful message with Marc Gafni. You can download the mp3 here. At one point, Sally Kempton lead a mediation that included a poem by Rumi that really touched me. I've posted it below.

There’s some kiss we want with our whole lives,
The touch of spirit on the body
Seawater breaks the pearl
Seawater bakes the pearl to break its shell
And the lily, how passionately it needs
Some wild darling

At night I open the window and ask the moon
To come press its face against mine
Breathe into me
Close the language door
And open the love window
The moon won’t use the door
Only the window

---Rumi

POET FOR THE CITY

2010-10-01T19:17:00.000-04:00

The Poet at the Nuyorican Cafe in NYC circa 2003.

One of the first clues I had that life might not be fair happened when I was 8 years old and I asked my mom if she would get me a rocket belt. She told me I could have one when I turned 16, and then conveniently forgot about it when the big day arrived. Not that I was terribly surprised. Moms are great at selective memory.

When I was 22, I got drunk and called up a friend to whine about how my life was not working the way I thought it should. “I don’t ask for much!” I slobbered. “All I ever wanted was to have what John Lennon had when he was my age!”

Okay, I’m the first to admit that I suffer from delusions of grandeur, but I’m still baffled by the societal trophies you’re expected to accumulate by the time you reach a certain age. The Ward Cleaver Academy of the American Dream taught me that I would go to school, meet some woman, marry, have a career, and then children would suddenly appear, along with a house, two cars and a satellite dish. Supposedly, it would all magically arrive, like the rocket belt I’m still waiting for.

A while back, I went to a 30-something birthday party and reminisced about how I felt when I embarked on my 30s. It is, after all, an age that’s long been considered the gauge by which adulthood is measured. At that time I had a job waiting tables and was a dedicated practitioner of better living through chemistry. I was also impatient to get on with life, so I managed to get myself entangled in a so-called “committed” relationship and took a “real job” I secretly loathed. I thought this was how it all worked. Appearances were everything. Never let ‘em see you sweat. Never let ‘em see you bleed.

Without going into a lot of details, I can say that the relationship went south and the painful consequences of a miserable dead-end career saddled with addiction mandated that core lifestyle changes be made. So for the past 20 years I’ve been engaged in a conscious process of self-discovery, something you never really arrive at as much as integrate into your day-to-day life.

About 15 years ago, I had an inkling that things might be turning out okay when one day I called my college alumni office to update my mailing address. They asked me what I did for a living and, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t want to tell them (I was underemployed at the time). So I said, “I work for the City of Louisville.” Then they asked exactly what I did for the City of Louisville. Since I had written a couple of poems that had been published on the Internet, I impulsively blurted out, “I’m a poet!” They took my word for it, and for 10 years my alumni directory had me listed as “Poet for the City of Louisville.” Not a bad accomplishment, even if it WAS a self-bestowed title.

I could write a book about my experiences during this process, but to cut to the chase, I will say that one thing I will always be grateful for is the advice my friend gave me when I called him up to complain about not being John Lennon. “Paul,” he told me, “whatever you do in life, don’t peak too soon.”

Paul McDonald is a writer, educator and graduate student who thinks too much. He can be reached at paulmcd06@gmail.com.

This article can also be read at: http://www.thehighlanderonline.com/current-issue/111-ruminations/349-poet-for-the-city

THE SHAME WAS ON THE OTHER SIDE...

2010-09-27T22:28:00.000-04:00

BLOOD IN MY EYES

2010-09-25T16:09:00.000-04:00

I posted this poem on this blog several years ago. It's gaining significance for me at this time of my life so I'm moving it up to it's current position. You can look for the song, "Blood In My Eyes" on the CD "World Gone Wrong" by Bob Dylan.

tonight i’m listening to dylan sing
blood in my eyes
by the mississippi sheiks

i’m surfing the net trying to find a url
that will give me a sense of destiny

i’m searching for a definition
a paradigm
the means to
create and patent an archetype

my parents brothers and their families
are all baptists

baptist wives
baptist children
deacons and promise keepers
wearing leather bracelets
with the initials
wwjd
like a homing device
to herd the sheep

i am a kashmir shaivite
single closet heterosexual

i enjoy sleep
yogic dreams
on the astral plane
involved in corporate espionage
flying from trees to board rooms
to procure encrypted scripture
agreeing on a soul level
to die in a hospital bombed
by some paranoid militia drone

i’m part of a subculture
sick of comparing legacies
like seventh graders compare their penises

trust me

my voice is clear
my hands are tragic
i have so little
that when i die
i will have no problem
taking it with me

the cyber ghosts
hungry and bloated
might be pushing me
or they might be laughing
i have to take that chance

i’ll stay here in front of this portal
like che on the beach

so proud
of the blood in my eyes

Paul McDonald © 2001

ENLIGHTENMENT QUOTE

2010-09-21T15:35:00.000-04:00

"Enlightenment is an accident and meditation makes you accident prone..." -- Baker Roshi

Found at http://www.enlightennext.org/magazine/j18/wilber.asp

THE THREE FACES OF GOD

2010-09-15T15:26:00.000-04:00

After a discussion with a friend of mine I decided to post a video with Ken Wilber talking about the three persons of God.

JOURNEY THROUGH THE PAST

2010-08-09T23:42:00.003-04:00

NONE DARE CALL IT NARCISSISM

2010-08-02T23:20:00.005-04:00

The first autograph I ever got was when I was nine years old. It was from Fess Parker, who, at the time, was playing Daniel Boone on TV. He was in town for a telethon and I got the autograph by hanging around the TV station looking lonely and forlorn. Later that same year, I pushed my luck by trying to sneak into a concert by the Electric Prunes, only to be caught and kicked out. I took a lot of risks to be near “the famous” and bring back some kind of evidence of the adventure, because, back then, asking a celebrity for an autograph was like going to the oracle at Mount Olympus. Famous People represented a species of human being that had evolved to a level on a spectrum that I could only DREAM about.

Fast forward to my adulthood, and I’m watching a little boy lose his breakfast on the Today Show because he can’t stand lying for his parents who were so addicted to fame that they convinced him to stay in an attic for five hours while they convinced CNN that he was trapped in ahomemade weather balloon. It was a sad thing to watch, but this is what fame has become: a huge – and often tragic – joke.

It used to be that, in order to become famous, you had to do something important. You had to be a great leader, writer or philosopher, or have unquestionable talent. In other words, you had to earn it. Now, all you have to do is post some kind of semi-weird video on YouTube and pray it goes viral.

Talk show host Jerry Springer says he doesn’t have to work to book guests on his show. It seems there is no shortage of people clamoring for the spotlight so their idea of existence can be justified. I wonder if he’s booked the couple that crashed the White House dinner several months ago. If he does, it should come as no surprise, considering the lengths some people go to (like the number of hot dogs you could eat in ten minutes) to get their fix of the fame drug.

The song “Mr. Jones” by the Counting Crows has a couple of lyrics that sum up this pathology very poetically: “When I look at the television / I want to see me / staring right back at me ... When everybody loves me / I will never be lonely / I will never be lonely ... ”

I admit the fame drug first caught hold of me when I was 7 years old and watching a popular kid’s show called “Romper Room.” The hostess, Miss Wendy, saw me in the Magic Mirror and said, “I see Paul! Hi, Paul!” I was in heaven and, for years afterward, struggled to recapture that feeling of bliss. Nowadays, I’m simply happy if I can do something creative that I can honestly say came from inspiration and hard work. That, in itself, is enough. And if I’m lucky, I get to share it with someone else.

Paul McDonald is a writer, educator and graduate student who thinks too much. He can be reached at paulmcd06@gmail.com.

http://www.thehighlanderonline.com/current-issue/111-ruminations/333-none-dare-call-it-narcissism

ADNAN'S DRUMS

2010-05-08T01:00:00.004-04:00

dancing the veil
in the garden of sufi magic, breath and drums
i find a moment
where I see
a hand
my hand
packed with centuries
of angels, flesh, ghosts and shadows

i'm dancing
moving
on the other side
of windows and mirrors
along an empty platform
of statues and saints
where there is nothing but space
and visions that dance

Paul McDonald ©2010

MY SEARCH FOR A MID-LIFE CRISIS

2010-04-15T20:35:00.002-04:00

A couple of years ago I decided that it was high time I had a mid-life crisis. You usually don't have to work hard to find a crisis because they are always out there, lurking in the bushes and looking for opportunities to kick butt, but in my case it wasn't happening so I decided to be pro-active.

I was approaching my 50^th birthday when I realized that my comfort zone had become too stagnant. I decided to move to another city just to see what would happen. In late August of 2007, after quitting my job and selling off most of my possessions, I moved to Jakarta, Indonesia.

Why Jakarta? That's a long story but I can tell you I had been looking for an opportunity to teach English overseas for about a year. I saw an ad on the internet looking for teachers at a school in Jakarta and I thought I would give it a shot.

What I knew about Jakarta and Indonesia was 3^rd hand information from a friend in the Philippines. My friend told me that I would probably meet a beautiful Indonesian woman, get married and have a baby within a year. Yeah. Right. But I believed it anyway. Like I said, I was looking for a crisis. I was also intrigued by Elizabeth Gilbert's book, "Eat, Pray and Love." HOWEVER -- and this is a BIG however – Ms. Gilbert's experience in Indonesia was primarily on the island of Bali, a mostly Hindu outpost situated in the midst of the most populous Muslim country in the world. And Ms. Gilbert's time was spent mostly in the city of Ubud, a lovely city I found to be like a small San Francisco with an abundance of art galleries, restaurants and yoga studios.

The majority of MY time was spent in Jakarta on the island of Java. First of all, as anyone will tell you, Indonesians are a wonderful, welcoming people. They're very friendly and give the impression of being happy all the time. But despite the warm nature of the country, I found Jakarta to be a dirty ramshackle metropolis of about 10 to 15 million people. The traffic, referred to as "macet," was so horrendous I thought it should be re-classified as one of Dante's Rings of Hell. There has been very little urban planning because Indonesia still thinks in terms of being a village, where houses, businesses and even roads spring up almost at a whim. There's a great deal of poverty and a lot of begging on the street. When I asked someone about it I was told that begging was actually considered a job. What generally happens is that poor people and people with noticeable medical problems are bused in from the villages, assigned a street corner where they beg for money. At the end of the day, some shadowy "agency" takes them back to their village and takes a cut of whatever they earned.

I also found the things we take for granted in the US, such as zoning laws and health regulations either don't exist or are simply not enforced. A lot of food is sold on the street and it isn't unusual to buy food from a "warung" or food stand, that's set up next to an open sewer. I was told that it was relatively safe to eat the food, which I knew probably wasn't true. But I was hungry, so I ate it anyway.

A few hours later my face broke out with red blotches and my lower intestine began to do a parasitic slam dance. Aside from food poisoning, I was afraid I might have Dengue Fever, which is spread by mosquitoes and can lay you out for about three weeks. Fortunately, that wasn't the case and my face cleared up in a few days. However my bathroom habits left a lot to be desired. For several weeks I tried all kinds of over-the-counter medications -- and believe me, you can get practically anything you want over the counter in Indonesia! If you wanted to get chemotherapy over the counter it wouldn't be a problem – but nothing worked. I finally went to a doctor who spoke English and treated Westerners. He ran one test, came back, and said almost joyously, "You have dysentery!" and threw a packet of Cipro at me. In case you don't know, Cipro is the recommended antidote for Anthrax. Almost immediately, I got better.

But let's talk about this woman and the baby I was supposed to procreate. Don't let anyone kid you, Indonesian women are beautiful, dress modestly, typically wearing a Muslim hajibb, or veil, and if you ask them if they're married you often get the answer, "Not yet." Despite their beauty, the stress of living in a foreign country, the language barrier, my job and my day to day existence simply erased the desire for a girlfriend, lover, or a wife. But Indonesia has a great way of encouraging you to at least "try it."

I found this out when I went to buy some aspirin at a local pharmacy. Usually these places employ more people than they need and whenever you walk in three women descend on you trying to sell you to an expensive herbal remedy for whatever your problem might be. I always found that annoying but I was totally taken by surprise when one day, a woman asked me if I wanted anything for my "stamina." I was surprised that ANYONE would be interested in my stamina, so I asked her, "Why?" She was too embarrassed to answer.

The next day I read of the death of the legendary Mak Erot, who ran her own distinctive stamina business out of her hut in West Java. She was rumored to be anywhere from 101 to 130 years old and had become very famous for her "art," which consisted of enlarging a certain male "appendage" through the use of 145 secret herbs and Islamic prayer. She had apparently been in business for the better part of the 20^th century and when she died it was discovered that she had amassed a fortune of over 30 million US dollars. Her business was turned over to her great-grandsons who are presently keeping her legacy alive on the internet.

While I'm not sure if Mak Erot's death contributed to what I now consider to be phase-one of a full blown mid-life crisis, I'm sure it didn't help. To be honest, it really doesn't matter.

As many of you know, there is always opportunity lurking in the midst of crisis. Jakarta gave me the opportunity to say good-bye to my youth and pointed me in a direction I hadn't seen before. On my fiftieth birthday I taught my first class and was exhilarated when I found out I could do it. I taught English in Jakarta for a year and then spent the next eight months teaching Corporate English in Bangkok, Thailand. When I returned to the United States I had a much better idea of what I wanted to do with my life as well as a deeper conviction of my own mortality. I can't say that moving to the other side of the world for a couple of years is for everybody, but frankly, I think every young man should join the Marines. I'm grateful for a rich experience and the discoveries you always find when you decide to take a risk.

Paul McDonald © 2010

GARDEN OF SCATTERED ASHES

2009-06-17T21:16:00.005-04:00

My cat Patience passed away in February of 2007 and I had her ashes delivered to me in a very handsome wooden box made in India. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with the ashes so when I went overseas I took them with me

On the first anniversary of her passing I was meditating with friends in Jakarta when I got the message that she would like to be scattered somewhere at my parents home.

When I returned home recently I saw exactly where her ashes would be scattered. A lovely garden with green plants, flowers and plenty of birds to keep her happy.

This garden is beautiful. Just like her.

More pictures can be seen on Facebook.

WIDE AWAKE IN MANILA, JAKARTA AND BANGKOK

2009-02-10T11:09:00.005-05:00

A repost of an earlier entry featuring my video/slideshow of three Southeast Asian cities I've had the privilege/misfortune to visit or live in.

HOW TO DRY YOUR SOCKS IN BANGKOK

2008-10-10T10:45:00.007-04:00

A rambling personal monologue posted for friends and family.

BANGKOK 2008

2008-07-26T02:30:00.004-04:00

This is a video slideshow of my recent excursion to Bangkok in July 2008. Thanks and apologies go to Tim Rice, Bjorn Ulvaeus, Benny Andersson and Murray Head for the soundtrack.

THE CALL TO PRAYER

2008-03-16T15:35:00.003-04:00

One of the things I enjoy about the Indonesian Culture I’ve been exposed to is that it gives me a great opportunity to see just how ingrained faith is in the day to day lives of the people. Up until recently, December 21, 2007 to be exact, I had been frustrated with the mosques that surround my boarding house. Five times a day, an imam will intone a call to prayer, usually around 4:30 am, that is broadcast over a loudspeaker throughout the neighborhoods of Jakarta. If there are several mosques they all intone in a kind of Stockhausen 12-tone cacophony, that, if you’re like me and not used to these things, you might consider annoying. Well, at least that was my attitude up until the morning of December, 21.

December 20 was the day of the Hajj, when the faithful make a pilgrimage to Mecca. From 6pm 12/20 to 6am 12/21, loud recordings of imams and children bombarded the neighborhood. It went on all night causing me all sorts of personal displeasure until I finally drifted off to sleep. The next morning when I woke up and did my morning meditation I was astonished at the depth, bliss and the vibrancy of that meditation. It was then I understood. This was not noise. This was PRAYER!! The atmosphere was permeated and saturated with Shakti, the energy of God.

One of my colleagues is a devout Muslim and told me that there are stories of people who became Muslim simply by hearing the chant and it resonating with their hearts. It reminded me of learning to meditate listening to the chants of Tibetan Monks, a sound which, although it was a little scary, had a majestic compassion that pulled me into a place where I would focus on my breath, still my mind and allow reality to take on a crystalline dimension. My meditation on the day of December 21 was no different.

VIDEO FROM UBUD

2008-01-07T16:11:00.000-05:00

Video made from still photos and Ravi Shankar's music from my visit to Bali over the holidays. It rained alot, but the last day the sun came out and you could hear George Harrison's voice in the wind singing "Here Comes The Sun/It's Alright..."