Being in Dreaming

A Short Story: The Far Side of the Lake

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 05:15:00 +0000

On the far side of the lake, past the whispering rushes, in the silent corner under the willow tree, love blossomed under the moonlight. Faint murmurs, gentle caresses along her raised neck, sealed with promises of eternal adoration. The forgotten goddess stirs within the girl. Eyes black and fixed and untethered from the fetters of sensibility. Her fingers claws digging into his flesh; ungloved they’ve forgotten propriety. Seven sighs of iniquity escapes lips spread to catch the stirring wind. Air fills the black cavern that is her mouth. Tongue dried in shame. She would kiss him but she lays transfixed, mesmerized by the moon laughing at her.

One touch from her lover sends a radiant blush across shining stars on the map of her figure. Heat pulses across her neck. Blood coursing like the wild flood of spring’s thaw. Her tempter is this heat. She would stifle all were she possessed of mind. But the moon drew her caution and chained it to the void. Where once her hand had pressed away, now she clenches in a maniacal fit. Her breath seethes. A moan releases a flurry of saliva across her lover’s chest.

She can take no more. At the point where sanity bleeds into the black sea, she fights, beating and ripping and writhing as if movement can save her. She falls deeper. Her head flaps back and forth as if slapped by an invisible hand. But there is a force inside her, digging, probing, driving her into the abyss.

A shriek flies into the empty sky, engulfed by the silence of the lake. Warm wind spiders its way across her flesh, writing notes of love an octave too high. There is nothing left. She shivers, suddenly wary of the odd light settling over the land. Her lover, she realizes, is the night itself, drawing in the darkness. His face is a pool of vaporous shadows. Hands inky stains on her skin.

He is still inside her yet the form of him is now drifting slowly away, a black snaky mist hoping for the moon. His essence burns within her womb. Life bursting like buds from soil. Electric tendrils leaping from her fingertips as they trace the line of her stomach. I am the goddess and the light. I am married to night. I will give birth to a god. A god who is lonely and sad and filled with delight.
She marvels at her ecstasy. Such a lover, such a feeling, escapes dread the way mice scurry from a hawk. Tonight is empty yet full. Silent yet blaring with echoes of her fading frenzy. She’s expanding inside, out to the point of emptiness and out past the minor gully of sadness. She lifts her head to kiss the moon and feels the wet chill of the sky.

Ice on her lips, damp and silky and fragile. She yearns to bite her tongue and forever silence her longing. If love escapes so quickly, how can she bear to ever hear sound flee from her mouth? To be mute, to embrace only memories of passion, to live life only in the starlight of a past moment. That’s the way she’ll live.

But a ruptured cancer of forgetfulness spreads through her as her lover escapes to the stars. The feeling dies within her. Heat drifts from her body. Night dew falls on her naked form, sending prickles along her flesh. She remembers herself. She is a girl, in love with a boy, who was a lie made of shadows.
She forgets the feeling of his arms gripping her hips. Crows, only crows beguiling her purity. She is fallen, no more an angel, not yet a demon, still a girl.

Beyond the murmuring rushes, past the glittering lake, a shadow slowly fades from view. The shadow that was her lover, the shadow that was her muse. In all the world’s dreams a dreamer lays by a lake staring at the moon. When hope fades and mystery rises, emptiness fills the dreamer with confidence and abandonment, sending the dreamer plunging in search of love down an empty well. Blackness.
Float away, fight not against the terror of unfamiliarity, release all into that empty sea. For in that space lies hope and truth and pure knowing.

She rises now, cloaking herself in night. Darkness surrounds her once shining form. She rises, rises, rises ever higher now. To the stars, fading, to the sky, without form, to her lover, black as the night.

Fire Mage and the Blacklight Chronicles, Book 1

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 23:14:00 +0000

Just published the first book in the Blacklight Chronicles, FIRE MAGE! The ebook is available right now on Amazon Kindle. After over three years of writing and too many revisions to count, my novel is complete. Coming soon: SUN MAGE, Book Two of the Blacklight Chronicles.

Here is a short overview of the book:

For centuries, mages perfected elemental magic at the Order of the Dawn. The City of Naru remains as the last free city in a world plagued by dark sorcerers. Will the peace last? Not likely. Can their magic shield them from the darkness? Only if balance is restored to the world.

Talis Storm and his friend Mara discover a dark secret. Their allies, the Jiserian Empire, have targeted their city for attack. The problem? Talis can’t even do magic.

When a surprise aerial invasion hits the Order’s temple, Talis casts fire magic for the first time. But his spell is wild and does more harm than good. Dark sorcerers try to capture Talis and Mara and they flee into the temple crypts. Awoken from an ancient rest, a fallen champion slays the sorcerers and gives Talis a legendary map. The map leads them on a quest to discover the lost temple of the sun. To save his family, and restore balance to the world, Talis must discover the power of magic locked away inside the ancient temple.

Read FIRE MAGE - Blacklight Chronicles at www.blacklightchronicles.com

Redirection in Dialogue: Keep it real

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 16:23:00 +0000

"Franny and Zooey" -- J. D. Salinger.
Utilize redirection in dialogue to engage your readers. Issue commands or questions from one character that another character ignores/doesn't answer/talks about something else. Listen to real spoken dialogue, people often keep two separate threads going at once, say one thing (think another), fail to respond to questions, say things out of the blue.
(bathroom scene)
"No, I haven't spoken to my little sister yet. How 'bout getting the hell out of here now?"
"Why haven't you?" Mrs. Glass demanded. "I don't think that's nice, Zooey. I don't think that's nice at all. I asked you particularly to please go see if there is anything--" - Page 77.

Brilliant Author Tip: Layers of meaning

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 18:04:00 +0000

“Waiting For the Barbarians” — J. M. Coetzee

Layers of characterization and perception, symbolism and setting, narrative point of view.

“So I continue to swoop and circle around the irreducible figure of the girl, casting one net of meaning after another over her. She leans on her two sticks looking dimly upward. What does she see? The protecting wings of a guardian albatross or the black shape of a coward crow afraid to strike while its prey yet breathes?”

Setting to improve your novel

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 18:02:00 +0000

“The Things They Carried” — Tim O’Brien

Delivers chaos and a sense of wonderment, increases reader curiosity, believability and adds characterization layers (how you as a writer describe the setting shows how your main character sees the world, and tells us as readers a great deal about your characters).

“The was no music. Most of the hamlet had burned down, including her house, which was now smoke, and the girl danced with her eyes half closed, her feet bare. She was maybe fourteen. She had black hair and brown skin. “Why’s she dancing?” Azar said.” — Page 135

A Short Story: The Mistake

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 23:01:00 +0000

At the edge of the field I watched the sun rise. It bled through translucent clouds, making me think of that body lying dead on the side of the road. A man that was too young to die. Raspy breathing, hideous gurgling sounds made from the rising and falling of his chest. Blood filling his lungs and spilling out of his mouth as he fought to stay alive.

I was only twelve.

We all knew something was wrong when the farmer rapped on our door, as if death itself was after him. He was a burly man, jean overhauls, straw hat, and a face that my mind refuses to remember. That bloated face, bloated with fear and hysteria. It wasn’t his fault. After all, it was a warm night, the first warm night that spring.

Was he a boy or was he a man? In the idiocy of the warm night, clear air, charged with the feeling like the twilight was endless, lay the trap of the void of death. The hand squeezed.

As my mom and me ran after the farmer, my dad called the police. Shouting, like if they didn’t come now he couldn’t guarantee what he’d do. The farmer ran in a waddling movement. Ran from our Victorian farmhouse. Ran down the road towards the blinking red lights. The tractor. The baled hay. The two long gory forks, glistening in the light of the moon. Wet. His motorcycle splayed out in the road like a discarded toy.

He was too young.

I stood behind my mom as she took in the scene of the young man lying on his back.

“Step aside, I’m a nurse,” my mom said. “I’ll try CPR.”

She bent down on her knees, huddling over the young man. There was a hole in his belly. So soft and spongy-looking. I’d never seen someone like that. I wanted him to be better. I was so scared I jumped right back twenty feet from my body, and yet at the same time I was right there in his face, smelling the hot, sticky stench of death pouring from his mouth. I heard and felt the squish-squish of his chest as my mom thumped down, trying to restart his heart.

His intestines jiggled. I guess it was blood coming out from his belly, but in the moonlight it just looked like water. My mom pressed her lips over the dying man’s mouth and exhaled, as if she were a goddess giving life. I knew what blood tasted like, but I wondered if this kind of blood, with the taste of death, if it tasted any differently.

My mom stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said, as if apologizing to the young man’s parents, probably sitting at home watching Miami Vice. For it was a Friday night, the night the urging of death tapped this young man on the shoulder. It whispered in his ear, “You’re young, enjoy the night, feel the air rushing, faster, go faster now, this night, this magical night you’re eternal, invincible, you can fly.”

And fly he did, into a sharp-enough prong, catching him in the belly, opening him up. He panicked. Saw the flashing red lights of the tractor, carrying a freshly mowed bale of hale. He went right, went left, freaked out and smacked right into that prong.

But his last moments were peaceful. I saw everything. Every breath still resonates in my body, even now, almost thirty years later. That tired, long sigh, like he wanted to go. He didn’t fight it. He exhaled one slow last breath, and released his worldly cares. And that quiet, I’ll never forget the quiet right at his passing. It brought about a kind of dissonance inside my head and chest, and yet I felt like I was part of some greater thing than my simple life to date.

I was a witness. Death’s witness. And it forever changed me. I think I cried, because I remember my mom hugging me, turning me aside from the nightmare, guiding me back to the long walk home. I wanted to remember him. Wanted to feel like his death was something more than just foolishness. There was a mystery in that night. A feeling like the night was expanding, and had become some strange creature.

But the night was empty, and offered me nothing but a haunting memory.

A short story: Autumn Leaves

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 04:37:00 +0000

As the autumn leaves fluttered this way and that, racing through Sara's outstretched fingers, she felt a chill race down her spine. Winter's chill. Soon the blustering winds. A frozen rose, lingering from a sudden frost. The last remaining rose of summer, taken into an icy dream--of kisses and dances--of the first smile given from a stranger's lips.

Now the winds blew gentle, her cheeks rosy, auburn hair wavering, the feeling of love coursing through her chest. Summer had been full of roses, the scent of heaven wafting through her nostrils. Then a sudden rain had come, leaving the already dreary island cold, with its oaks cracked and shattered, like a great warrior struck down, his pride broken at last.

But to Sara, the wind smelled of heaven, eternal happiness in the arms of winter. Sadness to some, treasures to few, death lying in wait for the fool to slumber. When she ran her fingers across her face, she felt the night-time dew flowering over her hands. First a sprinkle, then an anguish of the flood, was it the dew or something bursting from inside?

She studied her palms, lines spreading across the universe, and she knew she could feel whole again. Not broken, not bitter, free of the pain and torment of the past. Then a smile crept across her face. It was the smile of winter, the elegance of frost. Would it last the whole season?

Then she stared at her treasure, a ring of amber and amethyst, given by a stranger, the first gift of love. For she was sixteen, unflowered, unbroken by the world and all its dreads. Pain had come in different ways to her. To her family, her village, her island. Slain and sold, left to a life of misery; they were gone, would she ever see them again?

It was too late, they had told her. Their enemies had left their poison, and now the only thing left was its sting. To die was a precious thing, but to stay and endure this life... Perhaps another life awaited her. With the ring, with the promise, with the stranger who had touched her hand. His mouth full of glitter, of distant lands, sun and stars guiding their way--until a new life greeted them on fragrant shores.

Was this the life for her, or should she embrace the moon and ride the dark waves into death--taken, consumed, crushed by the Eagle? Then life was cease, or would it rise again?

But in the hands of a stranger, perhaps life would flourish again. Can a new love lead to the blossoms of spring? She gazed at the ring, closed her eyes, and made a promise to herself. She would find peace, after the rains.

Finished 1st draft of my second novel - Nanowrimo 2009

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 20:34:00 +0000

After a long 30 days of writing, I finished my 1st draft of my second novel, RISE (title TBD). It's set in Miami, 1926, a day before the Great Miami Hurricane strikes. A 16 year-old girl, Castille, and her two best friends, live in mansions on Millionaires Row. They discover magic at a young age--controlling the power of the storm, telekinesis--but the other girl, Dominic, becomes obsessed with Voodoo magic after her father is killed when she is 13. She envious of Castille's power in magic, and can never keep up. So she steals money from her mother to pay voodoo priests to teach her the way to wake the dead into zombie form. Then all hell breaks out as the two girls face off as the hurricane strikes...

My 2009 Reading List (so far)

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 16:24:00 +0000

1. The Graveyard Book (Neil Gaiman)

2. The Storm of Swords (George R.R. Martin)

3. Eragon (Christopher Paolini)

4. Twilight (Stephanie Meyer)

5. The Golden Compass (Philip Pullman)

6. The Subtle Knife (Philip Pullman)

7. The Amber Spyglass (Philip Pullman)

8. Self-Editing for Fiction Writers (Renni Browne)

9. The Strain (Guillermo Del Torro)

10. Firestarter (Stephen King)

11. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)

12. Of Mice and Men (John Steinbeck)

13. Outliers: The Story of Success (Malcolm Gladwell)

14. Techniques of the Selling Writers (Dwight V. Swain)

15. Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)

16. On Writing (Stephen King)

My fantasy novel - Talis

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 22:29:00 +0000

After many months of focused writing, and almost six months of constant editing and re-writing, the final draft of my novel is almost complete. It's written for the young adult market, a fantasy book, and weighs in at 93,000 words (around 370 pages in book form). Last week I just sent my completed manuscript to a professional editor who specializes in the young adult market. They are doing a full manuscript critique.

And now, a little preview of the book, here is my novel's synopsis. Hope you enjoy it!

Plagued by terrifying dreams, 13-year old Talis Storm never found comfort in the safety of his father's noble life. The nightmares led him to discover a new master, with whom he gained entry into the world of magic. Little did he know, his peaceful life in his small village would soon come to an end. He would need all his training to survive the coming storm.

One fateful morning, his uncle returns from an expedition to the south, and Talis is chosen to play a part in the struggle against the rising tide of darkness. His uncle has discovered the ancient Surineda map, which holds the secret to finding the lost city of Urgar. The fate of the world rests in his hands, and he is faced with a terrible choice. Should he stay and protect his family, or venture off to an unknown world? Talis and a few of his closest friends must brave the journey across harsh deserts and frozen northlands, and somehow find a way to gain ship’s passage across the sea to an ancient, cursed island. Only a child can fulfill the prophecy and awaken the Goddess Nacrea, who is trapped in a temple high above the lost city.

He must rely on his companions and his magical training to survive the terrifying dangers awaiting him. But will it be enough to withstand the hideous power of dark magic? In a coming-of-age story, Talis must learn the secrets of unlocking his magical power. Guided by the power of his dreams, and allured into love with a beautiful girl who shares the magical gift, his power grows, but will he have the wisdom and strength to control it?

NanoWrimo 2008 - So you want to write a novel?

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 18:34:00 +0000

Well I did it. A friend of mine put me up to the challenge of writing a novel in the NanoWrimo 2008 writing competition, and I broke the 50,000 word challenge, all in the space of a month. It was a relatively short novel about a young boy and his adventure (about the length of the Great Gatsby), but I really enjoyed it. Do go check out the site, you can even donate for their Young Writers Program - it's a great way to get kids into writing. If you'd like to see a sample of my book, check out my profile page.

A Biography, John Adams by David McCullough

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 21:22:00 +0000

I recently finished reading John Adams by David McCullough. If you haven't had the chance yet to read this book, I highly recommend it. This book really struck a nerve with me; the life of a great American patriot and founding father. On a personal level, reading about his struggles in life and how he overcame hardships and obstacles. His life contribution and constant devotion to the spirit of independence and personal freedom was nothing short of astounding, especially in the face of the challenges he and the nation encountered.

John Adams was the least known for me of the founding fathers, but upon review, the most intriguing. Humble beginnings, unlike many of the others like Jefferson and Washington, he showed drive and determination that would last him a lifetime. He attributed his life success to his wife and lifelong best friend, Abigail. He wrote over a 1,000 letters to her over his lifetime, many while away for years in Europe. In a way this book was also a love story, about the enduring bonds of a lifelong connection between two vibrant souls.

I was musing about the category of biographies and its influence on young minds and older alike. We have an 11-year old and I have been a constant purchaser of books for him since he was very young (Amazon thanks me). However, I always find it interesting that the best-selling books are often fantasy related and generally not biographical. For me growing up, biographical books were always an inspiration to me, and continue to be. My true hope is that some new author, perhaps the next J. K. Rowling, will bring to youth the joys of discovering the life of great leaders and visionaries of today and from our collective history.

Seeing the lives of great men and women, we all understand just how human they were and quite similar to all of us. Many started from humble beginnings, difficulties growing up, challenges in school and in their occupation, over-coming adversity, ridicule and criticism of others, to ultimately triumph and gain recognition and reward. Through their lives, we see life as a journey meant to be lived and enjoyed to the fullest. Each moment, no matter how difficult, shapes and crafts our character. We realize that suffering, no matter how painful, leads to growth and awakening when we rise above it. What distinguishes these great men and women from the lives of regular people, is their persistence, constant hope and optimism and complete unwillingness to ever play the victim, no matter what situation.

The world of biography is there waiting for all of us, history is there to teach us its lessons and guide us from prevent its mistakes. Although their example is not perfect, I believe there is a story or two you will find that directly relates to you.

Who am I really?

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 04:59:00 +0000

For many years I have pondered this question in the context of a discussion I had with my Aunt Christa over the years. Who are you really John and what do you think? As opposed to ideas I have gained in the past from reading different authors and being influenced by various schools of thoughts and teachings. She'd say "that sounds like Buddhism" or "hmm, sounds like Carlos Casteneda" and "Yogic thought or Hinduism?" I guess that is a bit further off than when I would talk with her about my belief in Christianity, when I was much younger, then she said "come and talk to me in five years" and by then my entire world view and beliefs had changed.

She always seemed to see something inside of me that resided in my future or latent under the surface. So even now it hits me, who am I really apart from my ideas? What do I truly think originating deep inside of me? I guess I don't completely know. In the past, from time to time, I'd read something and think "yeah I get that, makes sense" or "it resonates with me, feels right". By reading something latent would rise up and bubble up to the surface. I got that feeling reading Whitman, Emerson, Thoreau and later it was with Jane Roberts. I'd read and my perception would shift, i'd feel like something around me had expanded or was vibrating. That sensation got stronger when I read Buddhist texts, Hindu texts, Zen texts and Carlos Castaneda.

These were all influences in my thought, but I keep going back to an observation, go deeper, find the original self and express. So that is where I find myself now. When I observe my inner self, apart from my experiences and social definitions I find: Curiousity. Drifting. Attraction. Passion. Sensation. Elegance of complexity. Observation. Waiting. Yes, waiting for magical moments, meetings with living people, people alive. What seems like an ocean is maybe just a mirror, but when I look inside all I see is glass. Perhaps I am looking for solidity but is simply a cluster.

Perhaps beliefs are just shared myths. The afterlife. Re-incarnation. Heaven and hell. Nirvana. Enlightenment. Perfect love. Bliss. The moment. Sin. Evil. Holiness. But what is an original thought? One outside of myths created or modified from others; and hopefully one originating from within myself. How about "when I am patient in the face of stress and difficulty I feel like I have conquered a mountain." It is personal, based on my real experience and is something that bubbled up from within. Another is "when I am alone in the dark I feel embraced by the good intentions of kind souls." It is something I feel. "When I look in the sky at night, breathe in the night air, I feel hope and optimism." This has always been true as long as I can remember.

Are these thoughts and feelings mine? Maybe this is a part of who I am and helps defines me. If so, I like it and I want to know more....

The Myth of Meditation

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Wed, 15 Nov 2006 06:29:00 +0000

Walking through the forest, mist filtering through the trees, the mind is empty while the senses are alive and awake. Far from a mountain temple, or secluded meditation room, yet a walk in the forest can bring one back to the center. Nature brings balance to a mind filled with turmoil, stress and pre-occupied thoughts.

What is meditation? It is often associated in the west with chanting, sitting lotus style, eyes closed, separate from the world, going on an inner or mystical journey. Usually that idea leads one away from the world we all live in. Renunciates in India renounce the world to take that journey beyond worldly concerns. To me, meditation is high awareness and having a clear mind in whatever you are engaged in. That especially includes all those moments awake, living life in whatever form it takes.

For instance, if you are cooking, meditation is the focusing on the art of expressing yourself through what foods you create. Whatever emotion you are experiencing at that time is felt in the food you make. By raising your awareness in the art of cooking, you expand that experience from being mundane into being pure joy.

Another example can be driving. I find that when I am driving on a beautiful road, preferably curvy and in the mountains, all my attention is focused on the act of driving and the visceral experience, and all my thoughts melt away.

Can each moment be a meditation? I think any moment can be a meditative moment, regardless of what you are doing. I think I can turn any regular thing one does during the day, and make it a meditative one. And it doesn't mean instead of playing hoops at the court you rise at 5am and chant your mantra. Perhaps it means while you are playing hoops you approach it with a different state of mind. One focused on observation, concentration, high awareness and heightened senses. Sounds to me like a recipe for Olympic greatness. It's no doubt the way to success in athletics is often the way to success in other areas of your life.

So next time you think "I don't know how to meditate" or "I don't have time" or "I tried to meditate but kept thinking", think perhaps that each moment can be a meditative one. Maybe it is not something you do, but how you do all the regular things in your life.

The only Zen-like thing I would like to say is, while you are doing all those things in your regular life, try doing them with such intensity that your mind has no extra room to think about anything else but what you are actively engaged in. This mind trick heightens any current experience tremendously, leaves the past for the history books, and lets the future come to you a moment at a time.

Building a house in Palo Alto (The home stretch)

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Thu, 28 Sep 2006 21:10:00 +0000

We are getting closer to completion with the house project. We now have two layers of stucco on the exterior, and waiting on the final layer of stucco to be applied (it is painted a creme color) and troweled to have an old-world texture.

The interior of the house has all the sheetrock applied, taped and ready to be textured with old world plaster as well, light finish. It was really tough knowing exactly how something would look as described by the builder, so we had to have them apply alot of samples textures to choose.

Since my last post, alot has happened to the house. Final framing was finished, top level of the roof finished, electrical, wiring, HVAC, plumbing and our Lincoln windows (wood interior and aluminum clad exterior). We had few snags along the way, and generally it has gone really well. It now seems like a real house with the sheetrock applied on the interior. We added extra RC channel sound proofing to house to keep the sound down between bedrooms and the 1st and 2nd floor.

Coming up over the next month we will be painting, finishing the roof, installing the cabinets, doing the tile work/granite tops and putting in the trim moulding, baseboards.

Our new baby boy Akiva

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Sat, 03 Jun 2006 21:18:00 +0000

Akiva is love together we created
Showing our harmony and oneness
in the most special way
His eyes reflect the deep blue ocean
Inside his soul flows freely
I sense his gentleness and kind spirit
Speechless I am as I gaze into his deep soul
Filled with wisdom, understanding and harmony
Together as a family we cherish so much
His coming into this beautiful world
Makes each day seem more precious
A moment with him is a universe in itself
Transported in an instant through so many feelings
I seldom feel this way that I remember
And now it has changed my life forever
What I hoped for is come true
When your eyes first saw this world
I knew it would be a better place because of you
Wishing for you peace, love and contentment
Your spirit and innocence to always be pure
Some day we will reflect on this time
About how for a moment, we marveled
Saw, cried with joy, and glimpsed into each others eyes
For the first time it would seem
But once I looked, I know I knew you before
Into this life you have come, a pact we have made before
Beauty and joy, things we will learn and grow together
Experiences we will share, many things undiscovered
Realizations we shall have, many awakenings to come
As a family, mysteriously, magically but fated to be
We are together as one, for our common benefit and bliss
Seeing the world as we could never see alone
Together as a family, knowing it is so right
Happy for each moment we can share
In this magical dream we call life
Connected through love and light
We will just be, for in this instant realize love.

Peace on the edge of nothingness

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Fri, 19 May 2006 05:40:00 +0000

On the side of a wind-swept mountain
There lives a lone dove
Without the companionship of her lost mate
She flies along a singular path in the mist
Fleeting shadows and a soft breeze
Wafts besides the bubbling stream
Emptiness is her sole friend in life
She takes him wherever she travels
Wide and far, past the wintry ray of the Sun
High and deep, beneath the traces of frost
Touching a faint breath that caresses the wandering mind
This dove knows no loneliness
Contentment is hers as she plows along
Not knowing words to describe her fateful path
In her ignorance she finds bliss few possess in their knowledge
What she lacks other dream to cherish
How bitter ones memories, enrich this solitary bird
Drawing from the rich well of emptiness
She finds a black soil filled with her potential
Lifting higher above the dew and the mountain
She settles to the Sun, merging with the horizon.

Morning stretching and RSI exercises

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Thu, 18 May 2006 15:26:00 +0000

I found this great website recently that has three series of stretching exercises. One for a good morning warm up stretching, one for daily at work (even on the chair) yoga and the last one for RSI (Repetive Stress Injuries).

Naoko and I tried out the stretching warm up this morning and really enjoyed it! In particular, I found it really helped to open up my low back (which can be stiff sometimes). I hope you enjoy it!

http://www.mydailyyoga.com/yogaindex.html

Liberating the Soul with Breathing

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Wed, 17 May 2006 00:46:00 +0000

Many years ago I was introduced to the idea of being conscious about breathing by a Doctor friend of mine when I was 18 years old. He put forward the idea that most of us live our life breathing by habit and controlled by emotions. As a result, the breath becomes shallow, done through the chest only, which in turn affects our health and well-being.

At first I was a bit skeptical, but I accepted his logic, and started on a quest to breath deeper, in through the diaphram (stomach area, the Chinese call it "Dan-tien"), and each breath longer in and out. I found after awhile I was more conscious of my breathing, and eventually by habit started breathing in from my diaphram, and much deeper each time. After awhile it was like I simply slowed down, everything, my life, my breath, my whole self. It was quite astounding the transformation. Looking back in my life, it is interesting that when I changed my breathing patterns, my entire life changed after that. At the time I was devoutly religious (Christian), but over the years, all that was swept away.

In a sense I like to think that breathing liberated my true soul. In the East, many sayings talk about life starting with a breath in and ending with a breath out. Life and death exist in a breath. Each breath is a microcosm of our entire life and death. Looking back, I see how truly powerful breathing was to my life.

If you have a chance, I strongly recommend reading the book called "The Science of Breath". It is one of those books I often re-read, and discover new things. Over the years, I constantly find myself reading books, or articles, that help me re-focus on my own breathing. Doing Yoga --> focuses my mind on breathing. Walking --> focus on breathing. Life ups and downs --> focus on breathing. Breath is the fuel that keeps us all going, not just the oxygen, but also the mental focus, emotional balance and deep breathing gives.

Deep, consistent breathing insures the mind is calm, focused, and emotions at the center. No matter how difficult your life, how much stress, how horrible the situation seems, when you focus your mind on breathing, all that passes, deep calm comes, and your emotions are stabilized.

Try it the next time you have a chance. Breath in deeply through your nose for 5 seconds, breath out slowly for 5 seconds through your nose. After awhile you won't even count, you will just sense the right feeling. Each breath will become deeper, longer, and richer. The world will seem lighter, your body will feel lighter, and each moment will seem like it has expanded.

Vibrant morning air

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Sat, 13 May 2006 15:14:00 +0000

This morning I woke up at 7am (early for me on a Saturday) to setup Ghenki's birthday party spot in the park near our house. Knowing that the early bird catches the best spot near the swings and playarea, I tumbled out of bed and headed towards the park with tablecovers in hand.

Lately I have always been pleasantly surprised by how fresh and vibrant the morning air feels. This may sound silly to country dwellers, but if you live in a metropolitan area, you know what the rest of the day is like. The air here in Northern California certainly is better than LA, but to me, it is amazing that each morning the air has such a vital quality to it.

As I setup the tabletops at the park, many local Chinese elderly people walked by, enjoying the warm air. It reminded me of my time living in Taiwan and seeing many people waking up early and walking in the hills, "sunning" their birds, practicing Tai Chi, or just breathing in the vitality. According to Taoism, morning time is when the "Yang" energy is the strongest, and evening (when the moon is out), "Yin" energy is the strongest. The concept of Yin and Yang is about a balance of energy in your body. Too much of one kind and you are out of balance, leading to sickness or unhappiness. For instance, not enough "Yang" energy can lead to weak lungs, colds, etc. As my Chinese Doctor always said, too much Yin energy can lead to poor health.

Simply speaking on a "sense" feeling comparing the energy of evening with early morning, I can say they feel completely different. Last nite at 10pm, Naoko, Ghenki and I went for a half hour walk under the full moon. The air was nice, calm and the walk peaceful. This morning, the air was crisp, powerful, and provided a deep sense of focus (but still feeling calm at the same time). It is not easy to describe, but I definitely suggest trying it! Perhaps there is something to 3000+ years of wisdom found in the Chinese culture.

Living longer (and smelling the roses along the way)

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Sat, 06 May 2006 14:49:00 +0000

Recently I glanced upon an article in Forbes.com on "15 Way to Live Longer". I enjoyed the article because it was not simply focused on the typical reasons, but more on the statistical and philosophical ways to live longer and fuller lives.

"Be Optimistic" was #2 on the list, and did that ever resonate with me! It's nice to know that optimism can make one live longer, but to me, it causes me to live clearer right now in the present. Optimism focuses on the hidden potential in life that exists at every moment waiting to be unleashed by your will. Pessimism does just the opposite, it blocks so many aspects of your being and sticks to the finite measurable facts (albeit the bad ones). Optimism represents the best in every strong historical figure (or person behind that historical figure), a belief in something unseen, hoped for, cherished, or simply the human spirit.

Another one you hear alot, is the where married people live longer, well I enjoyed Forbes way of putting it "Marry Well". That's exactly how I feel. I tend to have the strong belief that I indeed did marry well, and feel proud of my decision marry Naoko every single day. I have to say with her in my life, each day is filled with light, full of happiness and a deep sense of calmness I have never experienced before in the past. To me, the right partner has caused me to grow and mature in so many good ways. Now that we are having a baby together, we are creating this beautiful new life together, growing each day. Marriage is deepening the well from which I draw life's experiences, and without it, I would have missed so much.

The highlight of the article was when I saw that laughter can make one live longer. Not only is it scientifically proven to be true, but each of us most likely know this inately anyways. If it makes you feel better, then it must indeed be good for you, in this case I feel it positively true. Laughter is directly tied to your view on life; and laughing at your life or things most people take so seriously causes optimism to flourish. When I laugh at my own mistakes, I let them go and cease to dwell on them. When I laugh like I did as a kid, I feel like a kid again, youth constantly flows through me and around me. This ways my family feels youthful and energetic. After a long tiring day at work, if I laugh others feel lighter and a warm sense of release. A secret elixer; the vitality of youth, laughter springs eternal. There are two sides to life, the lighter and the darker, focusing on one more causes aging, the other side causes eternal youth.

I was reading a book on Taoism recently on the concept of immortality, as in the "chinese immortals". Essentially they said the same thing. Focus on heavy things, serious stuff, difficult issues, insurmountable life obstacles, and you die and age quickly. In one sense you are already dead when you focus on the dark side of life (that is all is doom and gloom and boy what the hell are we going to do now). Waking up to the creative flow of eternal youth and one discovers a present moment that constantly expanding in time. It settles after expanding giving you a bubble around your spirit that tends not to constantly get bombarded, degraded and tarnished. Since you open that well-spring of vitality, you release self-concerns and "your issues", realizing you are now simply so intimately connecting with that source of vitality, that perhaps you are that and nothing more. Identifying yourself with something deeper than this lives associations tend to drop of the minor facts that weigh people down day in and day out.

The last part of the article pertained to meditating. At first I thought it wise to include the concept of praying in this definition of meditating, but it needs to be defined as mindless. Clearing the mind of all thoughts and taking a walk engaging your entire presence on the world you are immersed in shuts off all the clutter that pulls down the mind. Meditation frees the mind from its daily burden. It can be done sitting down, back straight, lotus style. It can be done walking, biking, driving, sitting on a chair, playing piano, doing legos, gardening... Gosh it can be done anywhere! Anytime you are so immersed in something that you stop thinking and simply "be" opens up a different energetic flow inside of you that leads to a deep sense of health and well-being. Like the article said, 15 minutes of meditation (sitting kind), eyes closed, has been shown to produce a significantly more relaxed mind state than one hour of the deepest sleep. How is that possible? It is simple, when the mind is freed of thoughts, and you have consciousness, body is relaxed, breath is deep, then your brain actually changes states and deepens. This deeper state relaxes the entire body, expands your mental clarity and creates a vast pervasive sense of well-being and focus. Having done meditation going on 15 years, and believe me, I have tried all kinds of meditation, it is a critical part of mental and physical health for everyone. Don't sleep well at night? Simple, sit in a dark quiet room at night, close your eyes, focus on breathe in, breathe out, focus on your body and your breath changes, and let your thoughts disappear with each breath. Keep doing this each night, and you will start sleeping better, deeper and wake up clearer.

Spring gardening for the silicon valley techie

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Fri, 05 May 2006 15:00:00 +0000

Working 9+ hours a day staring in front of a computer monitor, and barely a glimpse of sunshine and whiff of fresh air, there is immense joy in the simple pleasure of planting a garden. Feeling the earth with your hands, smelling the crisp morning air, feeling the dew drop after you've planted everything, rewards like this await all who venture into the world of gardening.

Why plant you say when you can buy from Safeway (God forbid!) ? For one, please don't buy from Safeway!! Where the heck do they get those fruits and vegetables from anyway. Someplace very far away, usually un-ripened and often radiated en-route or in the store. Safeway recently launched a line of "Safeway Organics"; that's like buying a book on stopping global warming by George Bush. I simply don't buy it (literally). If you must buy, buy from a store that buys local produce, organic produce (and has done so for years); or buy from a farmers market!

Simply put, there is no comparison between vegetables and fruits grown in your own organic garden and those bought at stores (or even in good stores or farmers market). Making a salad in the evening? Just walk out back to your garden, harvest different varieties of lettuce and tomatoes and enjoy the best salad ever. It's my belief that the difference lies in the fact it is on your land, born by your own hands, harvested exactly when you need to eat it. If you fancy eating food filled with the essence of earth, bathed in the moonlight, and drenched in the sun, give gardening a try.

What to plant? For first timers, I suggest the simple things like tomatoes, preferably an heirloom varieties, pear and cherry. Next is lettuce, romaine works good, any varieties you enjoy eating (we have 5+ kinds this year). If you plant early or live in a colder area, plant sugar snap peas, snow peas, blue lake pole beans (stake them and let them vine up). Herbs are good, like Basil, Rosemary, Italian Parseley, all your favorites. Whatever your choices, start small, dig deep removing old soil down to 12-18 inches, and use good topsoil if you don't naturally have it. Planters work fine also. The biggest key to having a healthy garden is an irrigation system that can water automatically. Especially out here in California, this is key with our hot and dry summers.

Dig in, get your hands dirty and enjoy your summer garden!

Poetry on the eve of disaster

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Fri, 05 May 2006 05:24:00 +0000

Fair maidens seek shelter from the onslaught of spring
Calamity strikes us all without leaving a trace
Evening comes hidden in silent melodies
We all discover passion in a moments light
Too soon it all ends and we wake up with empty hands
Dreams holding golden jewels and scattered relics
Look again, see the fairness of my hands
Precious woven in the simple emptiness
Before me opens up, the slit somewhere new
As I fall into the darkness, I merge with nothingness
I feel whole again, no expectations, no attachments
Just simple wholeness, from within and surrounding

A poem to me is like a bold brush stroke on a white canvas for the first time. The logical mind ceases to exist and something else emerges. There are no thoughts, no rhyme, no form, just passion, emotion, color and flow. It is a breath of fresh air from the world of material and logic. Like flicking off the switch and experiencing so much more.

I love the feeling of walking into an empty room in the dark, on a warm summers eve. The window is open, a gentle breeze wafting into the room; stillness pervading my entire being. It is such a personal feeling but utterly enjoyable to express. How many experiences in life have so many variable feelings. Imagine yourself here in this scene, listening, observing, not talking -- A Crowded market, buying and selling -- A heated argument in a conference room -- Lush forest at first light, animals drinking by the brook -- The desert at midnight, crescent moon, the sounds of infinity -- A child standing at your feet, staring up in your eyes, so innocent and curious. How multitude the feelings!

Our life is the poetry, our death the final beat. Without wisdom, we miss the connecting link.

Building a house in Palo Alto

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Fri, 05 May 2006 04:55:00 +0000

(more photos on my Flickr photo album)

So I've decided to try to blog a bit about my experience building a house in Palo Alto. This is a project that I have been working on for the last 15 months or so. Home building is not something to be taken lightly, this coming from someone who is deep in it now. But, it ranks as one of the best experiences of my life, perhaps apart from getting married to my lovely wife.

My wife and I have been following the real estate market in the bay area, particularly Cupertino and Palo Alto, for about 4 years now. We saw the dot.com market crash, eroding away the landscape that Silicon Valley once was. In theory, it was supposed to work that the housing market would soon follow, and boom it would crash too. Well that never really happened. On the high-end of the scale ($2 million+) in high-end neighborhoods, indeed it did adjust quite a bit. But in many neighborhood (and overall bay area in general), after a bit dip in 2001-2002, the market has been progressively going up.

Knowing there was no way in hell we could afford what we wanted in Palo Alto, and wanting to live there (lived there for 7 years back in the day), we started scouring PA for fixer-uppers in good neighborhoods. Thanks to our lovely real estate agent from Coldwell Banker, she quickly hooked us up to two properties in mid-town Palo Alto. One turned out to be a real dump (in terms of property location), and the other a charming ranch style house on a quiet street near midtown. We won the bid against 15 other bidders, and off we went.

Palo Alto is not an easy city to build in. But, honestly, the people who work at the building center are gems. This being the first time I ever tried to build a house, I had lots of questions, and needed lots of good advice from professionals. First thing off, I thought I needed to talk to a good architect. In retrospect, the best option was to find and talk in detail to a good builder. Once I found a good builder, in this case RJ Haas in Saratoga, it made a huge difference to the project.

So not to bore you, here's the last 15 months:
- I designed 5 house designs myself using Better homes & Gardens home designer
- Handed off my blueprints to the architect after picking one
- A good 6 months of back and forth reviews with the architect
- City of Palo Alto individual review with the architectural review board (4 months)
- Building permit for the City of Palo Alto (4 months)

Finally we got the building permit this spring, and now around 3 weeks into the construction we have ground cleared, foundation done, and the framing started. More to come!

Canon 30D Digital Camera Lens choices!

noreply@blogger.com (John Forrester) — Fri, 05 May 2006 04:36:00 +0000

For anyone who has purchased a digital camera lately, particularly a Canon, Nikon or Olympus with a non-full frame sensor, you understand the frustration with picking lenses. I am one of those frustrated souls. I recently bought a Canon 30D, with the bundled junky 18-55mm lens (anyone want to buy it? never used it). Well for the last two weeks or so I've researched lenses on Popular Photography and other onlines sites searching for answers.

The problem with the Canon Rebel XT, 20D, 30D is that they magnify everything by 1.6X. So a perfectly good Canon 24-70mm L lens is now 38-112mm. This is great if you want zoom, but not so great if you want wider. Canon is starting to make a 17-55mm f2.8 lens, but not being an L class lens, its hard to justify the $1200 or so.

After all my angst, here's what I've decided upon: 1. A Canon 10-22mm f3.5-f4.5 (special to XT, 20D, and 30D), 2. A Canon 50mm f1.4 (Portrait), and 3. a Tamron 28-75mm f2.8. Why Tamron you say?? Well having tried the bulky and expensive ($1200) Canon 24-70mm f2.8 and tested next to the Tamron, I much prefer the lighter, and extremely fast and sharp Tamron. Only thing I prefer on the Canon is the USM auto-focusing is quieter, and faster.

Well, that's just me, I'm sure you have your choices as well. A friend of mine swears he is going to the 17-55 f2.8 lens, but then again, we'll see how those new lenses perform.

For now, I can't wait till my order comes in with the new lenses, stay tuned...