Wandering the Ether

Tibetan Yoga

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 16:49:00 +0000

Ever caught yourself wishing there was more time in the day to work out, or that you could somehow simplify things by boiling it all down to just a few magic moves that would somehow be the answer to all your exercise needs? There hasn't been a day gone by that I haven't considered how I might compress my activities, make them more efficient, and yet maintain quality. Though I've yet to discover the secret to this, author Peter Kelder believes there is a group of monks that have, and their methods are backed up by a thousand years worth of tradition.

Over a millennium ago, the monks of Tibet developed what they now call The Five Tibetan Rites. The monks perform The Five Rites twice daily, as the sun rises, and again as it sets. They believe that these five simple moves are the key to longevity, have even referred to them as the fountain of youth! Not only are these moves a form of static (or Ashtanga) yoga, but they're also a form of isometric strength training. The monks believe that through ritual performance, practitioners will not only repair the seven Chakra points located throughout the body, but also massage the lymphatic system, which does not circulate naturally without assistance.

One need not duplicate the same level of intensity as the monks to experience positive results. They suggest that beginners start by trying to perform each of the Five Rites for a total of 21 reps a day. To clarify, a "rep" is a single action. For example: 21 push-ups would be referred to as "21 reps" of that particular move. For those of us that aren't able to complete each move 21 times right out of the gate, they suggest trying to attempt each 1 to 3 times daily. After a week, increase that by a rep, building up slowly until your body is conditioned to undergo the full routine.

That's great news folks! I've met a lot of people who are pretty far gone (I was myself at one point), and I can't think of a single one of them who would not be capable of doing each of these moves three times a day if they really put there heart and desire into it! Before you begin, I would like to caution that you will experience a slight (and sometimes powerful) feeling of nausea during and shortly after performing the rites. This is because as you massage your lymphatic system, toxins are being released into your blood stream where your body will deal with them as free radicals. Do not let this deter you! This is a very good thing! You are essentially cleaning out decades worth of built up crud & funk.

"When the Clock Strikes Me" by Saul Williams

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 00:55:00 +0000

Dead by 68: Why Women Live Longer

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 23:06:00 +0000

Caught a fascinating program on PBS yesterday, describing why women live longer than men. I had always attributed this to historic factors like war, enhanced risk taking due to testosterone imbalances, and men generally taking less interest in their well being than women. Turns out, those aren't the major factors.

The single biggest component of female endurance has been linked to their having two sets of X chromosomes. Studies have shown that a higher proportion of mutations occur in the Y chromosome, and most "mutations" are harmful. When a mutation occurs in a woman's X chromosome, she has a matching set to fall back on which contains a non-mutated version. Their bodies then choose to use the "good" genes, ignoring the harmful ones.

As if this were not advantage enough, studies have also revealed that a woman's menstrual cycle regularly purges their system of old blood that's become over saturated with iron. Apparently, our blood contains iron because the mitochondria in our cells need it to function. Over time, older sources of iron become played out, and are then discarded into our bloodstream as free radicals. In men, this builds up and impacts our health. Seems to me a good practice for males would be to donate blood on a monthly basis. This way, they can achieve the same purging effect.

Out of everyone currently living (over the age of 100) -- 87% are female. That is a staggering statistic! It has also been reported that men die of higher rates of Diabetes, Heart attack, Lung Cancer, and Stroke than women. So there it is fellas. The genetic deck is stacked against you.

What can men do to extend their lives? It's so simple most of us don't want to believe it, and so difficult, most of us don't want to do it. The answer? Start taking care of your body. Exercise & eat better. Cut out the fat, skip the alcohol, stop smoking. If we don't start taking care of ourselves, odds are, we will be dead around age 68. Think about that. 34 years old, and you're already middle-aged. Your life is half over.

Blogging -vs- Tweeting

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 15:55:00 +0000

Blogging is beginning to feel like a license to ramble. Feel like Tweeting allows me to express my thoughts so much more succinctly. Distilled though they may be, there is an essential elegance inherent to their construction. Then again, there are those who would argue that 140 characters is too limiting, and this denotes the death of quality digital writing. Interesting dichotomy.

The Virtue of Mowing Your Lawn on Sundays

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Sun, 06 Sep 2009 16:41:00 +0000

As a child, I was "raised Christian." Like any other form of preconditioning, I have this tendency to view my actions through a Judeo-Christian lens. Not that I want to, it's just that I've been hardwired to be this way. If it were up to me, I'd do away with my religious thinking altogether. But it doesn't work that way does it? We can't always choose what we think. Cognition is chaotic at best. We draw from experience, and in my life, for better or worse religion has played a large role.

Which brings me to the point of this story. This morning I was out mowing the lawn, and it occurred to me that the church down the street was probably in the middle of a service. The thought that they all might be sitting there praying, while I'm out making a ruckus with my lawn mower started to bug me. "This is really inconsiderate..." I thought. "There are probably people sitting in there focused on the sound of the lawn mower, instead of listening to the sermon."

Dwelling on this for awhile, it occurred to me that I was actually doing them all a favor! The way I figure it, the second best gift you can give a Christian is to anger them on a Sunday. This invites them to practice what they preach on the one day out of the week that they're most likely to actually be thinking about it. So, there you have it. My mowing the lawn during church hours is not only convenient for me, but a public service to the religious community. Seems like a win/win scenario!

Handguns: Nothing Like the Movies

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 21:39:00 +0000

I had an eye-opening experience this past weekend. Before I continue, feel I should preface this by pointing out I do not support the sale and ownership of handguns, and I will almost certainly never own one. That's just where I'm at with the issue.

My brother took me shooting at an indoor facility Friday night. If you've never been to one, it's a building that houses a shooting range, and a store front where you can buy pretty much any handgun still in production (there are hundreds). They sell you the ammo, rent you a stall, and even rent guns to people like me that show up empty handed.

The clerk asked me what I wanted to shoot (I had no clue) and I asked her what she recommended. A short exchange later and I was off to "play" with a Glock 9mm. Tim thought it would be interesting for me to see the difference between a 9mm and his .45 caliber Smith & Wesson. Armed with ear and eye protection, 4 boxes of bullets and a variety of targets, we spent the next hour making a lot of noise.

Despite previous experiences with various firearms, none of it prepared me for how small and light handguns are. The hilts are made of a plastic composite, the metal is extremely thin, and if not for the thunderous snap and orange burst that flares out when you pull the trigger, it would be easy to mistake these guns as toys. They feel cheap, frail, like something that costs about $30 to produce, and is then sold for 30 times that.

When my brother bought his gun a few months ago, we all gave him grief. He has been on a mission since then to expose us to "the gun" and give us the opportunity to form educated opinions. While I don't agree with the logic behind his perceived "need" to own the gun, he does demonstrate a level of seriousness and responsibility about it (i.e. cleaning it immediately after use, using a trigger lock, talking about buying a gun safe...) such that it's difficult to give him a hard time about it anymore, and I suppose that's what he had in mind.

What I will say though, is that no amount of watching prop guns shooting blanks in the movies prepares you for how utterly mundane and ordinary a handgun feels gripped in your fist. In the meantime, I'm having difficulties wrapping my head around the new found realization that something capable of ending a life... feels like a toy.

I'm grateful for having the opportunity to experience this, but if anything, it has strengthened my resolve to never own a gun.

Sayōnara Sedentary Life

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 12:47:00 +0000

The predominant subject in my thinking lately has been health. What to eat, how to prepare it, when to eat it. Calories, fat content, salt levels, vitamins, making sure I drink enough water each day. Exercise. Have I exercised at least 3 times today? What else can I do to increase physical work load? Stacy and I talk about it at dinner, talk about it at night, talk about it over the weekend. She's been bitten by the health bug more so than me. Checks out 10 books a week from the library, spends all evening reading and researching.

Feel like I'm going overboard with this. Too much of a good thing. I've gone from one extreme to another, traded addictions. Swapped an obsession with junk food for an all consuming craving to be everything the sedentary lifestyle is not. Addictive personality disorder. Is there such a thing? That would be me. Throw myself into new things 100% until they're worn out. Until I'm spent, completely disinterested, then I move on to some new outlet. I'd like to think it's "hardcore," but maybe it's just one dimensional.

At least this new found obsession with being healthy brings with it a higher ratio of positives to negatives than most of the other habits I've adopted throughout my life. It isn't ~~easy~~ fun having to focus on everything you do. Keeping track of your activities in a log. Analyzing your choices from one day to the next. Constantly fine tuning. Designing a method to the madness. I'm hoping that one day this will all become like second nature and these good habits will be so ingrained I won't have to "think" about them.

Going Paleo!

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 14:29:00 +0000

Today I begin my experiment in paleolithic eating. This is something that I've been building up to for a long time now, and it finally feels like the right choice, or, logical next step. The idea is that you can only eat the food sources that were available to our ancestors pre-ten thousand B.C. (the estimated arrival of processed grains). My current dietary considerations already constitute a roughly 90% paleo composition, but up until now I've been reluctant to give up sugar (brown & honey) and dairy (butter and cheese). Also prohibited is the consumption of grains and legumes. Which means hasta luego oatmeal, soy products and sprouted bread.

This actually plays into that whole eating based on your blood-type science, in that Type-O's like me are "supposedly" predisposed genetically to thrive on paleo cuisine. So, we will see. Just an aside; the vast majority of humanity is Type-O. As a species we are literally killing ourselves slowly through starchy, high sugar, grain-based eating. And yet we wax moralistic on the futility of suicide. Huh.

One Vegan's Return to Meat

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 18:24:00 +0000

There's a book out there that has the Vegan community in a frenzy, and Carnivores excited. The Vegetarian Myth features one woman's choice to step away from 20 years of Vegan practice, and consider consuming meat again. Word has it her approach draws deeply from personal experience, and the book reads as part narrative, part manifesto, and part theoretic philosophy.

Although I'm looking forward to reading this, (mainly to see what she has to say re: the sociopolitical/environmental impact) I'm also a bit leery because my wife is a "Vegetarian." My fear is that after reading this book, I won't be able to refrain from discussing Lierre Keith's theories, and this might lead to uncomfortable debates between the two of us.

So much emphasis is placed on labels, and so many people seem bent on aligning themselves under the banner of one group or another, that it's gotten to the point where all that's left are semantics. Not sure why we spend so much time focusing on our differences, but we do. My hope is that this book presents the research in a balanced and unbiased format. Will post my findings after reading it.

Cable News Exorcism!

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 14:22:00 +0000

Funny how rapidly your perspective can change. I used to be obsessed with watching the cable news. Any source I would happen onto, even FOX news (hey, you've got to know what the other side is thinking right?). Not even "watching" really, but just having it turned on in the background while working. NPR in the car (they're still O.K. to an extent) anyone?

With the election over though, I just don't care anymore. When I try to tune-in, there's nothing new, ever. All we're ever given is the same trumped up, worn out, sorry partisan rhetoric. Occasionally a famous personality dies and viewers are rewarded with 5 weeks of round the clock coverage of the life and times of Michael Jackson.

I just can't bring myself to care anymore. Even programs like The Daily Show and The Colbert Report have lost their luster. These shows that used to amuse me with their witty sarcasm and biting cynicism are played out. Even though they're looking to make light of the ridiculousness of network news, in order to absorb their message, you have to be reminded of the total banality of network news!
I guess the problem isn't really the news, it's me. I've changed. The stories they cover do not interest me. The way they portray the world, the U.S., and people in general is just so negative. I'm always left feeling bad; angry, frustrated, upset in some way. So I'm done with cable news. I choose to be free of the negativity! Lou Dobbs, Rush Limbaugh, Roland Martin, Bill O'Reilly, Rachael Maddow, Glenn Beck, Keith Olberman, Sean Hannity, Geraldo Rivera, Chris Matthews, Pat Buchanan, Joe Scarborough ...all of you talking heads. This is your eviction notice, consider yourselves served.

Day 3 Enough For Me

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 12:59:00 +0000

I've decided to end my juice fast after just 3 days. Mostly due to the blood sugar issues I experienced in the absence of any natural fructose or sugars. My blood pressure dipped low enough that I started having "white-outs" when I'd stand up (otherwise known as orthostatic hypotension).This was the result of what I'm guessing were multiple factors, but basically, I was dehydrated and having glucose problems.

It perplexes me as to how I was able to last 7 days on the Master Cleanse. My thinking going into this was: due to the changes I'd made in my lifestyle (exercise, nutrition, no alcohol...) this would require less willpower and be gentler on my physiology. Coupled with the notion that this was a more balanced approach i.e. a variety of vegetables vs. nothing but lemon juice and grade B maple syrup. Turns out, I was wrong. The maple syrup acts to regulate blood sugar levels during the cleanse and makes all the difference.

Although, I don't know for certain, there are two other factors that likely played a contributing role in my need to end this juice fast early. The culprits? Type-O blood, and weight-lifting. Thing is, if I were to categorize my approach to fitness/exercise I'd place myself in the bodybuilding category. My muscles respond well to work, and my system prefers protein (not necessarily meat!). This is because my blood type is the oldest and most common among humans. Type-O's thrive on protein, and have trouble digesting carbohydrates. Listening to my body, and closely monitoring changes, I've just grown to accept that I'm a lifter, not a runner.

So, my theory goes something like this: my lean mass has increased enough over the last 3 months that my protein-based caloric needs are much higher, and this would create a more dramatic shift in blood sugar/glucose levels, even with the presence of fructose and maple syrup (if I were repeating the Master Cleanse). But since I was not doing the MC, the impact on my blood pressure was all the greater, resulting in dangerous and scary side effects.

On the plus, that's another 3 days worth of detoxing achieved, and I now realize that my body is reaching a state of wellness that would seem to suggest that anything other than fine tuning might be overkill. Additionally, I've broken my current plateau and reduced my girth to a leaner 196.2 lbs. which incidentally happens to be the 50 lb. mark. Meaning that I have met my goal of losing 50 lbs!! New goal: 186 with only 8-10% body fat.

Juice Fasting: Day 2

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 13:52:00 +0000

A new round of fasting is underway. This fast, while similar to the Master Cleanse in that the goal is to remove toxins from the body and lose excess weight in the form of fat, is somewhat different. Designed to cleanse the liver, this round of juicing is 100% vegetable based. No fruit, no maple syrup and no spices... just veggies.

While I did experience a fairly hefty headache yesterday starting around 2pm, I managed to gut it out until around 10pm, and decided to call it a day. Interestingly, this "Day 1" headache was nowhere near as intense as the migraine that accompanied "Day 1" of the Master Cleanse (which had me feeling like I'd been hit by a truck!). Whether that is indicative of my body being cleaner, I don't know.

Although there have been many who've renounced the MC as being "too extreme" or a "system of deprivation," I'm only able to go by what I've experienced personally, and I'm really curious to compare the two. Part of me knows intuitively that actual juice fasting is a safer and more balanced approach, but we'll see.

My biggest fear at this point is a loss of lean muscle mass, which is always a concern regardless of what type of fast you employ. For the next 6 days, my plan is to put all cardio and lifting on hold and replace all routines with low impact isometrics, stretching and yoga. This should allow me to maintain at least 90% of current lean mass, while also stimulating the muscles. Due to the overall reduction in protein intake, now is not the time to perform any actions that would attempt to stimulate muscle growth.

Day 2 impressions? Headache gone (replaced by lower back pain). Energy levels high. Mood elevated. Hunger minimal. Weight: 199.2 lbs. The first time I've dipped below 200 in at least 15 years! This could (and will) change as the day progresses, but who knows. Looking over my log from the first cleanse, I already notice vast improvements comparatively.

Detoxing

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 16:16:00 +0000

This Friday marks 3 months since I first tried the Master Cleanse detox, and feeling better than ever. My sinus issues have cleared up. the chronic fatigue is gone. Lymph nodes, once swollen from years of smoking and drinking are back to normal. The daily headaches have disappeared. Joints no longer sore. Regularity of the bowels has returned. Easy to fall asleep, easy to wake. Mental acuity increased. General mood elevation -- depression gone. Stress levels reduced. The list of positive effects is seemingly endless. The bottom line is, your entire existence is shackled to the quality (or lack thereof) of your physical body.

Unfortunately, the benefits of allowing your body to rid itself of decades worth of accumulated toxins is something that can never be fully explained, and will forever remain knowledge that is accessible only through personal experience. Some of the people I've spoken to regarding the Master Cleanse have looked on it with curiosity. Others, I wonder if they might not think me a bit insane. There's just no explaining it. This is one of the few things in life that requires a true leap of faith. No matter how many books you read on the subject, regardless the mountains of research you might undertake, no one is inside your skin.

Garbage in, garbage out. It seems time and again my mind is looping back into this concept, linking the logic with every task I undertake. And in so doing, it feels almost as if the theoretical linchpin has been located. I used to sit around and lament that when I was a child, the very air itself smelled cleaner, experiences were fresher, my mind more open. The world itself was a beautiful place and I, the innocent babe, was content to simply exist in the zen-like state parcel to childhood. Turns out, the world still is beautiful, it never changed; I did. In this equation, I was the ugly factor.

I realize now that as we grow older, we don't have to grow "old." This is something we allow ourselves to become. Sure, a certain amount of degradation is natural, and must occur... but the way we choose to live has a massive effect on how fast the process of natural aging will take its toll. Stuffing our gullets with carcinogenic foods and drinks destructive to our bodies is the equivalent of eating garbage. Yes it's cliche, but our bodies really are organic machines, and from a religious perspective, our body is supposed to be considered our "temple." What would happen to a car if you never changed the oil? This is what happens to our bodies when we never give it anything wholesome, real, raw.. living... to eat. Our "oil" gets thicker and nastier until it's just gunk, and our system gets bogged down by it.

When overweight, it can be said that every fluid in our body has been compromised. Every cell polluted. This state of existing has a cascading effect on our lives. I know. I have been there. I have lived through it. I am trying to turn my life around. The good news? The damage that I've done to my body is, for the most part, easily reversible! And with each day that passes, I can feel myself growing stronger. Those feelings I had as a child are so close to being rekindled that I've found myself viewing these changes as a sort of pseudo-spiritual endeavor.

My wife and I are starting another 7 day juice cleanse tomorrow; this one geared towards cleansing the liver, and in looking forward to this I was inspired to reflection as well.

More to come.

A Storm Passed Over

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 17:14:00 +0000

Overcast afternoons. Thick muggy air, cool to the nostrils. Rain drenched shrubbery slumps heavy, revealing tiny lemon flowers. Underfoot the lilac grey cobbles barely visible beneath mounds of dark velvet moss. Away in the distance, trees, their bark darkened by the passing deluge. The ambient empty, brimming with the electric hum of nature, drunk. The birds are quiet. Only the slugs can be heard to say: "Good day."

Balance

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 16:07:00 +0000

You never know how far you've fallen, until you pick yourself up. Appalling really to see how thick is the funk that was surrounding me everyday. Life is organic systematic, and everything begins with our machine. That dirty sweet, churning gurgle of gears making sense of our consumption.

"You are what you eat."

True. You become what you consume.

"Garbage in, garbage out."

Ah, much clearer. "Junk food," an honest label.

Eat cake daily, grow fat. Drink vodka nightly, grow fatter. Sure, that's simple science, cause & effect. Conventional logic. What is rarely discussed is the link between physical health and mental/spiritual well being. As if the mind, body and spirit were somehow separate organisms, each affected by their own rule set.

I've spent years denying the union of all things physio-organic. Pretty much everyone I know bases their consumption on the S.A.D. (Standard American Diet). Cooked food rather than raw, double... maybe triple portions for their 3 large meals a day instead of 5 to 6 smaller portioned meals. Late night snacking. Tons of fat. Fried food. Sugar. Alcohol. Caffeine by the bucket.

Where does it lead? When does it end? My realization has been that untless I put forth an equal effort towards the maintenance of my body, mind and soul... I am lost. Why bother educating myself, if congruently I'm allowing my body to go to shit. Why foster any sort of spiritual reality, when... [insert dogmatic concept of choice] ... would be negated through generalized unwell being?

Like a puzzle with interlocking pieces. A Rubix Cube. The question of "wellness" is a challenge of complex proportions. Work on just one color/side, mindful of a single goal, and the puzzle cube will never be solved. Been waiting to fully accept this my whole life. So much dabbling. Half-ass this, moderate that. Excuses. Tomorrow. Maybe. Later. Next time.

There is no next time. This is what I've got. Owe it to myself to see the bigger picture. To be the best person I can possibly be in every regard.

Just living one day at a time. Seeking the center of self.

Recycling: Do You?

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 18:29:00 +0000

While in the process of searching out a unique recycling logo, I had the good fortune of happening upon Lisa Clarke's Polka Dot Cottage where she has designed a packaging label that she doesn't just use to encourage recipients to recycle, but she's also made them available for readers to print and use!

This had me thinking about how many of us there are still, that don't recycle... and how easy it would be for us to just ask, when we see someone about to discard an item that could be recycled "Hey, you going to recycle that?" Easy tone, smiling demeanor.

Casual reminders can make a world of difference.

Let the Hard Times Roll

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 23:46:00 +0000

My grandparents used to tell us stories of The Great Depression. Tales of hunger, minimalism, and going without. No matter how bleak their recollection of events, their experiences were never without examples of people coming together, helping each other, caring, sharing... drawing strength from their ordeal.

To be honest, I'm glad we're in a recession, and part of me delights in knowing that things will need to get worse before they can become better. Collectively, we deserve this. We need a wake up call, and maybe it's finally arrived. I don't know about you all, but I don't aspire to bequeath a Hobbesian reality to my child.

Peeping the Unknown

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 22:39:00 +0000

I lay there, window open wide. The weather's warmer now, and the frogs peep as I contemplate sleep. Way off, the familiar rumble of a train. Wonder what the frogs think when they hear it. Must sound mysterious, bigger than life. What name do they give it? The Great Croaker: Lord of the Frogs? Do such magics, well beyond a lowly frog's ability to comprehend appear God-like? A force of nature to be reckoned with? The train passes. My mind wanders. I think maybe I should have been born a frog.

Huzun of Being

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 21:55:00 +0000

For the bulk of my life I have experienced a persistent sadness... and I've never known what to attribute it to, or what to call it. Abuse? Death of innocence? Depression? Failure? Lonliness? No matter what I've sought to call it, none of the titles ever fit because this sadness is not negative. That is to say, it's never detracted from my life, only enhanced it. I've drawn from my sadness, harnessing it as a source of compassion, creativity, inspiration and love. This sadness that lives within my soul is the bittersweet essence of a tragically flawed, and yet wondrously beautiful existence.

Now having read Orhan Pamuk's Istanbul, I believe I finally understand the nature of this feeling. Pamuk refers to it as huzun, a Turkish word meaning "melancholy." He explains that within Islamic tradition, there is a philosophy that has evolved over the centuries to explain the huzun that we experience in this life. Dating all the way back to Aristotle's idea of the melaina kole--"black bile." Pamuk suggests that the huzun in Turkish poetry is far different than the Westernized view of melancholy. He explains that it expresses a 'grief that no one can or would wish to escape, an ache that finally saves our souls and also gives them depth. For the poet, huzun is the smoky window between him and the world. The screen he projects over life is painful because life itself is painful' (Pamuk 104).

I find this strangely reassuring as I sit here wrapped in such a pervasive melancholic funk, enjoying it, drawing strength of purpose from it. Poking and wiggling it like a sore tooth.

The Animal in Man

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 15:06:00 +0000

The longer I study psychology in the academic sense, the more it occurs to me that it is a science largely interested in drawing distinctions between human and animal intelligence. As if some level of separation were egotistically necessary. I have yet to encounter a psychology textbook that isn't saturated with the statement: "unlike animals." We seem to have this base need to believe that we are somehow vastly apart from the rest of Earth's creatures, existing outside the dirty sweet soil of the natural world.

Let's for the sake of discussion assume that this is true, and we are on a separate evolutionary track destined for intellectual grandeur. Because when we seek to identify our so-called advantage, (thumbs aside) it is our brain, and therefore our ability to create, imagine, and intuit. We should, by all reasonable means then, be interested in the advancement of human thought, and applaud progressive ideas. We should be rewarding those who display the courage to go against the grain and speak out. Additionally, there should be more of us interested in doing just that! However that is not the case. We, as a thinking species are largely conservative, regressive even, and we do not reward radical minds until centuries after their passing when their words are no longer frighteningly relevant.

While browsing through this months PBS program guide, I stumbled across an entry that really helped to solidify this concept. It looked a little something like this:

Walt Whitman
He is one of the most-recognized figures in American literary history; poet, patriot and faithful advocate of democracy. But in his own time, critics denounced Walt Whitman as a "lunatic raving in pitiable delirium." They pronounced his signature book of poetry, Leaves of Grass, "slimy," "vile," and "beastly."

But this is not a sentiment reserved for dear old Walt. This is an indoctrinated social stance that is carefully cultivated by the same uber-conservative elements responsible for such things as book burnings, the pledge of allegiance, and Sunday school.

On the one hand, we use this notion of advanced free thought as a measuring stick capable of putting some space between ourselves and the beasts. Yet, the hidden reality is that many of us don't want the responsibility inherent to free thought. What we secretly want is to be told what to do. We want someone else to manage our lives and make our decisions for us. And in this sense, we ironically have gained no separation. We are merely sheep.

Through Child Lens

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 17:44:00 +0000

While discussing the difference between religion and spirituality, my nine-year-old asked me a profoundly philosophical question: “If Heaven is paradise, with nothing bad in it… how can anyone appreciate it, and know that it’s good?” Several weeks removed from that afternoon, her question still hangs with me. The fact is we define reality indirectly, by comparing objects, experience, and events to their opposites. We know “up,” because we understand “down.” Good as it relates to bad, pleasure to pain, hot to cold, and so on. Therefore, in order to comprehend or appreciate Heaven, one must simultaneously experience Hell. A condition wholly unattainable while one exists in a state of blissful paradise. Essentially, the concept of Heaven through its own design negates itself.

This theory has been brought to you courtesy of my daughter; “The Sage.”

Spring Renewal Brings Academic Uncertainty

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 02:00:00 +0000

There is something very unique about strolling through a university campus as classes are letting out. The flow of people every which way, the sidewalks bustling with a youthful energy that while befitting a Spring day, is never out of place in the realm of academia regardless of season. Miles removed from any substantial urban center, universities stand as cultural meccas, drawing to them the brightest minds in the most diverse packages. So much promise. All the opportunity in the world within arms reach. On days like this, I have occasion to ask myself whether or not I'll be able to break free of her spell come graduation day.

Several years ago, I chose to pursue a career in Computer Programming. While sifting through the requisite weeds of the degree, I encountered a Composition professor by the name of Dennis Heinrichson. The man changed my life in a way that no other instructor has, and it was largely because of my time spent with Dennis, and my exposure to his class that I discovered that my true calling was to write. With a slight shift to the left; breath held and fingers crossed, I disposed of the programming and immersed myself in Professional Writing instead, certain that my true path had finally revealed itself.

That was two years ago. I am no longer attending community college, and have since migrated to the university. My writing has improved in that time, and I've even had a short story published. This blog in a way, has become a monument to my desire to write and as March 31st fast approaches I realize that it has been two years since it's inception. But the story does not end there, nor does my ongoing ambivalent affair with mistress academia. This semester I've had the privilege of encountering yet another master of the craft, someone through which I clearly imagine myself, thirty years hence.

This morning while waiting for my daughter's bus to arrive, she mentioned a project that she was involved with at school that would require her to speak in front of the class. She went on to express her misgivings regarding public speaking, and explained that doing so caused her to feel uneasy. I tried to console her by linking to my own experience, and assuring her that everyone feels that way to some extent, even her old Dad. Truth be told, there is nothing I would like more than to pursue a degree in Philosophy and spend the remainder of my days whiling away the hours scribbling obscure interpretations of this condition we dub "life." Only problem is, we all need a 9 to 5, and where Philosophy is concerned, that translates into one thing: teaching.

So it is that when you take a love of writing, and a penchant for philosophy; factoring against it a general disdain (if not complete loathing) for public oration... well you end up with a Professional Writing major I suppose. Which makes today's synchronic conundrum all the more funky. Yes, I am getting there in a round about way, hang in there and you will soon be rewarded with the point of this ramble. Having seen Sage onto the bus, I climbed into the Jeep, and made off for my own days curriculum.

While sitting there half awake waiting for class to begin, Dr. Goodson (the aforementioned turbo prof.) came over, and sitting down next to me asked what my major was. To which I replied Professional Writing. This caused the man to wince. He asked why. I elaborated. Again, a wince. Having had enough of his subtle cringes, I decided to inquire what his interest was in regards to. He told me that my essay The Underside of Urbane was very well written, and wondered if there was anyway that I would consider switching my major to English, and that he would like me to join his masters program. He layed it on pretty thick.

He explained that the English Department was an aging group, due in part to the lack of young people interested in teaching it. He shared with me his frustration that a large portion of the English Dept. faculty are not native born speakers of the language, because American/NW European interest is systemically waning. He went on to say that it was frustrating to discover people such as myself, and later learn that we have no interest whatsoever in a professorship, and even less enthusiasm for teaching English.

I was flattered, but didn't really know how to respond. It's one thing to arrive at the personal conclusion that you have no business instructing others, but an entirely different animal when you are confronted by a professor whom you respect, and he suggests that you do; as if your destiny is somehow wrapped up in the notion.

I'll admit, I entertained the idea for a bit. That's just not me though. Or is it?

Another Casualty of War

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 23:17:00 +0000

Last night, I received the nightmarish news. It was my brother on the phone calling to tell me that a childhood friend of ours has descended into Meth addiction, and is currently nowhere to be found. He went on to explain how "S" had returned from his tour of duty in Iraq, where he was stationed with the Marines, and had been experiencing PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). Apparently veteran affairs didn't give two craps about him, and he was not offered any exit counseling or therapy. Thrown to the dogs "S" picked up Crystal Meth as a means of coping.

First his wife left him, and then he was barred from visiting his children. Eventually he lost his job, his house, ... everything. His last known whereabouts was at a shelter run by Veteran Affairs, but he has since gone missing. His teeth are falling out, his skin is covered with self inflicted sores, and he's become a full-blown paranoid delusional. Word is, last family member to pay him a visit had the misfortune of using his bathroom, and as they exited the room they were met at the door with "S" shoving a handgun in their face while screaming 'I told you not to flush the toilet!!'

From Tim's perspective, "S" is like a brother. After the State slapped our parents with the neglect suit, which eventually led to Tim's emancipation, the two of them were inseparable. For those two boys, life on the street at the tender age of 14 bred a level of codependence akin to the bonds developed through warfare. Tim now feels it's his responsibility to track down "S" and try to save him. The call last night was more or less a plea for assistance in that endeavor. I love my brother dearly, and I have a great deal of respect for "S," but I don't know what to do.

I spent the better portion of the day researching methamphetamine addiction and it's effects, yet I feel no closer to understanding this than when I first began. The man is armed and dangerous, and judging by his physical deterioration, on the brink of death; indicating that his addiction is severely advanced. Odds are, if we do find him, he won't be receptive to anything that we have to say because he will no longer view us as equals, (not having been subjected to the war), and as anyone who's studied social psych will attest, that's what is necessary for any true communication to occur under duress.

It's been a very long time since I've felt this conflicted. Fuck this war and the lives that are being destroyed by it.

Looking Beneath the Surface

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 15:17:00 +0000

For some time now I have been unable to write. Not for absence of ideas, but rather, lack of inspiration. On many an occasion I have sat here staring at the screen, willing myself to express just a shred of the mangled up mess of cognitive convolution that swirls endlessly in this cauldron I call self, but nothing ever makes the cut. Unlike some, I do not blog as a means of keeping a digital diary. I do not blog to discuss the trivialities of this, our shared existence. As time passes, I find myself growing ever more critical of what I choose to share. My intentions are neither to impress, nor cater to what I believe you want to hear, although I have been guilty of both in the past. Instead, I find myself weighing the relative substance of my message versus the time through which I might craft its delivery, and lately the two don't jive. However, inspiration always finds a way of slipping past the staunchest of defenses, and I am again moved to speak.

As many of you are well aware I am a bona fide Sci-Fi junkie. There's just something about broad philosophical statements coated in a robotic veneer that I find appealing. Recently, while fueling my habit through an episode of The Sarah Connor Chronicles, I was reminded of that which has become one of the paramount forces behind my desire to communicate and explore this human condition through prose. The message came packaged in the form of a monologue, and it went a little something like this:

So much danger in this world is hidden behind masks. We tell our children stories of good and evil, while knowing it's not that simple. True evil doesn't give us time to fight. We keep our heads down, never bothering to look behind the masks; and in so doing we resign ourselves to terrible fates we can never see coming.

There are no universal constants, no absolutes. The notion that our existence could ever be quantified through contrasts as stark as Black and White, is perhaps the grandest of all fictions. And yet, it remains our intention to do exactly that. Assumptions, generalizations, stereotypes; all part of the quest to remove critical thinking from our diets. We have developed ideologies and schools of thought, each claiming to provide all of life's answers; and we flock to them based on the allure of not having to reason things out for ourselves. But at what price?

1 in 100 Americans Jailed

noreply@blogger.com (Dave J.) — Fri, 29 Feb 2008 12:31:00 +0000

The Associated Press ran this story yesterday:

NEW YORK - For the first time in U.S. history, more than one of every 100 adults is in jail or prison, according to a new report documenting America’s rank as the world’s No. 1 incarcerator. It urges states to curtail corrections spending by placing fewer low-risk offenders behind bars.
Using state-by-state data, the report says 2,319,258 Americans were in jail or prison at the start of 2008 — one out of every 99.1 adults. Whether per capita or in raw numbers, it’s more than any other nation.
The report, released Thursday by the Pew Center on the States, said the 50 states spent more than $49 billion on corrections last year, up from less than $11 billion 20 years earlier. The rate of increase for prison costs was six times greater than for higher education spending, the report said.
Read On...

As America continues its Authoritarian slide, one can't help but wonder, how did we get here? In response, I humbly offer up a newsflash of my own: Lack of education/job opportunities + impoverished living conditions = crime.