From the 'things I have always wanted to do but didnt even know that I did' series

We have undoubtedly all seen it in adventure movies. A fervent treasure seeker makes his way to an old book containing clues of magnificent proportions, slowly picks it up, and marveling for a second in anticipation, gently blows on it in order to get the dust off. Magic moment; so pregnant with possibilities. It's like your imagination cracking its knuckles and rolling up its sleeves.

And so there I was, in a dusty chaos of renovation, picking up a friend's copy of Christa Tippett's Speaking of Faith. Alas, the poor book spent a few days in the middle of all sorts of demolition, and was covered in dust.

Drum roll, please. Begin magic moment! I pick up the book, and noticing all the dust, slowly and very deliberately blow across its surface. Pooof! The dust rushes off the book and forms a fleeting, amorphous cloud. I could have sworn I was Indiana Jones right then.

Daydream

Gagarin suddenly realized that he was daydreaming.

In a momentary jolt of awaking awareness, he thought back through the last 5 minutes of his mind activity. 5 minutes. It turned out, he thought, that there were 3 distinct trains of thought that passed along in the space of 5 minutes.

First was a hypothetical experience with mild altering substances. Gagarin imagined himself and a few select others enjoying the roller coaster sensations of questioned and altered reality of every day. He relished in the richness - of joy, connection, and physical euphoria - this experience would allow. He may have even smiled to himself.

He then quickly switched his thoughts to his surroundings. He sat in the middle of a small wooded patch on the outskirts of a small town. He then took on a "role" of a public radio journalist, reporting on All Things Considered.

Melissa Block: .. some residents even say there is a serious problem of noise pollution. To talk more about that, we called a professional pilot - Gagarin. Welcome to the program, Gagarin.

Gagarin: Thank you, it's a pleasure.

Melissa Block: And as I understand, you are - right now - in the middle of the last wooded patch in your town?

Gagarin: That is correct.

Melissa Block: So you are surrounded by trees and can't see anyone! And what do you hear?

Gagarin: I hear noise from two different construction sites.

Melissa Block: And Gagarin, briefly, do you find it annoying?

Gagarin: It's actually not a bother. It would be nice though to hear the birds a little better.

Melissa Block: Thank you Gagarin.

Gagarin: The pleasure is all mine Melissa.

And just as quickly, Gagarin switched his thoughts again, this time to the fact that he was sitting in shade. That he enjoyed sitting in shade, and not being pounded ceaselessly by all the uvas and uvbs and maybe even some uvcs since we got them holes in the big OZO layer. Gagarin even remembered his darling wife who is so adamant about protection. He may have smiled again.

And then BAM. Awareness. Swooooosh, self-reference established, and riiiiiight back we go. Swwooooosh. And again. "I was just daydreaming, wow, just sittin in the grass and daydreaming," thought Gagarin. "I had these 3 thoughts, hmm. Interesting." Gagarin recounted all 3. "Wait? Was I aware or not? I definitely was not too present, leme tell ya. First thought I had - I was living a hypothetical event in my mind. Second, I was pretending to give a news report - how amateurish! And why to Melissa Block and not Robert Siegel?? And the third thought was about avoiding cancer. Damn." Gagarin was amazed.

He wondered how difficult of a task continuous awareness seemed to be. He also wondered at how monotonous and sterile the constant feedback looked to him in that moment. "Was I not happy just now, for 5 whole minutes, even in the midst of mindless daydreaming?" Gagarin asked himself. He knew he was.

What say you?

I say that it comes down to freedom and choice.

Freedom to be aware. My conclusion is that we don't really know. That every time we think we know, it is but an abstract understanding frozen in time and space. Which is not to say that it is not true is some sense. Just that it is not necessarily, absolutely true. After all, if one were to zoom out, to become open enough to let in a different perspective, one would not be left with many hard line convictions, and even those that would remain would be clearly seen as personal and ultimately random.

And as far as choice, I primarily see it as a choice to let be and let go. Knowing that I don't really know, how can it be otherwise? The letting go part is key thou. To not be attached to your beliefs, or desires, or views. To forgive others and, more importantly, yourself. To not be hostage to anger, or to egotism, or to judgement. To lay down your weapons.

And the result? A greater chance for love and happiness. Nothing less. Whether in philosophical notions or in practical everyday life (which are one and the same - just a matter of consciousness), I say let us celebrate life by being more mindful and more loving.

Pretty please?

Wabbits

My one and only picked me up from work one day, and as I came out she pointed to a rabbit sitting in the grass near the office building. Cute bunny. Never seen one around here before. The same happened a couple of month later, and again, there was the bunny.

Uh, bunny, what is up bro? I have seen you twice now, both times after my wife's sweet "Look, bunny!" And I been here 2 years now.

So I started thinking about this. Rather simple analysis of WHY I NEVER SEE THE BUNNY UNLESS MY WIFE IS RIGHT THERE. Nothing earth shattering. Couple of leading hypotheses..

1. My wife BRINGS the bunny with her..... mm, unlikely. That would be absurd.
2. The bunny lives nearby, is often around, but I have not seen him before. Very possible. But 2 years? AND both times with wife around?? I smell absurd.
3. The bunny is shy, and only feels comfortable around my loving wife. When its just me, the bunny knows to stay clear. When my wife is around, the bunny knows there is plenty of love and petting to be had and so emerges from the bushes.

My wife did always think she was an alien. To be explored..

So, bunny, dude, it's cool. Don't be afraid lil fella, I wont hurt you. I am not even eating that much meat these days. Come out and play little Stepashka.

Микроб, играй!

How absurd of you, Anton.



Chekhov, bravo. Who knew? I didn't really. Not until you pay attention do you really KNOW. And even then, who knows :) But Uncle Vanya captivated my mind and didn't let go until its half bitter, half hopeful 'we'll rest.'

What really impressed me was the breadth of ideas, and at the same time the attention paid to details which in turn weave a complex tapestry of provincial life in Russia. Like a small window into history, this play brought to life the raw despair and futility of so many. Poverty, boredom, sameness. And yet, as if in one of many desperate attempts not to capitulate, absurdity shines through and gloom gives way to a smile.

- А хорошая сегодня погода... Не жарко...

Пауза.

- В такую погоду хорошо повеситься...

Camus would have been proud. Wonder if he ever read this :)

Perhaps even more interesting is Chekhov's unabashed passions and convictions, emphasized openly, boldly and honestly, even as he is fully aware of the absurd.

Не правда ли, сударыня? Надо быть безрассудным варваром, чтобы жечь в своей печке эту красоту, разрушать то, чего мы не можем создать. Человек одарен разумом и творческою силой, чтобы преумножать то, что ему дано, но до сих пор он не творил, а разрушал. Лесов все меньше и меньше, реки сохнут, дичь перевелась, климат испорчен, и с каждым днем земля становится все беднее и безобразнее. (Войницкому.) Вот ты глядишь на меня с иронией, и все, что я говорю, тебе кажется не серьезным и... и, быть может, это в самом деле чудачество, но, когда я прохожу мимо крестьянских лесов, которые я спас от порубки, или когда я слышу, как шумит мой молодой лес, посаженный моими руками, я сознаю, что климат немножко и в моей власти, и что если через тысячу лет человек будет счастлив, то в этом немножко буду виноват и я. Когда я сажаю березку и потом вижу, как она зеленеет и качается от ветра, душа моя наполняется гордостью, и я... (Увидев работника, который принес на подносе рюмку водки.) Однако... (пьет) мне пора. Все это, вероятно, чудачество, в конце концов. Честь имею кланяться!

Bravo. Here's to you Anton, and to your mindful creativity.

I'm not the only one..

Eyes closed, I stare at the sun.

Not much to see, and yet brilliantly illuminated hues of orange come crashing into my mind. Close eyes a little tighter, and it's pink. Scarlet even. Eyes barely closed, and it's the brightest yellow imaginable.

And closer to me, somewhere between my mind and the light, are the ameoba-like distortions of my eyes. Those funky see-through lines and dots that move when you try to look at them. As if I put a hair under a simple microscope, and keep looking at it, unfocused.

Staring at the sun, I chase the little ameobas across the bright orange.

Water

Ah, water. Keep coming back to water, whether to calm the mind or invigorate the body. Water seems to invite one to be right there. To bathe in its warm vastness. To have a moment's reflection. To let go and play.

Whether a lake in Guatemala, a waterfall in Costa Rica, or my good ol' Hudson River in da Bronx, we keep coming back to water.