Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Monday, May 25, 2009
My version of Imagine...
Imagine a salt shaker.
A giant salt shaker
with huge holes on top.
Holes large enough
for a cat or small dog to pass through them.
Now imagine this salt shaker
full of toys:
Little cars, dolls, stuffed animals
water guns, game pieces,
and play dinnerware.
Now imagine someone,
holding this giant salt shaker,
walking around your house
sprinkling the contents
around your entire place.
This is what my home looks like.
Friday, October 31, 2008
A thank you letter from a year ago...
Dear all:
I am writing this letter during a moment of clarity and realization. There are no recent or imminent events, that have triggered a unique reflection or a varied interpretation of my being. The emotion of gratitude has been present within for as long as I can remember, this is my realization. I now also know what I am grateful for, this is my clarity.
Thank you, for allowing me this privileged life. Whether I have just turned it's first corner, or if it doesn't grant me the time to complete this very thought.
I have seen exquisite beauty, triumphed over hardships, and have always felt protected, kept. I have been fortunate to have loved many, many people, of them some have even loved me back. Thank you for availing great mentors to me, and honoring me with others who found one in me.
To those around me, I believe I have brought more happiness, than pain. I have tried to make people smile, as often as I could, and I thank you for those moments when I did, my most significant accomplishments.
Thank you for providing the arms that have often held me, and astonishing me with others showing desire for my embrace, this has brought me both confidence and sanctuary. If I have possibly succeeded to seldom disappoint those around me, I am grateful. To express this gratitude, I strive to affect others in ways which are as positive and as strong as others have affected me.
This will be forever true: As I thank you on this day, I have known true happiness, yet have never known real pain.
Forever in your debt,
Me
**This letter was mostly written while driving 80mph across a highway bridge. At the other side of the bridge, the highway ended at a stop-light. As I approached the left turn lane, the light turned yellow; I put the pen between my teeth, the paper down, and skidded through the turn to make the light.
I am writing this letter during a moment of clarity and realization. There are no recent or imminent events, that have triggered a unique reflection or a varied interpretation of my being. The emotion of gratitude has been present within for as long as I can remember, this is my realization. I now also know what I am grateful for, this is my clarity.
Thank you, for allowing me this privileged life. Whether I have just turned it's first corner, or if it doesn't grant me the time to complete this very thought.
I have seen exquisite beauty, triumphed over hardships, and have always felt protected, kept. I have been fortunate to have loved many, many people, of them some have even loved me back. Thank you for availing great mentors to me, and honoring me with others who found one in me.
To those around me, I believe I have brought more happiness, than pain. I have tried to make people smile, as often as I could, and I thank you for those moments when I did, my most significant accomplishments.
Thank you for providing the arms that have often held me, and astonishing me with others showing desire for my embrace, this has brought me both confidence and sanctuary. If I have possibly succeeded to seldom disappoint those around me, I am grateful. To express this gratitude, I strive to affect others in ways which are as positive and as strong as others have affected me.
This will be forever true: As I thank you on this day, I have known true happiness, yet have never known real pain.
Forever in your debt,
Me
**This letter was mostly written while driving 80mph across a highway bridge. At the other side of the bridge, the highway ended at a stop-light. As I approached the left turn lane, the light turned yellow; I put the pen between my teeth, the paper down, and skidded through the turn to make the light.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Tarred and Feathered
Have you ever had one of those stretches when it seemed that nearly everyone you know was standing in a long line. Specifically, a line ending right in front of you, and each of the people in line has a bone to pick, with you.
Well, these last few days have been my time to shine. I have come to realize that the noise I used to refer to as the 'phone ringer', is actually an ambush alarm going off; Signaling me to take cover and anticipate yet another attack.
No, I don't really mind terribly. Actually I find this somewhat amusing, and for one, find this all too convenient--as it caters far too well to my pre-existing "I am the center of the universe" notion.
Well...if I weren't so important, then how on earth could I possibly be responsible for so many problems, and in charge of so much pain?
I shall now commend myself on this accomplishment...as apparently few others seem to be in the mood for praising me.
:-)
<3 = respect
Well, these last few days have been my time to shine. I have come to realize that the noise I used to refer to as the 'phone ringer', is actually an ambush alarm going off; Signaling me to take cover and anticipate yet another attack.
No, I don't really mind terribly. Actually I find this somewhat amusing, and for one, find this all too convenient--as it caters far too well to my pre-existing "I am the center of the universe" notion.
Well...if I weren't so important, then how on earth could I possibly be responsible for so many problems, and in charge of so much pain?
I shall now commend myself on this accomplishment...as apparently few others seem to be in the mood for praising me.
:-)
<3 = respect
Monday, February 11, 2008
Love and Loss...
I feel compelled to share this: I am not religious or even highly spiritual, nor do I believe in reincarnation or subscribe to any metaphysical-related beliefs.
This following story consists of factual information only. Due to the nature of this story I have made an exception in my writing and removed opinions, interpretations and any notions I have developed relating to this story, and leave the reader to develop an unguided view of their own.
Years ago and for a brief period, I moved in with a friend who was about 10 years older and in a very different stage of his life. I had recently graduated massage therapy school and was contemplating becoming a practitioner. My friend was completing his post-doctoral work and contemplating where and with whom he wanted to have and raise a family.
My friend had eventually decided that he would move back home, to Israel. After many years in California this was not an easy choice, but was the right one for who he was and would always be, and so he set the wheels in motion. During the period after his decision he met a woman named Lisette who caused him to question this decision, and nearly reverse it. I remember how he spoke about her with such admiration, respect, and excitement, it was as if she had brought light into the darkest corners of his life.
For Lisette's 40th birthday my friend purchased her a massage session by: You guessed it--me. This was just a couple of weeks after they had met, and she and I had only met once briefly beforehand. I remember little about the session, but that she had a very slight and gentle frame, and yet her body and soul were really connected. The session was great as was her feedback. Afterwards we talked for a while and by the time we were done, we felt very close. We both shared the same hometown, though since she was raised mostly overseas we spoke English with each other. We shared a similar outlook on life, albeit mine was far less composed and enlightened, nor could I articulate these thoughts as well as she could.
In the period leading to my friend's move back home and as he became more involved with his new life, Lisette and I spent more time together forming a wonderful and unique bond. We thought of and even referred to each other as long lost siblings. For the first time in my life I had an older sibling to look up to, and one from whom I could learn so much. We would meet and talk for hours and hours.
Lisette had a bad flu, it was going on a third week, and she was going to see the doctor again. Mid-day she called, she sounded weak, but what was more noticeable and completely out of character for her was that she sounded crushed; "I am at the doctor's, I have Cancer, it's Lymphoma" Lisette said.
Lisette had lost both her mom and a sister to cancer. When her mom passed she was in her early teens, we spoke about this many times before, as being the closest person to Lisette her loss was a huge impact on Lisette's life forever changing her relationship with her family and perhaps the world.
The following weeks we spent planning her battle and even shopping for hats. We were to shave heads together when the time came. But then I had to move for work, for an undetermined period of time. I was gone for nearly six months, during which we often spoke on the phone and emailed each other. I would receive constant updates on the progress she had made, and send encouraging words and talk about plans for life after the battle was won.
When I returned, Lisette had completed both chemotherapy and radiation, her hair was growing back and she looked fairly good, in high spirits. We spent a wonderful sunny day in Sausalito together with my father who was visiting, and my girlfriend (now wife). Lisette was feeling good, with some issues related to the recovery period. So when we spoke on the phone a couple of days later, I was surprised to hear that she had fainted after going to a movie with a friend and was in the hospital for observation. I was leaving the next day to Los Angeles for a few days.
We spoke again the next day, she was concerned and weakened, but did not indicate that there was anything serious going on, and so we made plans to get together upon my return from LA. This was to be our last conversation. Lisette promised to call the next day, she didn't. One more day had passed, and I found myself afraid to call, I gathered the courage and called her room, a female voice answered and identified herself as a friend of Lisette's. Lisette was unconscious, on life support, and her father was coming in from Israel the next day to have her disconnected from the machines. I never made it to the hospital.
Lisette's funeral was in Israel. Her plot was in a section overlooking the beach in our hometown, and the new developments Lisette and I had referred to as 'the ugly structures blocking the beautiful view'. How ironic it was that she was to be placed with their view after we mocked them so. I was among the four to carry the stretcher with her body wrapped in white cloth, she seemed so tiny and light that it felt unnecessary to have all four people--I wanted to just carry her on my own. Then as the prayer took place, I shoveled the dirt over her remains and passed the shovel on to others.
Later that week my dad and I went to visit with Lisette's father who was hosting the week of mourning at his home. As we were looking through childhood photo-albums of Lisette I was drawn to the photos where she was with her mom. When her dad saw me looking at these, he sat beside me, told me the about her mom's passing and mentioned the date and the hospital. My dad and I looked at each other. We both asked her dad if he remembered the approximate time when she passed, he did.
Within the hour following the passing of Lisette's mom, at the same tiny hospital on a hill overlooking the city of Haifa, there was also a happy occasion: One child was born. That child was me.
As difficult as I found writing this story, especially the last few lines, and despite the intense pain that the recollection of these details had brought back: Lisette is one of the most positive forces and continually supportive and emotionally maturing influences in my life. I miss her every day, yet feel her with me in every decision I make.
This following story consists of factual information only. Due to the nature of this story I have made an exception in my writing and removed opinions, interpretations and any notions I have developed relating to this story, and leave the reader to develop an unguided view of their own.
Years ago and for a brief period, I moved in with a friend who was about 10 years older and in a very different stage of his life. I had recently graduated massage therapy school and was contemplating becoming a practitioner. My friend was completing his post-doctoral work and contemplating where and with whom he wanted to have and raise a family.
My friend had eventually decided that he would move back home, to Israel. After many years in California this was not an easy choice, but was the right one for who he was and would always be, and so he set the wheels in motion. During the period after his decision he met a woman named Lisette who caused him to question this decision, and nearly reverse it. I remember how he spoke about her with such admiration, respect, and excitement, it was as if she had brought light into the darkest corners of his life.
For Lisette's 40th birthday my friend purchased her a massage session by: You guessed it--me. This was just a couple of weeks after they had met, and she and I had only met once briefly beforehand. I remember little about the session, but that she had a very slight and gentle frame, and yet her body and soul were really connected. The session was great as was her feedback. Afterwards we talked for a while and by the time we were done, we felt very close. We both shared the same hometown, though since she was raised mostly overseas we spoke English with each other. We shared a similar outlook on life, albeit mine was far less composed and enlightened, nor could I articulate these thoughts as well as she could.
In the period leading to my friend's move back home and as he became more involved with his new life, Lisette and I spent more time together forming a wonderful and unique bond. We thought of and even referred to each other as long lost siblings. For the first time in my life I had an older sibling to look up to, and one from whom I could learn so much. We would meet and talk for hours and hours.
Lisette had a bad flu, it was going on a third week, and she was going to see the doctor again. Mid-day she called, she sounded weak, but what was more noticeable and completely out of character for her was that she sounded crushed; "I am at the doctor's, I have Cancer, it's Lymphoma" Lisette said.
Lisette had lost both her mom and a sister to cancer. When her mom passed she was in her early teens, we spoke about this many times before, as being the closest person to Lisette her loss was a huge impact on Lisette's life forever changing her relationship with her family and perhaps the world.
The following weeks we spent planning her battle and even shopping for hats. We were to shave heads together when the time came. But then I had to move for work, for an undetermined period of time. I was gone for nearly six months, during which we often spoke on the phone and emailed each other. I would receive constant updates on the progress she had made, and send encouraging words and talk about plans for life after the battle was won.
When I returned, Lisette had completed both chemotherapy and radiation, her hair was growing back and she looked fairly good, in high spirits. We spent a wonderful sunny day in Sausalito together with my father who was visiting, and my girlfriend (now wife). Lisette was feeling good, with some issues related to the recovery period. So when we spoke on the phone a couple of days later, I was surprised to hear that she had fainted after going to a movie with a friend and was in the hospital for observation. I was leaving the next day to Los Angeles for a few days.
We spoke again the next day, she was concerned and weakened, but did not indicate that there was anything serious going on, and so we made plans to get together upon my return from LA. This was to be our last conversation. Lisette promised to call the next day, she didn't. One more day had passed, and I found myself afraid to call, I gathered the courage and called her room, a female voice answered and identified herself as a friend of Lisette's. Lisette was unconscious, on life support, and her father was coming in from Israel the next day to have her disconnected from the machines. I never made it to the hospital.
Lisette's funeral was in Israel. Her plot was in a section overlooking the beach in our hometown, and the new developments Lisette and I had referred to as 'the ugly structures blocking the beautiful view'. How ironic it was that she was to be placed with their view after we mocked them so. I was among the four to carry the stretcher with her body wrapped in white cloth, she seemed so tiny and light that it felt unnecessary to have all four people--I wanted to just carry her on my own. Then as the prayer took place, I shoveled the dirt over her remains and passed the shovel on to others.
Later that week my dad and I went to visit with Lisette's father who was hosting the week of mourning at his home. As we were looking through childhood photo-albums of Lisette I was drawn to the photos where she was with her mom. When her dad saw me looking at these, he sat beside me, told me the about her mom's passing and mentioned the date and the hospital. My dad and I looked at each other. We both asked her dad if he remembered the approximate time when she passed, he did.
Within the hour following the passing of Lisette's mom, at the same tiny hospital on a hill overlooking the city of Haifa, there was also a happy occasion: One child was born. That child was me.
As difficult as I found writing this story, especially the last few lines, and despite the intense pain that the recollection of these details had brought back: Lisette is one of the most positive forces and continually supportive and emotionally maturing influences in my life. I miss her every day, yet feel her with me in every decision I make.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Knowledge - seeking a good home
Whether or not you feel that knowledge is the greatest power or fear it can become an inhibitor to making swift and crucial decisions, one thing can be said:
The big 'secret' that (mostly) the 'West' does not want you to know is that knowledge, despite it's many origins, behaves less like a thoroughbred and more like a stray.
Knowledge is no snob.
Knowledge does not necessarily gravitate towards those with a certain race, culture, power, title, or diploma; Rather--knowledge seems to go where it is welcomed with open arms and given a good, loving, home. It is like a stray looking for love: on it's own it has little purpose or self worth, but given the right master it will thrive.
Knowledge is also very generous.
For many years now I like to position myself in a scenario I dub: '"The dumbest guy in the room". I feel very comfortable in that role, but perhaps not for the obvious reason of being an underachiever (though sure--guilty as charged). While one can argue that lowering one's expectations guarantees satisfaction, but while this is true, I work hard to create these environments and you will soon see why--it has a lot to do with the generous nature of knowledge.
Knowledge loves.
Certain people who have made a good home for knowledge, will also find it very hard to keep locked up. That is because knowledge is generous and loving. Like a pet seeking to be loved only more, it will come up to you and look at you with it's big eyes, and beg for your attention. If you are a 'knowledge person' you would probably want to adopt it and provide it with a good home--and you can, because it is generous and very willing to be shared.
Knowledge must be a pup.
Seriously. This is the only way one can explain it's energy and growth rate. And going back to the "Dumbest guy in the room" this demands more as time goes by, and you've made a good home to more and more knowledge. Thanks to my minimal abilities, this has been very manageable for me, to be safe though I surround myself with the best and brightest, in case I suddenly discover intelligence.
You can give it a home, but knowledge can never be 'owned'.
Never say no to more, never assume you have enough, never take it for granted-- because despite of it's wonderful nature, it may turn around and bite you!
Coming soon: Love, and Loss...
The big 'secret' that (mostly) the 'West' does not want you to know is that knowledge, despite it's many origins, behaves less like a thoroughbred and more like a stray.
Knowledge is no snob.
Knowledge does not necessarily gravitate towards those with a certain race, culture, power, title, or diploma; Rather--knowledge seems to go where it is welcomed with open arms and given a good, loving, home. It is like a stray looking for love: on it's own it has little purpose or self worth, but given the right master it will thrive.
Knowledge is also very generous.
For many years now I like to position myself in a scenario I dub: '"The dumbest guy in the room". I feel very comfortable in that role, but perhaps not for the obvious reason of being an underachiever (though sure--guilty as charged). While one can argue that lowering one's expectations guarantees satisfaction, but while this is true, I work hard to create these environments and you will soon see why--it has a lot to do with the generous nature of knowledge.
Knowledge loves.
Certain people who have made a good home for knowledge, will also find it very hard to keep locked up. That is because knowledge is generous and loving. Like a pet seeking to be loved only more, it will come up to you and look at you with it's big eyes, and beg for your attention. If you are a 'knowledge person' you would probably want to adopt it and provide it with a good home--and you can, because it is generous and very willing to be shared.
Knowledge must be a pup.
Seriously. This is the only way one can explain it's energy and growth rate. And going back to the "Dumbest guy in the room" this demands more as time goes by, and you've made a good home to more and more knowledge. Thanks to my minimal abilities, this has been very manageable for me, to be safe though I surround myself with the best and brightest, in case I suddenly discover intelligence.
You can give it a home, but knowledge can never be 'owned'.
Never say no to more, never assume you have enough, never take it for granted-- because despite of it's wonderful nature, it may turn around and bite you!
Coming soon: Love, and Loss...
Friday, February 1, 2008
About Strength
The perception of strength seems to greatly vary among people.
Some adopt the 'Catholic' approach--which basically means that by denying yourself certain pleasures, you are stronger. Others believe that their strength is measured by the reaction of others to them; whether it be humility, fear, love, laughter, etc...
I have personally taken on a view that might be described as certain theories of the Dali Lama as interpreted by Willy Wonka (of the original Chocolate factory fame). This is an attempt to describe those beliefs:
Strength is the ability to maintain happiness, fulfillment, and content, while simultaneously having a positive impact on my environment. I feel strong when I manage to refrain from being reactive, and allow my emotions, beliefs, and actions to emanate from within my core. When I can smile, see beauty, and maintain calm despite a seemingly difficult or stressful situation around me, then I feel strong, energized, and unstoppable.
Strength for me is being able to make it all come together and work out, rather then giving up on those things that pose challenge and leaving them behind. Success is never guaranteed; I have had failures and expect more. I will accept failures as I do successes--a capture of a moment, as within a moment all may change.
When we lead an interesting and exciting life, we have little control over which situations we find ourselves facing. So when deciding between being 'strong' by denying myself certain things I want in order to maintain focus and order in my life, or embracing these things that may present new challenges and perhaps some risk, while possibly extending my abilities and increasing my happiness--I choose the latter.
And sometimes strength means the ability to question those very beliefs, and appreciate, respect and accept the beliefs of others, even if they only confirm your own.
Some adopt the 'Catholic' approach--which basically means that by denying yourself certain pleasures, you are stronger. Others believe that their strength is measured by the reaction of others to them; whether it be humility, fear, love, laughter, etc...
I have personally taken on a view that might be described as certain theories of the Dali Lama as interpreted by Willy Wonka (of the original Chocolate factory fame). This is an attempt to describe those beliefs:
Strength is the ability to maintain happiness, fulfillment, and content, while simultaneously having a positive impact on my environment. I feel strong when I manage to refrain from being reactive, and allow my emotions, beliefs, and actions to emanate from within my core. When I can smile, see beauty, and maintain calm despite a seemingly difficult or stressful situation around me, then I feel strong, energized, and unstoppable.
Strength for me is being able to make it all come together and work out, rather then giving up on those things that pose challenge and leaving them behind. Success is never guaranteed; I have had failures and expect more. I will accept failures as I do successes--a capture of a moment, as within a moment all may change.
When we lead an interesting and exciting life, we have little control over which situations we find ourselves facing. So when deciding between being 'strong' by denying myself certain things I want in order to maintain focus and order in my life, or embracing these things that may present new challenges and perhaps some risk, while possibly extending my abilities and increasing my happiness--I choose the latter.
And sometimes strength means the ability to question those very beliefs, and appreciate, respect and accept the beliefs of others, even if they only confirm your own.
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