Love on the Three Hundred Mile an Hour Train

 

 

 

 

How does it happen? In spite all of your insecurities and imagined faults, you meet someone who thinks that you are attractive, clever and sexy and they seem to be everything you have ever desired.

They sense your mutual attraction, and it empowers them in ways they never knew before, inspired to reveal themselves to you in ways they never knew possible.

You are stunned…awestruck within this dance of courtship, flattered beyond your imagination that someone so amazing is just as attracted to you.

Your soul feels lighter than air. Your imagination soars and every word you speak sounds brilliant to both of you, and you never felt quite so good looking before.

In each other’s eyes you raise each other far above the mundane, and the banal, each one better and brighter than either was in each others absence.

For a time.

One day, the spell breaks. First she stops believing in herself.

She is no longer inspired to charm and seduce you with the brilliance that she believes that she no longer possesses, and you in turn lose the faith in yourself that had made you so irresistible to her.

To be the idol of one’s own idol is to steal fire from the gods.

Like enlightenment, that which we desire cannot be attained by mere will.

In either courtship or marriage, now our longing and neediness as well as our self-consciousness makes attainment of our desires impossible.

The dog does not chase the deer because the deer runs…the deer runs because the dog chases it.

So you forget about it long enough to loose yourself in your self doing whatever makes you feel most alive. The longing is gone. You no longer feel incomplete.

You are complete within yourself.

You are back on the three hundred mile an hour train.

No desire, and no suffering.

Only this, just this.

If you try to call a cat to come to you, unless you have food, or something else that they want, they never come, but if you ignore it and read a newspaper, they will come to you.

Love comes, Love goes, yet we remain.

Fish swim with the tides, into and out of the lagoon as it empties itself, receives from, and flows back into the sea.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

07/19/2020

“Sayonara Tsukimono Suji No Kimi”… さようなら私の最愛の白い魔女 (Goodbye my beloved white witch)

Unclaimed Baggage

 

 

As the object of my affection,

You taught me the meaning

of loneliness

in ways I could never have

learned alone.

 

 

Like unclaimed baggage

in an airport carousel

endlessly going in circles

to nowhere in particular,

without validation or

recognition,

my final destination

unknown,

I await the hand that

never comes to claim me,

until only I remain.

 

 

For all the years

that I‘ve carried your burdens

while hoping you’d recover,

believing that only in completing you

could I ever be complete myself,

you now mistaken

the baggage for the burden.

 

 

“Who is dragging this corpse around?”

I scream.

“What have you done with my goddess again?”

I implore to the echoes

of the deafening silence…

 

 

“Sayonara Tsukimono Suji No Kimi”…

さようなら私の最愛の白い魔女

(Goodbye my beloved white witch)

whispers the wind in my ear.

 

 

As the echoes return

I find the answer.

“Fish swim with the tides

into and out of

the lagoon.”

 

 

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

04/11/2020

THIS IS A STORY OF UNREQUITED LOVE, SELF-DOUBT, LONELINESS, AND SEEMING DESPAIR, BUT IF YOU READ THE ENDING VERY CAREFULLY, YOU WILL SEE THAT THE ANSWER COMES NOT FROM THE ACTORS, BUT FROM THE TRUTH OF EVERYDAY LIFE.

…THE SAME AS IT EVER WAS….

“Enlightenment is not the Eternal Kiss of True Love”

 

Sorry for the Inconvenience, Author under Deconstruction

Well, the good news is that I’m not dead….yet, or at least for now.

If you have, or used to follow my blog, you may have noticed my absence.

Or maybe not.

I don’t want to be too cryptic, but a little mystery can be good.

But no, I am not in jail, or fleeing prosecution (as far as I know), but it wouldn’t be too hard to find me if I was.

I also am not currently institutionalized in a psychiatric facility despite the fact that more than a few folks might be inclined to argue that it is there where I truly belong, (although the opinions of ex-wives should be taken with a very large amount of salt.)

And although right this minute, I am not at home, I am also not homeless.

But depending on the outcome, either I or my widow will make an announcement in the very near future.

See you in the funny papers.

Sayonara y’all…for now.

忍耐、お願い

Nintai shite kudasai

(Patience please.)

Chazz Vincent

01/09/2019

 

Quandary

 

What do you do when you find yourself anesthetizing yourself against the discomfort of daily life?…the Pain of being Human?

It is the mantle we embraced when we traded our Instinct for Reason.

Whether it’s because of an unloving or narcissistic spouse, a job that seems to suck the life from you, disobedient or disrespectful children, indebtedness that threatens to drown you, or even writer’s block, the only person standing between you and your own happiness is you.

I used to work with someone who was constantly complaining about his wife; between alienation of affection, selfishness, and constant, nagging criticism, I often found myself vacillating between feeling pity and annoyance at the endless suffering he endured.

Then suddenly, he missed three days work. When he returned he looked more miserable than ever and later admitted had been drunk the entire time, despondent that his wife had left him.

“I don’t know what to do” he moaned.

“Be grateful” I offered.

“What?! he snapped. “I thought you were my friend…what kind of insensitive prick would say such a thing to anyone in my situation?”

“Let her go” I replied.

“I can’t…I love her too much” were the only words he could mange to choke out before he started to weep again.

As I recalled our previous conversations that inevitably centered around his misery, I found it would have been difficult not to laugh at his last remark, were it not for the compassion I felt for his suffering.

“Then be happy for her, and grateful that she won’t be spending all your money and cuckolding you any more.”

“But she says she’s in love with someone else.”

“Well, at least that would explain her behavior, and why she was such a bitch as she was to you… You should be glad; that also means she won’t be fucking up your next opportunity to be happy for once, and do whatever you want to do.”

“If she’s rally in love with someone else, she will leave you alone…Hell, when a cat gets bored with torturing a mouse, they usually kill it. If she has something new to take her attention away from her love of dominating and torturing you I’d say you got off easy.”

“She says I’ll never find anyone like her again, and I’m afraid she’s right.”

“Don’t be afraid…you should wish she’s right…make her put it in writing,”

“You know, you can be a real insensitive prick when you want to. Have no no feelings for my suffering?”

“What you don’t realize is that I have felt sorry for you for a very, very long time…don’t talk to me about suffering…you have made all your real friends suffer for far too long, watching your misery at the hands of that horrible bitch.”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but you were the one who taught her to treat you that way.”

“Well, you’re certainly right about that! I don’t want to hear about it…”

“Think about it…as long as she withheld acknowledgement of her satisfaction, she had power over you; so the more of a bitch she was, the harder you tried to please her, all the while ignoring your needs. You need someone who enjoys giving as much as receiving, if in fact you really NEED anybody as much as you did…be glad for your freedom.”

“But I love her too much to let her go.”

“That’s how you taught her to hate you…how can you respect anyone who lets themselves do what she has done to you?…tell me something, do you really love her…would you be willing do anything for her happiness?”

“Yes.”

“Then let her go…in peace, so she doesn’t have any more excuses for hating you for making her feel guilty for being happy. You two could have been friends if you hadn’t made yourself so pathetic.”

Every hungry woman dreams of the whipping post…every slave embraces their collar.

Whether it’s your spouse, your job, your parents, your friends, or even your neighbors, there comes a time when you have to choose to not only recognize, but also accept the reality of your present circumstances.

Most people do not. They may complain, but not usually to anyone who might have the ability to change anything. They may practice some sort of sullen, resentful non-compliance or argue and criticize, but they rarely take action, speak up, or leave.

There is always an excuse that they claim prevents them from doing so, but more accurately, it allows them to continue to wallow in the interlocking series of lies and self-deceptions that constitute the fabric of the eternal suffering that provides them with their identity.

Each of our lives contains an essential enigma; a paradox so central to our being that if we could even recognize it, we might be closer to resolving it.

Suffering is an inevitable quotient of life, but denial and self-deception prevent us from realizing the wisdom needed to find the acceptance and surrender that can lead us to true freedom.  

And that excuse is at the very heart of their problem, which is inevitably unsolvable because of the fact that it has to be, because without it, there would be nothing to prevent them from facing the Great Existential Void.

And whether it’s drugs, or alcohol, or even meditation, they wallow in whatever it is that will prevent them from facing the enigma that lies at the heart of their existence.

It has been with them from the beginning of time, long before their parents’ parents were born; it is what keeps bringing them back.

Lifetime after lifetime.

 

 

 

 

 

Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei.

Sukina Bava.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

07/28/2018

 

Jealousy is a Three-Headed Dragon

 

One head is Fear.

One head is Envy.

The Third is mis-directed Anger.

The teeth and claws of this monster drip with venom and the blood of its victims, whose hearts are ripped from their chests and greedily consumed.

Its voracious appetite is never slaked.

Its body is the cumulative social conditioning of Society in its discontent, Religion, selfishness, and bad advice from the truly ignorant who have no business giving it; the ones who missed the boat, and continue to create self-fulfilling prophecies while shouting from the docks, condemned to “lives of quiet desperation”, afraid to loose something even they don’t really want.

There can be no denying that witnessing desire, attraction, or even outright lust spilling from our significant others generates a maelstrom of emotions, and feelings that can overwhelm those not prepared to tame the Dragon and make it their pet.

Compersion is the sexual alchemy that can transform the most mind-numbing, soul-killing complex emotion mankind knows into  a process that will energize and embolden an individual into an adventurous and fearless seeker of the truth.

I recently heard a respected therapist state that instead of seeking the perfect mate, one should strive to be the perfect mate.

Although there is a great deal of truth to this concept, I have reservations about it generating several dangerous misconceptions.

There was a time that I believed that my salvation would come by way of enlightening my most significant other.

It wasn’t bad enough that I sought to achieve enlightenment; (something that cannot be gained through its pursuit), but I had the audacity to believe I could somehow impart this condition onto another by way of teaching by example.

It doesn’t take long before an afflicted individual recognizes the power inherent in their disfunction.

Eventually you discover they are always in pain, always unhappy and never satisfied; in fact their moodiness, anger and self-pity empowers them and enslaves those who love them because they keep trying, thinking that somehow, if they do whatever they are doing just a little differently, maybe then they can be happy together.

This is of course, true madness; they recognize that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results are the alternate definitions of both insanity and addition, but they do not see that the basic fatal flaw is not in what they do but rather in their choice of for whom they do it.

They seek an equal, while the object of their affections seeks power.

In this way, the desire they foster within themselves for what they think is Love will condemn them to endless suffering.

Have you so little self-esteem that you would allow yourself to be manipulated in this way?

You can love them more by attempting to possess them less.

If they love you back, OK.

If they don’t, you will still be OK.

These are not simply words that you repeat to yourself until you get want you want…you have to drop your resistance to whatever your present circumstances are, so that you can feel love regardless of whether it it is returned or not.

It is so much easier to love others fearlessly if you learn to love yourself first, just as you cannot really learn to forgive others until you learn to forgive yourself.

Will you feel sorrow if they withhold love from you? Of course, but there is great beauty in sorrow, and it will deepen your appreciation of those who love you freely, unconditionally, and without reservation.

And be sure that once you liberate yourself from the neediness and addictive groveling in which you wallow as long as you are a slave to love, the inner calm and sense of self-assurance devoid of false bravado or pretense naturally attracts others who can stand eye-to-eye with you as equals.

If you experience even one day in love with your equal, “to be the idol of your own idol is to steal fire from the gods.” It is an experience of immortality in the face of death, and the quantum of ecstasy which can neither be created nor destroyed.

Because it exists independently of time, once it is known, no one can take that from you…not even them.

Everything else is just junk food for the soul.

That kind of love is not capable of jealousy, nor is it manipulated by it.

Those who would in their ignorance attempt to manipulate you with jealousy will soon either be driven by their own inner instincts to learn from you, or they will eliminate themselves from your sphere of influence, and in so doing, grant you a favor that you do not have to request to get.

It all simply comes and goes by itself.

If you can be that kind of perfect mate eventually everything that you desire will come to you, like a cat that shuns you until you start to read the newspaper.

You cannot make the perfect mate by being the perfect mate; all you can hope to do is simply be your true self here and now.

Devoid of pretense, prejudice, illusion, mythology, social conditioning or fear, Here and Now free you of any impatience.

Everything is exactly as it should be.

Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei 

さよなら絶望先生

(Goodbye, Master of Despair)

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

03/01/2017

An Open Letter to all the Women in my Life who Loved me and Lived to Regret it

I hope I was the worst mistake you ever made in your life.

I say that  as both  a blessing and a sincere wish.

That means you lived through it and if it indeed was your worst mistake that means you learned from it, and your life is better now.

Even if it was for the best that we went our separate ways I sincerely believe that it is never wrong to tell someone “I love you” and you were far, far from the worst mistake I ever made.

Baraka Bashad.

Blessings Be.

Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei .

 

Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent

09/07/2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Letting Go, Part XI: Blame and Excuses

We judge others by their actions, but we judge ourselves by our intentions.

How many people do you know who would describe themselves as satisfied in terms of their lives?

The paradigm that seems to drive many people’s lives is “One’s grasp should exceed their reach.”

I am no stranger to the concept, but I have seriously marred some of the best stages or phases of my life due to my inability to remember to smell the roses while I am still in the garden.

No matter what I am in the midst of doing or trying to achieve, I am infused with this sense of Angst and Frustration because I find it very difficult to enjoy the satisfaction of a job well done…because it will never be quite perfectly executed….and because there’s always more….

I have a way of focusing too much attention on some real or perceived hidden flaw or imperfection in my work, or the tapestry of my life as a film noire.

For as long as I can remember, it has been my artistic expressions, whether in Music, Art. Photography, Film, Video, Multi-Media, or Writing that have been the driving force in my life, my purpose…my raison d’être.

 

To me, the activities of daily living are more like watching the Dead doing the St. Vitus Dance to waves of endorphins and polypeptides.

My Love and Sex lives reflect the same preoccupation with artistic, philosophical and creative expression…(needless to say, often to the chagrin of those who aspire to love and understand me).

My attention seems forever drawn to what could be somewhere over the next hill.

Yet years later it will seem like a grand romantic adventure to which I wish I could return…so why am I so unhappy?

Many years ago, a very dear lifetime friend said “I sometimes think that even on the clearest and most perfect days, your attention will be drawn to a dark cloud off on the horizon, saying ‘…eventually, we are going to have to deal with that…’ “.

At the time, I took it as a compliment to my foresight and vision.

It wasn’t until years later that I realized that she was lamenting on how I could ruin a moment of bliss with pessimism and negativity.

I have known her almost all of my adult life. We started as lovers but her lifelong friendship is unique to my life experiences with the exception of my wife. Only one other female relationship (or marriage) has ever lasted for more than six years.

She is the most successful person I know, and seems to possess a quiet satisfaction that I envy, despite the fact that she is no stranger to tragedy or disappointment.

…But back to the original point.

Several decades ago, I found myself proclaiming that I felt that it was time to get serious about my life and make something of myself, and perhaps achieve the satisfaction of artistic and financial success, a vow I seem to be compelled to renew every few years.

Money comes, money goes; jobs come and jobs go, but the work of one’s life remains. For me, my Art is my Life.

With the exception of my current compulsion for writing, my creative life has been in a flat spiral ever since I became preoccupied by some measure of financial security (which was almost completely fear-based). It has left me broke and nearly despondent at times.

(Just as it seems as if the digressions will never end, the snake bites its own tail…the Uroburos returns….)

Although I have been frequently led astray by others, and distracted from my real or imagined goals and dreams, their part in the failed processes was minor, compared to my own incredibly bad judgment.

There is a word for sound judgment, and it is referred to as Sapience. It is the cognate from which the term homo sapiens is derived.

Without it, we are just a bunch of Talking Monkeys, and I am their spokesperson.

Whenever I find myself beset by “…a sea of troubles…” and contemplating how to “…put an end to them…”, I meditate.

This last time around, my focus was on “Who am I?…”Who is asking this question?”

I am the one who is tired of singing only torch songs.

I am the one who is tired of settling for less.

I am the one who is tired of doing things I do not love to do.

I am the one who is tired of withholding my candor to simply keep the peace I never seem to find anyway.

I am the one who is tired of not being myself, or not trusting the results of my own actions to take me where they will. Better to die gloriously in battle, roaring like a lion than to be led whimpering like a lamb to slaughter.

I am the one who vows to embrace the results.

If I blame anyone else for the dissatisfaction I feel, I am once again relinquishing control over my life. It is only in accepting responsibility for my present condition that I can exercise some degree of self-determination.

Excuse-mongering and blame are like a co-dependent dysfunctional couple who never seem to be able to stop making excuses for themselves and blaming each other for their own misery.

Next time you feel defensive and find yourself declaring that something was not your fault, better think again….

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, charted by unrealistic expectations and lined with lame excuses.

The I in Failure comes well before the U.

Of course it is always your own fault ultimately, whether it be a failed marriage, a career, or your dreams, but there are so many factors (aside from poor judgment) beyond your control from which there is No Escape that we might as well learn as early as possible to view our lives with enough Loving-Kindness and Acceptance to learn from our mistakes and move on to make new mistakes as we learn to forgive so we can forgive to learn.

However…when I was a rescue paramedic, more than once I heard statements like:

“There I was, just standing there minding my own business (in a bar, or on a street corner in Ft. Lauderdale or Key West)…and from out of nowhere, this guy comes up and….”

or:

“I was trying to reach the top shelf, but the chair wasn’t quite high enough, so I stacked a couple telephone books on top of each other and suddenly…”

or:

“No I don‘t want to press charges…he was just drunk…I know he loves me and he’s the father of two of my children, and I got no place else to go…it was my fault for nagging him about losing his job…” (for being drunk) “…and I don’t work…because…and….”

Who hasn’t heard: “I just have so much love to give…I can’t understand why I am so alone.”

(Much of it is not beyond our control.)

I’ve heard it said that at least seventy-five per cent of what happens to us is random; whether you were born a Kennedy or an orphan in Calcutta is beyond your control, but it is what you do with the other twenty-five per cent that determines what will become of each of us.

I have a strong suspicion that it is our past and present Karma that determines the first seventy-five per cent. We just don’t recognize the connection.

The dog chases the bone.

It is said that the elephant is the only animal that can remember all of his past lives, and stands alone contemplating his Karma.

There are no good excuses, and blame is what distracts us from that realization. It is the difference between fault-finding and trouble-shooting.

The sooner you learn to forgive yourself, the easier it is to forgive others and accept responsibility for your life and your condition.

You don’t have to be kind, but you don’t have to be cruel either.

Just be real.

 

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

10/09/2015

 

 

 

 

On Letting Go, Part X: Our Children, Our Parents

On Letting Go, Part X: Our Children, Our Parents

For those who aspire to pursue Authenticity within our lives we are faced with the daunting task of first losing our attachments to the Illusions of Life, as well as finding acceptance of the inevitabilities of what it means to be alive.

We will be born and we will die. From this there is No Escape.

We have no control over when or where we will be born. We have little control over how we will be raised, at least up to a point long past our accumulation of Primal Experiences.

We may or may not even know our parents. For some not knowing might be a blessing compared to what and how we were treated as children, but good or bad, well-intentioned or not it will at least initially shape how we view the world and how we behave within the course of our lives.

Even the best, most well-intentioned parents may pass on a legacy of lies and illusions that reflect their own childhood inheritances. Many will vow to not repeat those mistakes, only to adopt a different set of paucities, prejudices, and failed intentions to which they will subject their own offspring.

It is not a given that we will birth or raise children of our own, but if we do, whether it is by choice or accident, as we stretch like pearls on a string skewered along our accumulated heritage, we have the opportunity to recognize our connection, realizing that for good or ill, it has shaped our past and will influence our future.

My grandfather used to say “We all serve a purpose on this earth, even if it is only to serve as the horrible example.”

We have all read countless tales of how unfortunate, cruel or disadvantaged childhoods seemed to catapult certain individuals into fame, fortune or notoriety, but few of them had joyful outcomes in terms of their own personal realizations of happiness.

Perhaps they were just reacting.

This much is certain: we will be born. As we become adults, we may move away from our parents, or we may feel that we are prisoners of their lives. Some will leave as early as possible, others may stay close while maintaining their independence. Some may never return. Some may go as far away as possible, or somewhere in-between.

Both of my parents as well as my younger brother have died within the last four years.

My two older sons are living their own lives and are reasonably close to home. We see each other on a fairly regular basis. My youngest left for Army boot camp three weeks ago and is in training over five hundred miles away. By November, he will be in Colorado for almost a year of additional training before shipping out for parts as yet unknown.

Less than four days after graduating from college, I moved over nine hundred miles from my parents’ home. For months at a time, they did not even know my whereabouts, or how to contact me.

Our two older sons contact us on a regular basis and we always get together on holidays and special occasions. One lives less than ten miles away with his fiancée, and works full-time while going to school at night.

We visit two or three times a month, and yet I feel like my heart has been ripped from my chest for not seeing each other more often. It’s not his fault or mine. He is just young and full of ambition. We talk about going into business together someday.

When I reflect on the years that I was estranged from my parents, it is only now that I begin to grasp the pain they must have felt and I am consumed with gratitude that my own children have not shunned me as I did my parents.

Then again, I did not routinely beat, verbally or emotionally abuse my children.

My relationship with my parents was difficult and complex. My father was an abusive, overbearing workaholic and a philanderer. He was a brilliant scientist with expertise and degrees in numerous diverse fields.

I idolized him, and spent most of my life trying to gain his approval and recognition.

My mother was a nurse. We were “latchkey” kids with a television for a baby-sitter and homework and chores to keep us busy enough to stay out of trouble…at least for awhile….

We all lived in the shadow of my father, yet because my mother was educated and pursued a career of her own in addition to providing a nurturant environment within our household, I viewed women as strong and smart collaborators, rather than subservient “housewives”.

I am grateful for that.

My father often left for work before I was awakened to go to school, and came home long after I had gone to bed. I often went months without seeing him awake, except sometimes over the weekends.

They were loving and well-intentioned, but incredibly misguided. We were the first generation of nuclear families who had been separated from their extended families by distance, ambition and wanderlust.

They had no role models to emulate, no paradigms to govern their actions or decisions. Child psychology was in its infancy.

Their parents were loving, but stern and violent disciplinarians who espoused such adages as “Spare the rod and spoil the child” who were not adverse to slapping the face of a child who was insubordinate enough to speak out of turn or disrespectfully.

My parents largely followed their lead, despite the fact that they believed themselves to be less draconian or authoritarian than their parents.

And yet, at times when my grandparents were around, they were the first to intercede on our behalf, having been afforded the perspective of time and wisdom that they themselves apparently did not possess during their own parenting years.

As I have grown older, I have come to recognize more and more times that I would swear I could see remarkable physical resemblances to my father within myself that were not so apparent in my youth.

At first, I was alarmed and appalled. I came to recognize that I had come to regard him as an opponent and I resented the resemblances.

For three years, while pursuing a career change, I moved my family and myself back into their home. They were thrilled. I rebuilt two automobiles for them and helped with numerous repairs to their one-hundred and thirty-year-old house. I acquired an amateur radio operator’s license, like my father and grandfather. My youngest son was born there. They had the opportunity to really get to know my wife and children.

The prodigal son had returned.

Familiarity has a distinct tendency to breed contempt however. The longer we were there under their roof, the quicker they became to criticize how we spent our money or the nature of some of our more free-spirited social interactions.

(We never divulged or discussed that we were occasional “swingers”, or recreational drug users, but we lived close to a small-town sort of city, and our associates as well as the clubs we frequented had no small degree of notoriety, which seemed to be a source of disquietude to them.)

They resented the money we spent on the cars we drove.

When I located employment back in Florida I sensed that they felt a mixture of sadness and relief. It was time to go.

Each summer, our children went out to visit them for a month.

I few years before my father died, I brought my family to my parents’ home for a week to spend time together. It was a thoroughly enjoyable time during which we all acknowledged our love and made numerous confessions and apologies to each other.

It was a time of Satsang. We were able to view each other as human beings, rather than projecting expectations of who or what we were supposed to be, or what we expected of each other. It was a time of forgiveness and reconciliation.

After that we spoke every Sunday on the telephone.

Since their deaths, I have become increasingly aware of a feeling of their presence, almost as if one of them had lain a hand upon my shoulder. We saved a number of items that we very special to them and brought them into our home. Sometimes I could swear I see them standing there out of the corner of my eye. It is comforting.

The struggle for autonomy is over.

Although I don’t believe in a God or his angels, I do believe in disembodied spirits.

They meant well and loved us dearly. I grew up faster than they expected and left before they really had the chance to savor how precious my time with them had been.

I started a family relatively late in my life, and greatly desired to be a father and raise children. I was very participatory and involved in my role as a parent. I watched every step of my children’s developmental stages and availed myself of every bit of knowledge I could get to nurture, support and celebrate their lives.

Although it was exhausting during their infancy and early years, by the time they were housebroken I felt like I had been given a chance to catch my breath long enough to appreciate them in ways I never anticipated…these tiny living people…with minds and spirits of their own….

They were a part of me, and yet they were something new and unique in and of themselves. They needed me and depended upon me for everything.

They were like ripples in a still pond…reflecting me and yet already moving away.

I talked to and with them even before they could speak and listened to them as soon as they could.

As fascinated as I was, I was amazed by how gratifying it was when then began to emerge as separate and discrete personalities.

From about eight years of age on, as their unmistakable personalities began to emerge, they seemed less like dependent babies and more like young people. We began to do things together while they presented themselves as interesting and unique beings, rather than mere extensions of my or my wife’s ego.

We were all jointly involved in the activities of mutually supporting ourselves as a family.

Soon they were helping me, sharing the responsibilities and work of our lives.

…And then, they grew up.

Ten thousand tomorrows pass like water under a bridge without our notice.

PS: Shortly after the start of my writing of this post, we were informed of the date of my youngest son’s graduation from boot camp next month.

My personal vehicles are not currently up to the task of transporting us for such a long distance and my beloved twenty-year old 300ZX was hit while parked in front of our house and will require extensive repairs.

The insurance check proved to be a timely windfall.

We contemplated the pros and cons of airplane travel and a rental car, a train, or even a bus to attend the graduation ceremonies, as well as lodging. It would be expensive in any case, but not attending was not an option for us.

My middle son owns a very “nicely appointed” Chevy Tahoe that we have borrowed before. It is the perfect vehicle for road trips such as this.

He needs a new set of tires. He does not have the money right now to replace them. We decided to use the money for the trip to buy them.

Last night, my eldest son suddenly called to say he wanted to go with us to attend the graduation, and offered to cover all our other expenses like fuel, rooms and meals. He had been the “wild card” in our family for quite some time.

He said he saw this as an opportunity to express his gratitude for the love and patience we have given him all these years.

As we circle the wagons in time of need, I am reminded of the image of the Uroboros, the snake that eats its own tail.

None of us needed to ask the other for help. It was feely offered as each of us saw the opportunity. We are connected by not only our needs, but also in our mutual abilities to fill them for each other.

I am filled with gratitude and as I am reminded of how blessed I am of the timely return of Kharma for all of us by the Dharma Action that was set in motion so many years ago.

All things return to the One.

Baraka Bashad.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

09/15/2015

 

 

 

 

On Letting Go, Pt. IX: The Big Lie

(This post was a long time coming…it was almost painful to write by the time I finally got it sorted out…at least so far…it marks another leg of my journey of self-discovery that was triggered by…well let’s just say “…an interesting series of unfortunate co-incidences.” Only you can decide for yourself if it has any bearing on your own life.)

It should be no surprise to anyone who knows me at all that I should proclaim myself as a quintessential iconoclast.

I am no True Believer in much of anything. Faith has almost no place in my world despite the fact that as an incurable Romantic, I still desperately cling to Hope.

I am not afraid of apparent contradictions.

“We all need Love, but if you can’t find it, at least sustain Hope, but even when there is no Hope, at least try to find something interesting to do.”

I sometimes feel that I may be the Master of the Obvious by virtue of many of the things that I post, but there is at least some measure of originality within them by virtue of the often bizarre interconnections that I may make between the elements that I attempt to bring together within a story or post.

I am not delusional about presenting anything entirely original, but I have been told that I possess a colorful perspective, and there are some who find it amusing, or if not enlightening in and of itself, at least entertaining.

This is also in fact another of my notes-in-a bottle thrown from the shore of my desert island I call the Villa Chez Dreamland, still waiting for the arrival of the third lifeboat, not so much a cry for help as a shout-out awaiting a nod, a wink or a glimmer of recognition from those of like mind.

I also believe that everyone has to figure their own shit out for themselves, so it is hard to rail against much of anything without sounding like I am l telling people what to think.

So let’s be very clear on one thing…my advice is not what to think, or how to think…just please THINK.

This is one reason why I am very quick to criticize or even ridicule Politics, Organized Religion, or Organized Crime….

Most of us think that Organized Crime, for instance refers to non-Anglo organizations like the Mafia (or Costa Nostra), the Yakuza, African-American, Mexican or Vietnamese gangs or the like.

I have even heard it argued that unless you visit prostitutes, gamble and run up markers, purchase or use illegal drugs, borrow money from loan sharks or engage in other similar pursuits that involve criminal activities, that you are more in danger from disorganized crime (like the asshole that broke into your car or robbed you at the ATM, etc.).

The truth is that I am opposed to just about anything that is too fucking organized at all….

I am also something of an anarchist. I love the chaos that occurs when God rolls the dice that control the universe.

As much as we are taught to embrace Stability, both Motion and Change are the two universal aspects of not only animate, but all seemingly inanimate entities as well. (We just have different perceptions of Time.)

Whether it is a matter of Religion, or Politics, my issue is that they purport to tell you how or what to think, and inevitably they manipulate people to do something that is more likely to benefit them than you.

When it comes to Organized Crime, however, I would suggest that you are far more likely to be victimized by Healthcare Insurance Administrators, Congress, the IRA, the Treasury Department, most attorneys, the court systems, the Police, the Military (or more accurately, those who profit from them…what Eisenhower himself referred to as the Military-Industrial Complex), the Insurance Industry, or Pharmaceutical Manufacturers (just to name some of the worst), which are fear-based organizations that are primarily run by privileged white-collar white people who claim to be your protector or even friend, who have become the aristocracy of America…all the while amassing record-breaking profits by claiming to protect those who cannot protect themselves?

Who will protect us from our protectors?…or from all the good people?

But in truth, even that is just the tip of the iceberg.

When it comes to The Big Lie, there is no real charlatan worse than yourself.

There are many people or organizations as seemingly benign as the PTA that try to passive-aggressively get you to conform rather than to think, but if you choose not to question virtually every aspect of your so-called civilized life then you have no one to blame but yourself if you wake up one day feeling dissatisfied and disillusioned because you realized that you were robbed of everything which you once thought was important to you.

Of course that takes diligence, thought, and perseverance on your part…it might mean giving up a few hours of reality television each week…or even a few of the friends whom you would be better off without.

Many of them are the most insidious purveyors of The Big Lie because they are everywhere. They are so pervasive that they are in fact The Norm.

Once you begin to assess your life in terms of Authenticity, the paucity of truth governing our lives is as ubiquitous as Coca-
Cola, Mickey Mouse, Christ on the cross or fly-shit on a window sill.

More than one hundred and fifty years ago Henry David Thoreau penned the expression “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation…”. (Keep in mind that, at that point in time women had virtually no power or choice in determining their own destinies at all.)

Kurt Vonnegut used a number of expression like “Foma, Wampeters and Grand Falloons” to describe the interlocking series of lies that support our conventional modern “society in its discontent” (last quote courtesy of Erica Jong).

That was a long time ago…

In the Age of Mad Men, before even Masters and Johnson and only a little while after Kinsey, but no matter how much freer or more self-determined or self-actualized we think we have become, women are still marginalized and objectified, and spouses leave each other to go from one frying pan to another in record numbers while they are all working themselves to death pursuing an increasingly conformist one-size-fits-all lifestyle of mindlessly insecure, envious, covetous consumerism until they are either too old, infirm or senile to even remember how to dream, as their children denounce them “…’til all is dust”.

It may seem difficult now, but the longer you wait to ask yourself “What do I really want?” before you act on your answers, the more likely that it will seem impossible later.

One if the most baffling methods of self-deception is the art of weaving an interlocking series of seemingly unsolvable enigmas and paradoxes whereby one professes to despise or reject some action or series of behaviors, that are somehow justified by their mandatory participation in order to maintain their lifestyle, live up to the self-imposed “code” of ethics or behaviors related to some membership within a group with whom they identify, their religion, or because of obligatory familial expectations.

These people love to talk about their problems, and appear to be asking for your advice. They do not want your advice, or any solutions.

They may ask “what should I do?” but they are quick to counter with a host of reasons why any suggestions offered can’t solve their unsolvable problems.

Who hasn’t at least tried to politely listen to:

“I hate my job, but…”

“There is no love left in our relationship, but…”

“I feel useless and unfulfilled, but…”

“I’d leave this town and never look back, but…”

“I know it’s wrong to tolerate his (or her) abuse, but…”

“My parents treat me like a child, but…”

“I just have so much love to give, but…”

or:

“We need to talk about our problems…” (knowing full-well that if you try to counter, or address any of your issues, then the rational talk will stop and the screaming or ultimatums will begin)?

For many, their unsolvable dilemmas not only focus the attentions of everyone within their sphere of influence on themselves, but it also protects them from having to either seek effective solutions to the problems within their lives or face the Great Existential Void.

These are not in fact modern problems or questions, but the world in which we live has done a masterfully ingenious way of hypnotizing our culture as a way of disguising and marketing The Big Lie.

We keep doing the same things over and over again in the delusional belief that if we just do them differently next time, the outcome will somehow be different.

If your idea of expressing your true individuality is to buy from the “mix and match” collection from J.C. Penny (unless you are a cross-dresser and that is all you can afford) there is not much hope of self-discovery through any originality of thought.

You should never stop asking yourself “What do I really want?” or “Do I really need this?” or “What will this really cost me?” or “Just because everybody else believes it, is this really true?” or even “Are you fucking kidding me?”

You may be the one lone voice of reason in the midst of a lynch mob… (Only you can decide if it is worth the risk of doubling the number of innocent lives lost.)

Why are we so hesitant to say “I love you” (or “I don’t love you”) when we mean it most? Sexual intimacy pales in comparison to exposing your soul to another whom you love.

The other question is how much are you trying to promote a lie about yourself because you fear judgment from your peers if they only knew who you really were, or what you were really like?

It is important to know exactly how candid and frank you can be with whomever you are speaking at any particular time…I get it…no need to expose your vulnerabilities to someone who may take malicious action or judgment against you for reasons deemed necessary for their own protection….

It is tragic to think that we live in a society which is still so superstitious as to believe that the incantations of mere words or phrases can pervert or somehow kidnap our morality just by hearing them.

I am trying to address the question of being able to see yourself exactly as you are…exposing your own deepest secret fears that you have never been able to face even within yourself.

How much difference is there between your public and private life? …between who and how you wish you were and how and what you really are?

Could you summons the wherewithal to write an honest semi-autobiographical novel that used your own special knowledge of yourself candidly and without reservation? Could you portray yourself in all your unselfconsciously flawed imperfection with the same loving-kindness you so desire from others?

What do you most fear that others could learn about you that would expose you to shame, or ridicule?

Have you ever lied to your Doctor? Your Therapist or Social Counselor? Your Spouse? Your Children? Your Parents? Your Family? Your Employer? Your Peers? Your Friends? Your Lovers? Your Neighbors? The Police? Your Priest/Minister/Rabbi/Spiritual Master?

What does it take to get you to realize that you are not lying to them…that you are lying to yourself?

Who doesn’t crave the opportunity to grant amnesty for the confessions you already know you are owed by those closest to your heart, if only they would just admit their actions?

How could that not open your own heart to share the unbridled, unvarnished, unexpurgated truth about anything either of you desperately desired to unburden yourselves of, if only you knew in your heart of hearts that it would be forgiven?

And if it should be deemed unforgivable, why are you still there?

Is there a deep dark secret corner of your soul where lurks some aspect of your character, a hidden desire, a fantasy, a fear, a fetish, a phobia, an action, an addiction, an obsession, an ideation, a dream, a need, a neurosis, something you wish you could recall, or recant, or pay recompense or self-rebuke, for which you still hold guilt by virtue of its secrecy, but that nonetheless was or is regardlessly a legitimate part of your being that holds within its secrecy what constitutes your ultimate shame and humiliation?

Can you even acknowledge them to yourself?

How many people have you known in your life who thought that they were covering up some deep, dark secret which just about everyone around them already knew because it was so obvious?

It may be something as seemingly innocuous as that ridiculous comb-over, a toupée, shoe lifts, or dyed hair (in men), latent or blatant homosexuality, alcoholism, drug abuse or that poor soul who tries so hard in vain to stuff her size fourteen body into a size seven dress, or feels she needs to pad her brassiere…

The submissive, the cuckold, or the fantasizing Dominatrix who is afraid to ask for a date and has no boyfriend? Daddy/Mommy issues? Sex Addict? Gambler? Chronic Masturbator? Over-compensating tiny penis victim, or premature ejaculator? …as long as no one openly challenges their charade, they live in denial, if only to themselves.

Of course, you may think I am completely full of shit.

And you are entitled to that…at least you are thinking. The real question is if you are being honest with yourself. Only you can know that.

The Young are not afraid to lie to themselves because they have no acute awareness of the End of Days, but the closer we come to acknowledging our finite mortality the more precious each moment becomes…too precious to waste upon falsehoods, chimerae, or mirages.

Every lie that you eliminate from your world just makes room for that much more Life, Love, and Freedom.

Just keep asking for yourself. Dare to trust the truth within you.

You already know.

Stop lying to yourself.

…And trust your heart.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

09/05/2015

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Letting Go, Part VII: Your Glory Days and the Past in General

Nostalgia is a curious word. It was an invented compound word from the Greek Nostos, meaning to return home, and Algos, meaning Longing, and the modern medical Latin Algia, referring to the sensation of pain.
As the story goes, it was created to describe a form of malaise suffered by Swiss mercenaries during the seventeenth century during extended absences from their homes, and marked the birth of the expression Homesick.
In modern times it has been subject to many variations of its interpretation, ranging from the triggering of memories of better days or happier times, either as Restorative Nostalgia where one wishes for a return, vs. Reflective Nostalgia, which tends to dwell on the pain itself, or to the actual objects, situations, or stimuli ranging from music, tastes, smells, sounds, or images that trigger the memories.
Numerous researchers claim that Nostalgia may be a coping mechanism that may result in hopeful anticipation of the future or acceptance of the present situation, or even the encouragement of seeking extension of one’s social network and support mechanisms.
In general, I disagree.
The basis of my disagreement is based mostly on anecdotal experiences and observations, as well as some recent research, but it would appear that from sometime during a man or woman’s thirties on, the potential for the onset of angst over lost youth, optimism, or opportunities seems to loom in front of them so ominously that it would appear to obscure their view of virtually everything else…much like not seeing the forest for the trees.
My personal favorite modern interpretation of Nostalgia is the pain of remembering….
That is not to say that one cannot feel hope or joy in remembering, especially those peak moments in one’s life, as well as the more mundane but nonetheless memorable mile markers each of us experiences throughout our lives that are long gone and no longer accessible for any number of reasons.
They may help nurture and renew stale or tainted relationships by serving as a reminder of what once was (and what may be once again possible)…maybe.
They can also provide perspective. If they trigger introspection they may be therapeutic, so long as they do not result in excessive rumination, and remorseful lamentation.
The other danger comes from wallowing in an excessive preoccupation with one’s Glory Days as an escape mechanism that enables denial of one’s current situation as a substitute for living fearlessly, positively, and creatively in the present.
Too often, this type of nostalgia reflects a revisionist history of idealized memories for something that never existed in the first place.
I cannot deny that I have not suffered from my own share of all of those above-listed negative experiences of Nostalgia at one time or another. I do not judge and it is not my intention to ridicule…at least not most of the time…
I still reserve the option however, to use self-lampoon whenever necessary if I believe it will help illustrate a point without impugning anyone else’s character, with the exception of the rich, the famous, and anyone pompous enough to run for or hold political office.
I hope I don’t have to explain why.
As always, the real issue is one of A Question of Balance.
No one really knows if it is a good idea to look at photo albums of one’s childhood, a wedding album, or reminders of other sorts of past lives during a bout of depression for instance, at least not until after the fact, and just because it makes you sad initially doesn’t mean it won’t be good for you eventually.
That part is up to you. If it gives you perspective, hope, or encouragement (or maybe even an erection), then good.
But if it sends you into a flat spiral from which there is no recovery you will be pretty much fucked unless you either snap out of it, or seek the help of a competent mental health care professional.
Unfortunately, unless you already know one, or trust the advice of someone who does, you are probably not in any condition to know the difference between the competent and all the rest who are merely perpetrating a fraud via a degree and certification who can’t accomplish one of the first and most important admonishments which is to “heal thyself” as well as “do no further harm”.
You never know…any pen can write the poison thought that can unravel your sanity, and once you open the box it’s damn near impossible to get all the demons back in.
I’ve lost almost half a decade more than once as a result of bad decisions…I certainly can’t recommend any sort of roadmap to avoid catastrophe and heartache, or for that matter, any way out once you find yourself there.
That’s why I don’t pretend to give advice…only perspective.
I refuse to accept responsibility for anyone else’s bad decisions. I’ve made too many of them myself, and the whole point of it is that in the end, it’s all up to you to figure it out for yourself.
That’s about the closest I come to giving advice.
So what is the point of this diatribe then?
Just this: no matter how shitty your judgment is, or how far you fall, as the saying goes, “It’s not about how many times you fall, it’s about how many times you get back up again.”
And I am in fact living proof that it is possible to survive ridicule, ruin, bankruptcy, divorce, addiction, catastrophic emotional and physical injuries, a seemingly endless free-fall from a state of Grace that was once beyond my wildest dreams, any death other than your own, mind-numbing depression, an endless series of dead-end career decisions and even the realization of one’s own mortality and still find Peace, Love, the ability to harmonize apparent discord, and a sort of realization of Happiness without either a frontal lobotomy or a bottle in front of me.
Not that I deny my affection for various degrees of strong drink and any number of experimental and recreational drugs, but then again, it’s A Question of Balance…I regard them as a means, not an end unto themselves.
Love many and trust few, and always paddle your own canoe.
Koo Koo Katchu.
Sometimes you are the Walrus, sometimes the Carpenter, or maybe even the Lobster.
Whatever you did or did not do to get you wherever you are, especially if it was due to circumstances beyond your control, you will be the one who is responsible for the outcome…you either survive and thrive, or improvise, adapt and overcome…or else.
Or else what?
Or else you don’t.
The past is behind us. It is a dream of what we were. The future will arrive all by itself without our help or worry, and the non-existent ever-present-never-present present moment is gone as soon as it arrives.
We live in a dream of an illusion of a virtual space between what was and what will be.
Just don’t wallow in the past.
It will all be over far sooner than you expected.

Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent
07/18/2015