Blog Post Recipients

For now, I am going to stop sending my posts via email. I can't shake the fact that doing so, makes me feel like I am proselytizing or selling something. It's not that I am ashamed of what I write, or that I do not want anyone to read it. I have never bought the idea of writing without ever hoping that someone, at least one other person, would read what I write. I'm not sure I trust anyone who makes that claim. However, it is clearer and clearer to me, that I do not like trying to convince anyone, that my writing should be taken seriously. I hope people enjoy my stuff. I am thrilled when they do. But, it should be by their own choice. I love all of you, you brave few, you caring souls.

Please stop by http://just-dale.blogspot.com/ whenever you want to find out what is rambling around inside my skull. I hope you come often. It feels like rusty steel wool up there sometimes, and it can get a little lonely.

I got a letter from a friend who has doubts about whether to continue writing and sharing her thoughts. The following is my response.

Letter To A Fellow Writer

Hey,

Sorry to hear you are in that dark place. You are not alone, but as has often been said, we ARE all unique, and we are ALL the same. I think it's a yes/and, not an either/or proposition.

When I first started writing again, after years of being afraid to do so, I found that it gave me my only relief, from the voices in my head. It was, and remains, an act of survival, my way of spitting in death's eye. No one benefits if I return to a world of insanity the realm of secret shame. At least a few people may benefit, if I manage to hang around. If I want to be alive, writing is not an option, anymore than breathing is an option.

I think Alice Walker, (The Color Purple), said it best:
"Some people say, they live to write. I write to live."

Who knows what others think of my writing? Some folks hate it, a few like it, and, sadly (boo-hoo), most people don't know about my writing, and would not even care if they did. So be it. I will write anyhow. I will write to live, and for those who love me.

When I write with other people in mind, I don't like what I write. When I write to clear the dirty little shelves, in the back of my mind, it feels like I am taking dictation--floating free of space and time. I am awake. I am alive. The experience is the perfect counterbalance, to the stifling fear that can come, when I lose focus, when I mistake others' opinions as reality.

In one sense, I think writing is the most selfish, prideful thing I do. Yet, I know that honest writing touches people deeply. Several people have told me, they loved my book. One, would have been enough.

I find that it helps, if I detach from how I think people will react to what I write. I wrote the following, in the introduction to my book, to help clarify my dilemma to myself others:

"This book is true, yet it is fiction. It is an honest account of my perception of events. However, my perception is colored by my bipolar illness. I have had many instances of auditory and visual hallucinations. At times, these are so strong that they are just as tangible as the so-called real world.

This conflict between my hallucinatory (or so I am told) world and the real world is at the heart of my dilemma or illness. It raises a fundamental question. Should I share my life as I perceive it, or should I only share the version that fits others’ perceptions? If I share what I perceive, my book is fiction in the “real” world. If I share only what others perceive, then my sharing is a fiction to me. I have chosen to be true to my perceptions. Therefore, my book is fictional for all readers other than me and I have classified it as fiction rather than autobiography."

Please DO continue writing. I, and your other friends, want to hear your story. Screw the voices in your head, tell them to shut the fuck up, and let the rest of us hear what you have to say. Who gave the voices license to deny us? Write to us, your friends. Imagine our faces before you as you stare at the page, or screen. We are more real, much more connected to reality, than the negative chatter in your head.

So, to paraphrase the old 60's phrase: “Power to the people (you), power to the people (you), right (write) on.”

AMAZING Formatting Djinn

For some strange reason the formatting has gone haywire on my site. In my last post, "Letter To An Old Friend" the system highlighted several paragraphs with particularly large type. I do not know how or why that happened. Perhaps more will be revealed...

Letter To An Old Friend

Today, I was on an online chat site, ranting about politics, with an old friend from high school. The argument got a bit heated. My friend sent me a message, saying that he sometimes wondered, if it was a good thing, that we had reconnected, after so many years. He said, he felt like it we had changed too much and that maybe we never really were close friends and that he felt like our old dreams of peace and love from the '70's were lies. I apologized. He apologized. The exchange left me unsettled: I was struck by how easy it is to hurt others via little black dots on a screen. I wrote one last time...

I did not find any of your comments offensive - they may have raised my blood pressure a notch or two - but that simply because you could not see the wondrous light of my wisdom and wit. But I will remove them since you asked.

I fully understand your feelings about the lack of love and understanding today. I have times when I feel as if there simply is no kindness left in anyone, that I truly live in a "dog eat dog" world. Those are dark times for me.

Then, I see someone do an act of kindness, sometimes a very small one. Like my friend who sings even though he has cerebral palsy. That is enough for me to try to act with a bit of kindness of my own. Enough to stop "eating dog", at least for a little while. LOL

I have been near death several times; drugs, alcohol, cancer and mental illness have given me an "interesting", if not always merry, ride through life. I have seen your site, and it's clear you like the west and have found yourself there. I like the name you gave your gun, "The Thumper". You are quite the poet. You look like you stepped out of the old west in a lot of your photos. I am happy to see you enjoying your life.

I am growing my hair long again, just because I can, and because I like seeing people's reactions. I an fascinated by how a few inches of hair can make people think you have changed into something different. Sometimes people point and laugh at the “old long hair”. Sometimes they curse under their breath as they walk by. Tomorrow, I may shave it all off for the same reason - just to see the shock on people's faces, to hear them mutter "damn skinhead" when they walk by. I like having the confidence to try out new things today, without fear, just for the heck of it.

I don't know what I would do if things "went south". I don't know if I would end up as a prisoner, or dead. I hope I don't have to find out any time soon. Until then, I will do what I can, to spread a bit of that peace and love, we used to hope for, all those years ago. I have found many others eager to share my hope. Some days, we have a veritable peace and love fest, back here in good old, Iowa City.

This may sound terribly naive. Perhaps it is, but, like you, I feel stronger than I ever have. I feel strong enough today, that I will gladly die rather than return to a diet of dog. I chose not to live in that world, when I chose to continue living. I will not return.

I work very hard to have kindness be my goal each morning. Today, at least some of the time, I have enough strength to avoid picking up other people's hatred. I am seldom successful at sustaining my quest, for more than a few hours at a time - as you can easily tell from my cantankerousness on FB. However, I do make time to listen to a friend's troubles, give someone a ride, buy someone a cup of coffee, or something like that - at least once every (well, almost every) day. It is enough. My tiny acts are my personal evidence that love and kindness have not "perished from the earth."

Gaggggggg! What a load of Hallmark BS! LOL

Yet, strange as it sounds, focusing on kindness is the only way I survive each day. I tried living a life based on fear and judgment, (the dog eat dog world) rather than love and kindness - it nearly killed me. I may someday die because of my "naivete" , who can say? People have tricked me, stolen from me, lied to me, injured me, blah de blah de blah, blah, blah. I guess that is what people do sometimes, but not all the time.

I will stand in front of any bullet aimed at my grandchildren, I know that much; but I don't know if I could take another life, and live with that. I have a lot of friends who were in Vietnam, none of them can get the faces of those they killed out of their minds. They sleep with them every night. I do not know how they do that.

I may have fewer days if I try to live with a goal of love and kindness, but I am pretty sure that I would have even fewer days, if I lived in the dark world of fear and judgment.

I am not a saint, far from it. Who wants to be a f&*king saint anyway? Still, I know which direction I need to point my life, if I am to have any hope of happiness. Kindness is my north pole. Not the magical kindness I read about in fairy tales, not the type that I once idealized as an amateur philosopher, but the gritty "in your face" kindness that is rooted in the DNA of me, that lets me know I can have the strength to try and be kind even in the worst of times.

You know by now, that I am not religious, that I do not believe in supernatural beings or powers, but sometimes I wonder if the human who wrote the lines "love your enemies" and "judge not, lest ye be judged" was simply describing a natural law, not admonishing people to be good in order to get into “heaven”. If, I meet hatred with hatred, do I not “die” inside? If, I judge others, do I not take my “judging skills” home with me? Do I not use those skills in the dark and end up judging myself? When I live a life of hatred and judgment am I even truly alive? I dunno. To me, it seems such laws are a part of my DNA, not something I do to be a "good person" but something I must do if I want to “feel alive” (e.g., feel the sun, smell a flower, give and get a hug, etc.) and have any pleasure in life.

I too, have grown cynical, as I have aged, but the smiles of my loved ones, the laughter of my children and grand children, the hugs of my friends: all of these things, remind me that love exists, just as strongly, and probably more deeply, than ever, in these trying times.

When I see you, with your family and friends, you still seem like the man I knew so long ago. The smile is still there, the deep compassion in your eyes is still there. Know that I am smiling back, when I look at those pictures. At least one person, still sees the love within you.

Love life, and live it large...

(Remember, if you're vertical, and taking nourishment, you're okay.)

Dale

JEB BUSH TO HEAD REPUBLICAN TICKET IN 2012

Here's how...

Trump, Bachman, Huckabee rush out as early spoilers. They incite the base of the Republican party with anti-Obama rhetoric and the birther issue. Palin, Huckabee and Trump may not run leaving the Tea Party plank wide open for Bachman. PALIN WILL NOT RUN - Unions and Democratic base will show up at every rally, as they did in Wisconsin this week, and boo her off the stage. Her one time supporters will move to Bachman and/or Huckabee. The Republican establishment and the Karl Rove machine become increasingly frantic.

IOWA goes to Bachman or Huckabee. They play up religious themes (gay marriage, abortion) and birtherism. Trump does surprisingly well for a well known libertine. His "star" appeal and his newfound admiration for "birthers" will play well in Iowa. Romney and Pawlenty are ghosts. Paul gets his standard showing, nabbing any young Republicans who vote in the primaries.

NEVADA goes to Trump if he runs - he sucks all the air out of Las Vegas and plays well with Hispanics due to his fairly liberal past on immigration. If Trump doesn't run, Romney and Pawlenty have a shot. Romney will win if Trump doesn't run. Even Mormons like to gamble sometimes, and Nevada has a lot of Mormons living there.

NEW HAMPSHIRE is Romney's last hope of a candidacy. Look for him to put all his money here and do well or even win. Bachman (or Huckabee) begin to fade. Trump once again is the wild card - if he stays in - he will place or show ahead of Bachman/Huckabee in the horse race but not likely win. Pawlenty comes in a distant third or fourth and commits seppuku for the sake of the GOP.

SOUTH CAROLINA likely goes to Romney by default. Bachman/Huckabee finally lose steam asthe Tea Party plank finally takes a hard look at their polling against Obama. Paul could stage a surprising showing here as the last hope of the most desperate Tea Party groups.

Result of January primaries - FIASCO! Romney cannot convincingly argue against Obamacare and he will have to say some harsh things against the Tea Party folk in order to gain ground with independents. Bruised and battered from a three ring circus of January primaries - Romney looks like he may just be able to win the nomination.

Rove tells Republican power brokers that he cannot come up with a winning scenario for Romney no matter how the polls are sliced and diced. Romney will do better than Obama with religious conservatives, creationists, right wing white groups and Wall Street. But he will take only a tiny percentage of Blacks, Hispanics, and independents. Of course he will not get ANY support from unions and the liberal base who will flee from the "nasty milliionaire businessman" to Obama's welcoming arms.

The alarm will be raised (phones probably already are ringing) among the the Republican big donor community. Blue Blood Republicans will hold secret meetings at Point Vesuvius (aka Walker's Point, aka the Bush Compound in Maine). Koch brothers have a seat at the table as does Wall Street led by a contingent of Goldman Sachs alumni. The goal - launch a volcanic barrage to reinstate the Bush royalty.

While it is true that George II tarnished the Bush family image, Bush remains a gold standard Coat of Arms among Republican oligarchs. Remember that Obama awarded the Freedom Medal to George I in February. This will help Rove, backed by Koch and Sachs money among others, to remind the public that George I is still KING of the Bush clan. George I will help take back the crown from his wayward son George II and pass it on to Jeb, thus assuring the continued hegemony of the Reagan-Bush trickle down/supply side wing of the Republican Party.

Jeb and Romney will be called to a "come to Jesus" summit. Romney will be told that Jeb represents the better hope for defeating Obama because:

- He has an amiable style, that wears well with independents. It is hard not to like him as a person.

- He is VERY Catholic, Fourth Degree Knight of Columbus, which will keep the Christian Right more firmly in line than someone who is a Mormon.

- He is married to a Hispanic, and has very good numbers with them (being Catholic doesn't hurt).

- He OWNS FLORIDA, especially the Cuban population which OWNS Miami Dade, a key democratic stronghold. Jeb has worked for a multimillionaire Cuban real estate firm.

- He has always been a strong supporter of Israel and is well liked in the Jewish community.

- His father and the Rove machine have enough dirt on every member of the Republican leadership (including new Tea Party leaders) to keep them firmly in line.

Romney will be asked to continue in the primaries to make sure Bachman/Huckabee/Trump remain dead and that no one else like Rand Paul is taken too seriously. Jeb will begin to be casually mentioned by the media as an alternative. Jeb's "stealth campaign" may start as early as late summer or fall of 2011. He will refuse comment and remain out of the public eye at least until the really big primaries in Texas and Florida. It's interesting that no primary date has been set for Florida and that many states are still discussing the dates. Perhaps it is normal to be 8 months away from the first primary without knowing the timing of all caucuses. Or perhaps Republicans are leaving themselves some wiggle room for a last minute candidacy by Jeb or someone like him. Here's the current schedule:

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Rumors will be started (perhaps even using clips from the Oliver Stone movie "W") that Jeb was the first pick for the successor to the Reagan-Bush crown. They will say things like, "George II jumped the gun. Now it is time to put things right. The nation is in great peril - time to return to the first draft pick."

The pitch will be simple.

"Don't you want to return to the good old days of the Regan-Bush years? A time when Republicans were truly Republicans? George I was right there with Ronald. True, George II may have been a little bit of a disappointment, but look at has happened since he left. Didn't things get even worse? Isn't it time to return leadership to a True Republican like Jeb Bush? Socially conservative but not a fanatic, and fiscally conservative - his friends own the companies that can "drill baby drill" and he is comes from a financially elite family of "job creators" who were there when "trickle down" economics first began to drip.

I think Jeb could give Obama fits. Sooner or later Rove and company will figure this out as well. They probably already have. Rove has already begun trashing Trump. Rove, and the power brokers of the Grand Old Party, support none of the current contenders. Yet they have not offered alternative. Why?

Is it because it is too early to bring Jeb in? That they have to wait until rank and file Republicans get sick of the current Tea Party darlings? Are they waiting to launch a late campaign for Jeb or even have him emerge as a last minute superman at the convention?

Who knows the answer? Certainly not me. After all, I am a nut case. I have the papers to prove it.

AIN'T I A HUMAN?

I have been reading the Tell-Tale Brain by V.S. Ramachandran. The experience is like having someone open up my skull and stir a spoon through my previous notions of what it means to be me, to be a human. I think the introduction, A Brief Tour of Your Brain, should be required reading for all psychiatric patients and their families. The knowledge it contains could help eliminate a lot of the guilt and self castigation that accompanies diagnoses of “mental illness”.

As always with science, we must say that what we “know” is based on current evidence. Our ideas will change as we discover more. However, if our current observations hold true, the impact will be mind blowing (pun intended). Philosophy, art and religion will have a lot of catching up to do. Many of our most cherished concepts of things like mind, soul, God and our moral compass will be changed forever. Unless, of course, we ignore science if favor of things like “creationism”.

For example, several regions of the brain appear to be critical to the “human” view of who we are and how we relate to the world. Damage to these areas results in the loss of what it means to be human, at least in any real sense of the word. Without these functions our external bodies might appear the same but our thoughts, behavior and culture would not exist.

Here are a few of the areas most critical to being what is typically defined as “human”. Quotations are from Ramachandran.

WERNICKE'S AREA (upper left temporal lobe) – A uniquely human area (seven times larger than a chimp) provides comprehension of meaning and semantic aspects of language. Damage can result in the loss of ability to process language – no Wernicke's area, no Shakespeare.

PARIETAL LOBES – The left uses sensory input (including muscles and touch) to provide “multimedia” sense of corporeal self. The right provides a “mental model of the spatial layout of the outside world: your immediate environs, plus the location (but not identity) of objects, hazards and people within it”. Damage to the right lobe can cause the phenomenon of hemispatial neglect (loss of awareness of what occurs in the left field of vision) or somatoparaphrenia (belief that left arm belongs to someone else). If you zap the right parietal lobe with an electrode you will have an “out of body” experience.

INFERIOR PARIETAL LOBES (IPL) – Is much larger in humans than any other species and is divided into two regions (angular gyrus and supramarginal gyrus). The left angular gyrus provides functions “such as arithmetic, abstraction, and aspects of language such as word finding and metaphor”. The left supramarginal gyrus provides “images of intended skill actions (e.g. sewing, hammering a nail, waving goodbye) and executes them”. Damage to left IPL eliminate abstract skills like reading, writing, arithmetic, etc. and hinders ability to complete skilled movement. No IPL means no Kobe Bryant and no extravagant metaphors for sports writers to use in describing his talent. Damage here may even mean the end of “free will” - the ability to imagine and execute complex actions.

PREFRONTAL CORTEX – Often called the “seat of humanity”. Can sustain massive damage with no obvious signs of neurological or cognitive deficits, but can cause major personality changes including withdrawal from social world and marked reluctance to do anything at all. This is sometimes called pseudodepression because it looks a bit like depression but is not accompanied by bleakness and chronic negative thoughts. In fact, the person will seem euphoric. Damage also results in loss of: interest in his own future; moral compunctions – may laugh at a funeral or urinate in public; ambition; empathy; dignity as a human being. No prefrontal cortex means no society or culture – at least as we humans describe it.

So what? What does this mean for me? How can I use this information?

First, I can let go of a lot of guilt. I am not ready to completely let go of the idea of free will and my personal accountability, but I can accept that I have a lot less control over my actions than I once thought. Many of the mistakes I have made are not my “fault” anymore than a friend of mine is at fault for the fact that cerebral palsy has robbed him of the ability to control his arms and legs. This information lets me directly refute the thoughts in my head that tell me that I am a “bad” person for making mistakes. With work I can gain some control over my emotions and behavior, but I will never be “fully” in charge. No one has complete control of their thoughts and behavior, and it doesn't appear they ever will. Knowing this gives me evidence that I am not broken. I am human.

Second, I can have a more solid foundation of compassion for the failings of others. When I look at someone who was traumatized or injured at an early age I can better understand and accept their "character defects". I can see that I struggle to grow emotionally, that another of my friends struggles at least in part (perhaps in a very large part) to malfunctions in the Prefrontal Cortex. I can see peoples problems with social awareness and “humanness” the same way I see problems with motor control of a person's arms and legs.

Reducing my sense of guilt and increasing my compassion for others are things that I have heard before – mostly couched in “spiritual” or religious terms. Knowing they are linked to something tangible in my brain makes them more real.

Others may choose to dismiss the scientific study of the brain and body as reductionist nonsense. I do not. To use a metaphors straight from the Weirnecke's Region and IPL of my brain, neuroscience has been a greater source of freedom and “salvation” for my “soul” than literature, philosophy and art combined. To me, science does not reduce or diminish my love of life's beauty any more than knowing that sunlight comes from a ball of gas diminishes my ability to enjoy its warmth on my skin.

David's New Beginning

David Young is at the edge of a new landscape - a new life in California. He is intelligence personified, working its way through a completely new set of possibilities. I have been given the rare gift of watching the process first hand.

At least that is how I feel most of the time. Sometimes I get frustrated. Frustrated that I cannot relieve the suffering that began for David when he was seven years old. At times I see beyond the fifty something body to the heart of a seven year old taken from his adopted parents and I want to cry out. What pain he must have felt. Its sharpness still stabs him when he is frustrated or frightened or just tired. What a joy it is to see him find new ways to put the suffering aside.

David and I are moving past old hurts today. We are waiting for the curtain to rise on the final act of a miracle. His life in Iowa, capped by a 26 year imprisonment in a tiny apartment, is over. He is Columbus in a new world. Something many said could never happen is in fact materializing from the mist of what once was but a dream, David's Dream. Two years ago he could scarcely imagine seeing the Pacific Ocean and the Castro District of his beloved “SanFra”. Now he is preparing for a new beginning at Acorn Apartments in Oakland.

We had doubts, doubts that were encouraged my some, thankfully, they were not reality. Acorn has approved the application for David's new apartment. Oakland Housing Authority will come to inspect it on April 25. After that we sign the lease. Ten days from now, David should be moving into his new home.

I sip my coffee and remember the journey. If you think only of David's living arrangements (the same tiny apartment for 26 years) or allow yourself to be distracted by his clothes (hand me downs and Goodwill) you might conclude that he is “challenged” in some way. You would be wrong. Since meeting him seven years ago I have been constantly entertained by his surprising wit. We'll be driving along the highway or I'll be listening to him growl his way through a meal and suddenly he will spout out an observation worthy of a poet, stand up comedian or philosopher. Some of my favorites...

The hills of California - “These hills are fuzzy. Soft. Made of velvet.”

California's wild array of vegetation - “Those plants are whimsical. Some of them look like tribbles.”

Passing through Pottawatmie county in Iowa - “This is the home of the Pottawatmies. They are 99.9% fur. They are very sought after because they don't exist.”

After buying a new map - “You know, if you turn it sideways,Iowa looks a lot like a hot water bottle. The east is the top and the west is the bottom. Nevada looks like one of the cases a new microscope comes in. California is a wine flask.”

Crossing the Missouri and leaving Iowa - “Iowa is like an old mattress – comfy, but tired and worn out.”

Driving across the high plains he noticed sedimentary layers of the cliffs - “We are driving across an ocean without getting wet.”

One of the greatest sources of amazement for David is California's flora and fauna. “I will have to get an entire new 'degree' in biology. There are so many new creatures in my new lake (his name for the Pacific) that I cannot name them all.”

David also has a temper. Honed by years of frustration and fear he can burst out in rage. Yesterday we stopped for an emergency piss break. David charged into a restaurant and was turned away. He was hopping mad when he returned to the car.

“That damn lady let me walk all the way to back into her restaurant before she told me, 'Only customers can use the bathroom.' I really had to pee damn it!”

But David's anger never lasts. He is soon overcome with remorse and fear that he has offended or hurt someone. Beneath the crustiness, baked into him by fear, lies an ocean of compassion.

Two days ago, he came to the door of my room, sobbing so hard I thought he would suffocate. He had just heard that Linda, a friend of many decades, has cancer. I heard a lifetime of pain in his crying. I was struck dumb. I could only sit silently as he poured out grief beyond measure. I finally spoke.

“Maybe Linda would be happy for you today. Remember, you are starting a new life.”

I felt like I worked for Hallmark, but David seemed to appreciate the offer of consolation.

“Thank you,” he said. “You know Dale, a few years ago, after my stroke, I felt like giving up. Then you took me to California and Barry showed me the Pacific.”

Embarrassed, I said, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

We laughed.

“Thank you, Dale.” he said again as he left for his room.

I stared out the door at the broken fountain gurgling in the courtyard of our mouldering motel.

“No David,” I said. “Thank you.”

Watch live streaming video from libya17feb at livestream.com

Perfect Lies

They creep in when I am tired. They never come in through the front door. Always one will scratch at a screen on one side of my mind while its mate scampers in the open window opposite. Pesky little creatures, they will run about my mental house turning over furniture, breaking mirrors and creating havoc. Sometimes they leave quickly. Sometimes they remain for days on end. Sometimes they settle in and take up permanent residence.

There are many types of lies, but the most numerous for me are those based on that master lie of lies - perfection. For example, the chairs in the living room of my thoughts are sturdy, covered with many different textures and colors, and are shaped for the contours of a wide range of bottoms. Some of them rock a bit due to irregularities in the length of their legs, but on the whole they provide comfortable seating for me and any guests who happen to drop by. I have come to cherish them as much as, if not more than, longtime friends and family.

This happy state of affairs is disrupted as soon as perfection enters. Perfection invariably casts a harsh, judgmental eye over my collection. It claims to hold the one true measure and standard of “chair-ness” and uses this tool to assess the qualities of any chair on which it happens to sit. In smug, self assurance, perfection pronounces the endless ways my mental furniture fails to measure up; turning every characteristic into flaws and shortcomings. Under its baleful gaze, all my chairs are broken down and scarcely worthy keeping about the place.

“This chair is too mushy. How is a body supposed to find support in this pile of oatmeal?” says perfection when it sits on my dreams of love and kindness.

Moving to my hopes about my writing, perfection will say, “This chair is truly pitiful and narcissistic. Its paint is sloppy. It shows little promise of becoming anything other than a plant stand for cacti – tiny cacti, the variety that never grows but merely sits there in endless contemplation of its insignificant thorniness.”

“Why is this chair even here at all?” perfection says about my joy in science and reason. “This chair isn’t really even a chair. It’s more like an iron bench, a rusty one. How you ever hope to use it as anything other than an instrument of torture is beyond me. Can you not see it is too cold, rigid and ugly for use by anyone who values beauty and inspiration?”

On and on, perfection will rant; removing any and all joy I might take in my furnishings. By the end of a visit by perfection I am ready to burn down the entire house, or at a minimum, commit myself to a hospital for refurbishing. Lately however, I have begun to see that thoughts based on perfection are lies and illusion.

I know of no place in nature where perfection exists. It relies on my believing in some supernatural place of residence – a perfect land containing the true essences of all things; a land from which I and my “pitiful” life have “fallen” to become but pale shadows of the true beauty in their former home. Where this perfect land exists, who requires it to exist and how it is maintained are questions that seem open to considerable debate. Many people claim to know the location of the land of perfection, and are willing, even insistent, on showing me the path for getting there.

Unfortunately, there seems to be considerable disagreement on the matter of perfection’s location and the path to achieving it. To me this illustrates “perfectly” why perfection is more a matter of opinion than a tangible fact. The most “perfect” diamond, a crystal of “pure” carbon, contains at least a few molecules of other elements. A perfect one or a perfect zero has never been measured – each attempt landing somewhere slightly above or below the mark. In computers, this “imperfection” is one of the major causes of program errors. The platinum/iridium bar used as the standard for measuring meters changes over time as molecules are oxidized. No substance is perfectly pure. No action generates perfectly good or perfectly bad outcomes. I may “imagine” or “dream” of descending from a perfect world but doing so is no more fruitful than imagining I have come from a planet inhabited entirely by unicorns.

Knowing this simple fact gives me great comfort. It helps me be gentle with myself and others. It allows me to recognize that none, “not no one, not no how” to quote the guard at the gate of Oz, can claim perfection. My agnosticism about the matter has allowed me to realize that pursuing perfection as a path of happiness makes as much sense as pursuing leprechauns to find their pot of gold. I recognize that it is “possible” that there is a land of perfection. There may be leprechauns. There may even be a pot of gold. There is no way to “perfectly” prove the non-existence of anything. However, based on the evidence and experience I have seen to date I see that the probability of perfection and leprechauns is vanishingly small.

With this knowledge, I can return to my mental home and rest in relative ease. My chairs are not broken. I may choose to refurnish or repaint them from time to time, but I do so as an accommodation and kindness to my guests and the society in which I live. I do not find it helpful to arrange and alter my mental furnishings in pursuit of abstractions such as perfect mental health, perfect emotional sobriety, perfect kindness, perfect enlightenment or any other form of perfect. It is far better for me to appreciate the beauty of my chairs and be grateful for the comfort they provide. I leave perfection to those who can only achieve happiness by constantly striving for ever greater enlightenment, truth, or (insert favorite goal here). Once I was among their number, dreaming of a day when I finally would achieve perfection of some kind or another (even if it was only to be the perfect me). Today I find that pursuing perfection can be an entertaining hobby but that it is a poor career choice. Perfection is a lousy houseguest. I intend to show it the door with ever increasing frequency.

Evidence and Lost Innocence

Further evidence of insanity...

Danny said, “Couldn't help wonderin' if besides lovin' women didn't I love men a little too? Didn't hardly know what to do. So I wrote.”

Once again the night has woken me without a sound. Unless you count the voices in my head. There is that within them that cannot be named; beauty, beauty, beauty, and pain beyond all measure. The night hides wonders of razor edged joy so sublimely ravaged by fear and anger that they throw me from bed wide eyed in wonder so awesome and profound that sleep must be left to times of a duller mind.

What to be said? What to be seen? What to be sung in this place of dreams?

Buried deep in this old man's brain, a young child's heart sees scenes cast away against it's will: a lazy afternoon of sunshine; a grassy hill edged with a blackberry's thorny sweetness; a lover's arms, pale and flecked with red from ancestors who sailed wooden ships from seas to the north. He lies next to me, his creamy skin glows against green almost deep enough to be blue. I stare into his eyes. There is mystery there and longing for the love I was told never to express. I can call him Billy but his names are many and his love is sweet. From a deep grave of forbidden earth it calls to me. How can I reach it? How can it be freed? How can I know if it is imagined? Is it a reality or just a disease?

No. It is not sickness. This love is whole not broken. It is profound not profane. It is a sacred celebration separated by eternity from the lies of disease and sin.

Billy let me kiss you. I will slide my tongue along your lips. My nose will nuzzle your ear, finding that little spot perfectly shaped for safe harbor. Let me gaze into turquoise eyes rimmed with copper lashes. I will feel your breath, warm with the smell of fruit. Your hand will brush my cheek, rousing my blood with joy freed from eons of guilt. Your smile will show me that life indeed lives in this chest, that what fills my lungs is pure not diseased, that happiness comes even if others call it evil. I will open my mouth to your tongue's embrace. My fingers will trace a path from your nipples - down, down, to caress your softness and feel it harden in my hand. Lips will follow the trail blazed by touch, opening to enfold the musty and vibrant wonder, taking it deep and deeper still. Mouth and member will move in rhythm to a pulse ancient and profound taking us beyond self, catapulting us into brilliance. I shall rise and slide into you, feel your warmth caress me, welcome me, hold me tight as if saying, “Never leave. Never leave. Stay within forever.” Pulsing quickly we will soar to a timeless place where love explodes into the all within all. We will sleep in each others arms and wake to evening's cool breeze. I will kiss the top of your head, feeling the feathery softness of your hair. You will wake from your nest in the crook of my arm knowing it will always be there to protect you. You will swear to eternally stand against those who would do me harm. Boy to boy. Hand to hand. We will send our love to an old man typing in the night. We will give him a smile to prop open the door in the dark, leaving a crack for the light of our hillside love – the innocence of innocents, hugging him when he fears the night.

“Don't make no sense to me,” said Danny, “but I guess if that's what it was, then that's what it was.

Less Than Kind

Caution: The following is yet another of the apparently endless ramblings that clatter around in my head. It likely has no relevance or entertainment value to anyone not living between my ears. Read on at your peril. Perhaps you are masochistic. Or you may be a fan of watching the suffering of others, a kind of “schadenfreudinista”. Who am I to judge? If you are sane, you will go on about your day and ignore the following entirely.

I was discussing cabbages and kings, the meaning of life and other things with a friend. I mentioned that I sometimes over commit the level of support I can provide to others, or rush in to “solve” others problems before they ask for help. When this occurs I can exhaust myself and end up resenting the person whom I am trying to “help” or “save”. He suggested that I write about the issue. He knows me well. Long ago I learned that writing out my thoughts often helps clarify my thinking. Even when no clarity arises, I derive comfort from the simple pleasure of seeing my thoughts materialize before me. Something about the appearance of letters on the page feels magical, as if the white emptiness creates the letters on its own...talking to me in a voice that is at once familiar and alien.

So, why do I carry the desire to be “nice” or “kind” to extremes? What do I get from it? Tough questions. It is easy to come up with facile replies like, “You do it because it makes you feel important”; “By 'helping' others you are able to ignore your own issues”; or “By 'helping' others you fill an emptiness in your life, fighting off the fear of being unloved and alone.” Perhaps all of these are true to some extent. Perhaps they are completely true. Maybe there is nothing more. I suppose, I can accept that these answers paint an accurate picture of my character, even though the the image is fairly depressing.

However, as is always the case with my magnificent magnifying mind, I must ask if there is more. All of my typical answers to my problem are linked to moral views that arise from years of fundamentalist programming. They start with the assumption that I am born in “original” sin, that I am flawed, broken, and in need of divine intervention to improve my character (if not my chances of living in eternal bliss after I die). Are there reasons for my behavior that are not rooted in a “grandiose” sense of self? I think there may very well be.

I do feel good about myself when I feel I am helping others. There is fairly sound neurological evidence for why this may be so. The mirror neurons in my brain respond to the reactions of those around me. They are what allow me to feel the pain and pleasure of others, the empathy for their point of view. Thus, if I act in a manner that creates happiness in those around me, I am more likely to feel happy myself. This view of things is less judgmental and I believe more accurate than a fundamentalist view of life. Certainly, it has more evidence to support it than the idea that my acts of kindness are derived from supernatural orgins.

I think the issue may be that like any other neurological process, the pathways that drive me to be “kind” can become overloaded. There are times when they go into overdrive. Perhaps my mirror neurons become “addicted” to the endorphins generated by seeing others become happy as a result of my efforts. Maybe this in turn drives me to try and be evermore “kind”, eventually bringing me to the point of mental and physical exhaustion. I have not yet run across the research that would allow me to verify this hypothesis. But, it offers an intriguing alternative to supernatural answers. It is a point of view that is far more helpful to me. A path that allows me to deal with my “issue” without judging myself or others as being evil or hateful. I may be confused at times, but I no longer accept the proposition that I am evil or flawed. Often I do not see things clearly. I have even felt hatred toward others and acted to harm them in many ways, and, I have received hatred and harm from others. The choice is whether I see hatred and kindness as purely metaphysical, religious or philosophical issues or whether I see them as also having a very strong physiological and neurological component. But I digress.

Regardless of the cause, the fact remains that I sometimes find myself in situations where I have multiple people expecting, (or at least I feel they are expecting), more “kindness” from me than I am capable of delivering. What to do?

First and foremost for me is to avoid judging or condemning the other person or myself. It is far better for me to recognize that a large part of the experience is perfectly natural, unpleasant perhaps, but just a natural consequence human evolution. Some people's mirror neurons likely function better than other people's, just as some people's synapses fire more quickly than the rest of the population. Perhaps my mirror neurons are more suited to long distance running with emotional issues than they are to sprinting past them, or hurdling over them. Who can say? The point is that I am not at “fault” or “sinning”. I sometimes am ill equipped to handle the level or type of “kindness” stress in which I find myself. If there is fault on my part it is for over estimating my capacity for kindness in a given situation. I am no more evil than a marathoner who runs one league too far.

Second I must be wary of situations and people that invite me to promise or try to provide more “kindness” than I can provide. This is particularly difficult for me. My long history of trying to be like “Jesus” or some other imagined level of perfectly kind being was come by honestly. Yet it can be deadly. Often I see people or situations that look risky to me and think, “that may be more than I can handle”, yet I charge ahead anyway. The pathway for reason is overridden by the programming of perfection I received early in life. I see the risk, I acknowledge that it likely will not turn out well, yet I am driven to accept the “challenge” because I want to be “more like Jesus” or I believe it is my “duty” to sacrifice myself for the good of another. Whenever I stop short, pull back, or run away from such situations I generally feel guilty, like I have failed. I have to continually inventory the facts of the situation with a trusted friend. Sometimes with several.

Third I must accept the truth of the phrase “to thine own self be true”. Sometimes when I inventory a situation with my friends I find no relief – most if not all of them disapprove of my actions. Sometimes when I talk things over with friends I hear only that I have been a bad person, that I have been evil. This can set me off on the path of self hatred that leads nowhere and benefits no one. I must accept that no matter what I do, sometimes people will think I have not performed the way I should have. At these times I have to return to the facts. Was I trying to be kind or was I intentionally trying to hurt someone? If I was intentionally trying to hurt someone then I try to make amends. If I wasn't then I must accept that sometimes many if not most of my closest friends will think poorly of me.

Finally, I have to be careful with the idea of perfection. I have come to believe that the Platonic ideal of perfection is one of the greatest lies ever created by philosophy and religion. There is no evidence for “perfection” that I know of. Everything and everyone will seem less than “perfect” depending on the measure used and the one doing the measuring. Many people standing on a riverbank watching a man trying to save a drowning child will be forever haunted by the feeling that they are less “perfect” than the man. Many, like me, will carry the image the rest of their lives, feeling guilty whenever it comes to mind. They will be unable to see the simple fact, that the man in the river represented nothing more than the confluence of a particular set of events and decisions at a given point in time. They will not understand that many of them have done, or will do similar acts of kindness (sometimes without even being aware of them).

As near as I can tell, there is no hierarchy of kindness. All acts of kindness, no matter how “small” or “large” seem to add to the general health of myself and those around me. Often the things I see as very small have the “largest” effect, and often my greatest “sacrifices” go unnoticed (which can really piss me off). The idea of perfect kindness requires me to compare myself to a lie, the lie that somehow, someone “better” than me could be kind under all conditions with all people. I know of no evidence that such a creature or being ever has or ever will exist. All the models of perfection I am aware of have “feet of clay” somewhere along the line. Jesus got pissed at moneylenders. God got so angry at humanity that he drowned his own creation in a flood. Gandhi had a self-aggrandizing and political side according to some who were closest to him. Martin Luther King apparently had lovers. Given the failings of such august company, who am I to aspire to perfect kindness?

I can try to make changes. I will make some. But I recognize that even in addressing such a minor issue as creating pain for myself by trying to be “too kind”, I will be less than perfect. Oh well. The coffee tastes good and the sun is shining.

Unconditional Happiness

Preface – All of the following, as is true of anything I write, is only my opinion. I share it with no intention of having it viewed as universally true. In fact as you will see as you read, I do not believe in universal truth or certainty. To be completely honest each sentence should begin with something like, “In my opinion...” or “In my experience...” Feel free to add such word salad if you like. If you do it will take you longer to read my text, but who am I to deny anyone the pleasure of prolonging the agony of my words?

Many days it looks like the world is hopeless and that I am powerless to do anything about it. Worse, there are even moments when I feel that it is my fault that things are the way they are, and that my inability to change them is due to a lack of moral courage and faith. Thankfully, I know that these feelings are based on false assumptions. They are lies.

It's true that today millions of people will starve, be abused, maimed and killed. Many more will suffer silently from despair, hopelessness, guilt, anxiety or any number of other conditions that will sap their strength and in some cases, their willingness to continue with life. It is true that much of what surrounds me is driven by fear and anger; that many people (including me) focus on immediate pleasures rather than long term health; that we often feel trapped in an inescapable prison with bars made of DNA, environment, religious laws, cultural history and “scientific” confusion.

It's true that today I probably will eat some things that damage my heart, body and brain. It's true that I will not exercise as much my body needs to achieve maximum health. It's true that I will not be kind to everyone I meet. It's even true that I likely will intentionally hurt others and that they will return the favor.

All of these truths, all of these facts can lead me to see little but darkness ahead. This matrix of “reality” can cause unending pain and despair. But there is happiness as well.

Once I found solace in believing that somewhere there was a magical God, book or teacher; some being or knowledge that could suspend the laws of nature for my benefit; a path to be free from suffering and even death itself. I spent decades searching for such a person. I read and discussed hundreds of books, I attended thousands of religious and “spiritual” meetings and workshops. I prayed. I begged. I struggled. I “failed”.

I did find some relief. I did find some hope. But eventually, always, these practices gave me no lasting peace. Suffering returned as soon as I asked questions. I was told not to question, many times. But telling me not to question is like telling a bird not to fly. Asking questions is the core of who I am. If I stopped asking questions I don't know what I would be. I might even be “truly happy” as many people define it. But, I would not be Dale. Perhaps this desire or insistence on questioning things is at the heart of my suffering. I don't know. For whatever reason, unquestioning faith or belief is not my path. Either through choice, destiny, or as some might have it – from being possessed by Beelzebub himself, I neither wish to nor know how to cease questioning.

I am especially driven to question anyone who says they know for certain how to attain happiness. Usually such gurus require acceptance on “faith” without questions or evidence. When I encounter these “dudes” and “dudettes” you may as well slam the door shut and call me late for supper. My questions mean the land of certainty far from my reach. One by one each religious or spiritual path has faded from my life, obscured by its resolute certainty and dogma. Each religious or spiritual path I've encountered has a set of steps, laws, beliefs or practices that they claimed will result in happiness for “anyone” who chooses to follow them. The only condition is that I followers accept the beliefs without question. If this condition is met, the paths and teachers claim the followers will receive happiness and joy, if not in this life, then at some future time and place where the “faitful” will experience joys that cannot be imagined by those trapped on this material plane.

I have been told numerous times that the reason I question things is that I am egotistical and have narcissistic tendencies. This likely is true. Frequently these criticisms are delivered by people wearing funny robes and hats, who believe the world is 6,000 years old, or who have memorized ancient texts and yell out verses whether I ask for them or not. There are those too who have been “overcome” by deep feelings of enlightenment, who speak in tongues and who dance filled with “rapture”. I have a hard time accepting the criticism that I am egotistical from these people. When someone wearing multicolored robes in a 21^st century city or who claims Noah's Flood caused the Grand Canyon calls me narcissistic it is difficult not to laugh out loud.

To be fair, I have felt holy and happy when practicing some religions or following spiritual or transcendental paths. I also felt pity for those who did not see the light of my wise practice. Some of those I pitied, took issue with my sanctimonious certainty and called me a tight assed little shit. I blessed them. I prayed for them to be freed from the “hardening of their hearts”, that prevented them from accepting the “love” I was so freely offering.

Each religion and spiritual path I have encountered places absolute, unchanging and unquestionable conditions on happiness.

They say,“Follow us and you will be happy, or at least happier, if you follow our path. It is after all the ONLY one true path for ALL people, for ALL time.”

They cannot all be correct. Yet certainty is never in short supply among religious and spiritual leaders. I have experienced this certainty and it was comforting. Eventually, however I found myself wondering, “Why do the leaders have such prejudice against those who do no follow the path?”; “Why is there such a resistance to changing our views when we find out new information?”; “Why isn't it okay to say 'we don't know the answer to that'?”; “Why am I asked to reject any opposing points of view without investigating them?”

Once I realized the metaphysical paths were closed to me, I felt condemned. I was doomed to live in this awful material world to live under the rule of fang and claw. Clearly there could be no happiness in this dog eat dog world. But, wait a moment, perhaps I was being too hasty. What if one were to become top dog, or at least a member of the ruling pack?

I dove into the business world with a vengeance. I worked hard and partied harder. Much to my surprise I had a knack for selling air. As a consultant, I won't say that I never delivered value to my clients. I did help bring about some positive changes in my client's organizations, but I soon realized that much of the time I was gathering information from those doing the work and repackaging it for digestion by upper management. If executives had the humility and openness to listen to their employees, if they took the time to look honestly at themselves, if they carefully observed their customers and competition, using consultants would be like selling coal in Newcastle. Instead, many executives spend more time on the politics of becoming and remaining top dog than they do listening to the “ignoramuses” that work for them. Not every executive fits this bill, but there are enough of them to guarantee a good living for consultants. I've met more than my share, and have even tried to become one. My fangs were too dull and my bite was too weak for me to achieve the highest levels of management, but I did get close enough to get a taste of the red meat.

Eventually, I found myself sitting in a house the size of a small hotel within walking distance of one of the Florida's premier beaches. Professional golfers lived down the road. My suits were tailored from Dormeuil. The leather for my shoes and belts came from exotic, nearly extinct species. I spent more on meals and single nights in hotel rooms than I paid for a semester of tuition at university. If material success was the condition for happiness I should at least have been mildly buoyant on most days. For a time I was. Then the questions returned.

How could I justify having so much when others had so little? Why was it alright for me to live as I lived while millions died from lack of a vaccine costing less than 50¢? Shouldn't I feel guilty? Was life in the end just dogs eating dogs? What would happen if a bigger dog decided to eat me?

My travels took me to places in the world where I had tread carefully to avoid having my shoes soiled by human excrement. I once worked in an office where every morning I walked past a homeless mother with a baby on each hip. She sold packets of plantains fried in a hubcap over a fire made of dung. I bought a packet every day and pretended to eat them until I got inside and tossed them into the trash. I told myself that such situations were an unavoidable part of the human condition, that in fact by “doing business” in the mother's country I was improving the chances that her children would have a better future. I was bringing civilization to them. I was helping them. Somehow, at night when I went home to a compound guard by men with machine guns it was hard to convince myself that my motives were “pure” and that I was in fact making things better.

Life, by means of cancer and mental illness, removed the career that gave me a sense of purpose. I woke one day to find myself cast out of the pack. I still had some money, but it was clear for the first time in a long time that I was not in control of my fate. Fear and depression set in. I was still surrounded by material comfort, but the tangible certainty it once provided was gone.

I dove headfirst in to the program that helped me give up recreational drug use in 1990-91. I worked hard to “help” others to realize and practice its spiritual principles. Once again, I found myself looking for the right conditions for happiness in a “spiritual path”. Once again, it proved useful. Once again, the questions undermined its effectiveness. As soon as I began viewing the program as a source of happiness. Some told me this was because I gave the program more importance than the spiritual power that was the programs inspiration. In their view if I only would give myself more fully to the program and its spiritual power, if only I met those conditions I would be happy.

Religious conditions, material conditions, psychiatric conditions, program conditions – which conditions will yield the greatest happiness for me? How long will they last? But wait. I am mentally ill. Should I try to find a medication that eliminates my questioning? Should I undergo more ECT treatments? Is there a stronger pill?

I began driving, a source of great comfort to me. On one trip I found blackness darker than any I had ever encountered. I gave up. I went into a gas station bathroom firmly convinced that it would be best to end things. As I stood before the mirror, looking at my reflection I was slowly overcome with a sense of great peace. Maybe there were no conditions. Maybe I was forcing conditions on my happiness. Maybe I was just tricking myself into believing my happiness required conditions.

I stopped staring. I looked around at the bathroom. What a mess. Why do gas station restrooms always look like the scene of an interrupted circle jerk or a turd flinging festival?

“Oh, well”, I thought, “...may as well clean it up a little for the next guy. May as well be kind.”

As I cleaned, the old familiar questioning began. Did I want my happiness to be based on conditions so that I could control it? Did I simply want the certainty of telling myself - “I'll be happy when I find someone to forgive me for my sins?”, “I'll be happy when I 'work the program' well enough?”, “I'll be happy when I am mentally, spiritually and physically fit?”, “I'll be happy when I find the perfect mate, have the perfect child and become the perfect old fart with grand kids on my knee?”,”I'll be happy and fulfilled when everyone in the world is happy and fulfilled?”

I only had a sliver of soap and paper towels to work with, so my cleaning took quite a while. As I worked I imagined how I would have enjoyed finding a clean restroom, rather than the mess I was cleaning. I began to hum. I was happy. Evidently, the “condition” of trying to be kind helped me to be happy.

Perhaps there is a set of spiritual or religious conditions that will bring the world to happiness. Perhaps there is a magical text to be studied. Perhaps we will learn enough through science to create a “heaven” on earth. I don't know. I likely never will know. But I do know that I will keep questioning. I know that I kindness does not require me to accept anything blindly. I know that acting with kindness greatly improves my chances of happiness. I have evidence. A whole string of evidence that began may have begun the day I was born but that came to focus in a gas station bathroom.

When friends take time out of their day to speak with me I see kindness. When I send an email to my friend in Uganda and we discuss how he might sell coffee with a friend from Uptown Bill's I see kindness. When I recall my friends in Egypt taking in a stranger, treating him as if he were royalty, calling him friend and “brother” I see kindness. I am happy.

For me, there is no magic. There is no mystery. There is no path. There are no conditions other than kindness. I knew kindness before I could speak. I know it now and I practice it (at least some of the time), not to be good, not to be saved and not to be admired although I like feeling good, holy and famous. Kindness for the sake of these things these things may be useful, but they are the enemies of the kindness I value most. If my kindness depends on conditions, if you have to earn it, if you have to get a degree in it, or if it is linked to recognition it becomes something else – it starts to smell like dogs eating dogs to become the “kindest” dog. The kindness that brings me happiness comes in moments I cannot anticipate, and is best done when and where no one else can see it. The happiness I receive from this kindness has no conditions that are controlled by me. Like gravity it simply is. At long last, I can accept that. Any questions I have about the power of kindness are easily tested by simple practice – the opportunity to gather and create evidence is all around me.

There is much suffering in the world. I did not cause ALL of it. I cannot cure ALL of it, perhaps none of it. But my kindness can relieve a little of it. With kindness I can be happy, if only for a little while. (And I can still ask questions!)

Noam and Renad react to Egypt and the changing Middle East

Looks like it's time for old farts like me to step aside. :-) A little more listening and a little less lecturing?

EGYPT: IT'S THE ECONOMY STUPID

The Egyptian men in this picture are waiting and hoping for some construction work. The photo was taken about two weeks prior to the current period of unrest. These workers likely earn no more than 100 Egyptian Pounds per month, probably less. This is about $20.00 for an entire month of back breaking labor.

As I watch the coverage of Egypt it sounds like many pundits and politicians are saying that the demonstrations in Egypt are a result of religion or religious extremism. When I was there, I did not see any evidence of this. Most Egyptians I met are proud to be Egyptian, proud of their heritage, and accepting of religious differences. For example, a bomb killed many people attending New Years eve Mass at al-Qiddisin Coptic Church in Alexandria, Egypt. The Egyptian Government reported that the bomb was set by external Muslim terrorists. Perhaps it was external terrorists but equally and arguably more important was the fact that the next day, thousands of Muslims (many of them members of the Islamic Brotherhood) demonstrated support of the Coptic Christian Community.

The Egyptians I met are more concerned about feeding their families than they are about religious differences. One friend earns about 600 Egyptian Pounds (EGP) per month, or around $100. He and his wife, his two sons and his daughter live in an apartment not much bigger than the hotel room where I sit writing this note.

Most Egyptians love America and Americans. But they don't understand why the US and other Western democracies have supported the dictatorship of Mubarak. They wonder why we support a man who would be reviled if he lived in the US simply because it suits our national interests. They are envious of our freedom and prosperity and they want a chance to achieve the same. They are hungry for the chance to build a modern, multiracial, multicultural, religiously tolerant nation.

While it is true that extremists of all kinds exploit poverty and social unrest, it is important to remember that hunger and a lack of hope open the door to radical ideas and beliefs. I am worried that many in the news and on Capitol Hill are screaming that Egypt's troubles are a result of terrorist groups like Al Qaeda. Some say the Islamic Brotherhood is a terrorist group despite the fact that Al Qaeda hates the Islamic Brotherhood for its push for democracy - something that Al Qaeda and many other terrorists believe is anti-Muslim. Blaming Egypt's problems on religious differences is a lie. The unrest is not about an effort to spread Sharia law, it is about not having enough to eat and not having the right of self-governance without outside interference. I hope we keep our eyes on the facts and are not swayed by those who want to exploit our fears for their own personal power and gain.

I hope we keep our focus on the Egyptian people and how we can help them, rather than dwelling on our own political motives and fears. If we help the Egyptian people achieve freedom we will establish a solid foundation for a long term relationship. If we continue backing Mubarak against the will of the people, or attempt to cloud the issue with our own fears of terrorism, Al Qaeda and other groups like it will win. They will win without lifting a finger as we run away from a people seeking the same liberties that we run the risk of sacrificing due to our fear of terrorists.

Letter To Tony

My friend Tony and I have been discussing Sam Harris' new book, The Moral Landscape. Tony is a very spiritual and loving man. I am not very spiritual, but I think I can at times be loving. I wrote the following during one of our discussions on Facebook.

I understand what you are saying Tony. But I cannot follow you (or Gandhi, or Christ, or Muhammed, Buddha, Thor, Krishna or any of the other thousands of gods or god like teachers) into the world of spiritual and religious dualism. Seeing the world as divided into the spiritual and the physical leads me to unhealthy places. Sit back, have a cup of coffee, and relax while I try to explain what probably appears as my obstinate "refusal" to see the spiritual truths of life.

After you have been locked up a few times for mental illness (even though you have done your damnedest to find and follow religious and spiritual paths), it is nice to know that someone is trying to find out the neuroscience behind how the brain works. Whenever I have been to the hospital, I have had strong feelings that I was worthless - that I was choosing to be sick - that I had failed to follow the right spiritual practice, or yes...that I had SINNED. Trying to use religion and spirituality to overcome this syndrome was like pouring gasoline on a fire. The more I sought contact with some unseen spiritual entity or force the worse things got. Every time I managed a "recovery" from hospitalization it has been logic and science that helped me - NEVER religion or prayer. Meditation was and is useful to me - as long as I see it simply as giving my jangling neurons some down time and reconnecting with nature/the universe, not as some means of finding the perfection of "enlightenment" or connecting with some metaphysical higher power. Looking for "magical" or "spiritual" solutions increases rather than decreases the level of my hallucinations and paranoia.

If I wander off into the dualistic world of spirituality and religion my emotional and mental health suffers. I feel I am a great person when I "sense" that I am following "God's" path, and like shit when I feel like some invisible God is angry at me or that I have improperly aligned my chakras. Sometimes, as you well know, I even get to thinking that I am God or that God has some great purpose for me. This thinking leads to very bizarre and often dangerous behavior. None of the God centered, or spirituality centered paths have worked for me. They have consistently led to deteriorating mental health. People like Sam, Damasio, Ramachandran, etc. have done more for my mental health than my long time study of philosophical "hermeneutics" and religion. I try to practice kindness because it helps my mental health. Neuroscience (at least what I have studied) does not have the complete answer as to why kindness works for me, but it has offered me much clearer, consistent answers (e.g. the phenomenon of mirror neurons) than spirituality.

This does not mean I have lost or given up my sense of wonder and joy at being alive. Far from it. Studying science has greatly increased my love of life. Knowing the "scientific" odds against my being here, the chances against my having friends like you, or being able to type these words makes the experience very precious to me. Knowing that the sun is a ball of burning gas increases rather than decreases my pleasure in feeling its warmth on my skin. Seeing myself as a part of it all, seeing it all as ONE thing, not two separate worlds (i.e. spiritual vs physical) increases rather than decreases my joy. Why? Because I do not have to rely on permission from God, or understanding of some mystical spirituality, to simply be and enjoy my life. I can be like a child before it knows anything about religion or spirits - when it simply enjoys breathing and exploring the wonders around it.

BTW Thomas Jefferson used to deal with his depression in a similar fashion - he drew architectural plans and studied mathematics when he was feeling low. He found that this was more helpful than spirituality.

I AM not saying that I am like Thomas Jefferson (although he also had a magnificent head of hair). I am saying that seeing the world as a unified whole, that I can study, learn and love is much more helpful than seeing myself as living on some, impure, lower level physical plane, in search of, and always less than, some lofty spiritual plane that is "perfect". (Plato was one of the key instigators of this shit (dualism) with his cave analogy. What a dick head.)

Love you Tony

Khufu's Prayer

I sit at the computer in Atlanta at a Hampton Inn. I have just showered after a series of international flights. My hair is brittle from the shampoo and hard water from a hotel in Amman, Jordan. It is not the fault of the hotel. It is not the fault of the shampoo. It is not the fault of the water. It is not fault. It is fact.

I put on deodorant from Amman. Later I will brush my teeth with toothpaste from Amman. I bought the toothpaste and deodorant from the Golden Tulip Hotel where I stayed as the guest of Royal Jordanian Airlines. I bought the deodorant and toothpaste because my bag was lost the day before on Royal Jordanian Airline, Flight 308 from Sharm El Sheikh, Egypt. The lost bag is not the fault of the airline, it is not my fault for being in Sharm El Sheikh. It is not the fault of anyone or anything. It is simply a fact.

This is the second time I lost a bag on this trip. The first time, was when I fly in to Cairo to begin a month long stay at an apartment I had rented. The bag was lost by Delta or KLM or some other multinational airline company. The bag was found three days later; the day I first met Alaa Ibrahim, the owner of the apartment. Alaa took me and my lost bag to the apartment. When I entered I thought I was standing in a palace. The apartment was bigger than the small house I rent at home in Iowa City. Marble floors, sumptuous living room furniture, an ultra modern kitchen, and bedrooms with intricately carved furniture made me feel as if I were in the home of a dignitary or prince.

From the balcony, I could see the necropolis of Giza. The great pyramid of Khufu (Cheops) rose from the smog, quiet witness to the ageless wonder that is Egypt. Over the next weeks I visited all the right spots and took hundreds of photos that I dutifully edited and posted to Facebook for my friends to see. I was a sightseeing machine. I was so busy seeing the required things that I almost overlooked the greatest sight of all – Alaa and his family.

Alaa, his sister and her husband two daughters and son; his brother Mahmdoah (sp?) his wife and the lovely little Sarah, his father, his mother – all, all of them embraced me and welcomed into their homes as if I were family. Mamdoah invited me to dinner – a huge feast with every delicacy imaginable. Mahmdoah navigated us through Cairo’s insane traffic whenever and wherever I wanted to go. Now that I am “out of Egypt” I miss them.

Some days, when I was tired, I became paranoid and wanted to leave early. But the apartment was a good refuge and Alaa and Mahmdoahs smiling faces soon lifted my spirits. The Egyptian people, at least the ones I met, seemed to love Americans. True, as in any tourist destination, there were numerous efforts to sell me things I did not want for prices that bordered on the ridiculous. In the tourist sections Egypt resembles Disneyland in it endless displays of “authentic” and “genuine” souvenirs. The salesmen take the act of barter as a challenge, prices dropping to half, to a quarter to one tenth of the original quote as they walk away.

One morning after a typically long day of sightseeing and being nagged to buy unwanted trinkets I reached a new level of despair. Who were these Egyptians? Was I nothing but an ATM to them? Was I just the fat cat American, a target, to be taken advantage of in revenge for Western exploitation of the Middle East? I walked to the balcony. There was very little of the typical smog and Khufu’s monument rose above the choc-a-block sprawl of Cairo. The sun turned one side to gold while the other was tinged blue from the lingering night. The vision lifted my spirits with pharaonic power; or perhaps it was paranoia in a new form? I sat at a table and wrote.

May the sun rise up to greet me. May I meet anger and fear with love and kindness. May I see wonder where once I saw filth. May I feel the breath of freedom in places where I have been imprisoned by doubt. My love of this world is not found in ancient books. It does not rise up from the ghosts of wise men from times long past. It does not wait for me “beyond this vale of tears”. I find it in the face of a friend and sense it in the hearts of friends I have not yet met. I carve this love stone by stone from acts of kindness that none can see, with the vastness of the power that maintains the universe, a power without a name. Right here. Right now. This power is with me. It lives within me and surrounds me. It is not magic. It is not religion. It simply is. Studying ancient texts, worshipping, praying, pleading only confuses me, distracting me from the love of life that I was born knowing. For evidence of the power of this love I need only awaken and act with kindness. This is a fact; a fact that frees me from having to find fault with anyone for anything.

Later…more Eygpt lives within and will soon come out.

Things I Hated At 25 That I Like Now…

A friend asked me to write down a list of things I like now that I hated when I was 25. Here they are.

 

1. Science – When I was 25 I saw science as a soulless, reductionist view of the world. To me science robbed the world of its "magic" and joy. Now science is a doorway to wonder. The more I learn, the more I clearly see how things work, the more beautiful they become. Understanding the mechanics of things does not take away their emotional content. My appreciation of life is more profound in the land of science that it ever was in the kingdom of magic.
   

 

1. Calm Discussion – At 25 I loved having heated debates. I still engage in them now at times, but they no longer the same appeal for me. I once heard Professor George Forell assert what he called Forell's Law: "The amount of heat generated in a discussion is inversely proportional to the amount of light shed on the subject." I was certain he was suffering from the early onset of Alzheimer's. How could one reach the truth without a passion for truth? Today, experience has taught me the wisdom of Professor Forell's words. The more emotional I become about a topic the more I reduce my level of understanding.
   

   
    

2. Being Free of Drugs and Alcohol – At 25 I needed drugs and alcohol to deal with the unpleasantness of life. I even thought and argued that hallucinogens and psychedelics would free my mind. Perhaps moderate use was possible, but at some point I crossed the invisible line into addiction. I remained addicted until age 40. Today I cherish the clarity of thought that I have found without drugs and alcohol. I do not think others need to give up drugs and alcohol. Far from it. If I were in charge I would legalize all illicit drugs, tax them and use the revenues to help people who wanted help. I am neutral on the use of drugs. Some people use them safely and well. I am not one of those, and thankfully I no longer feel the desire to "use drugs like normal people". Life is wonderful enough without enhancements.
   

 

1. Reality – As stated, at 25 I was abusing drugs heavily. In retrospect I think I simply substituted drugs for religion. I was raised in a very religious household. I think in many ways I was "addicted" to the certainty and dualistic thinking of religion. The answer to all questions could be found in the Bible which came directly from God Almighty. This certainty gave me great peace and comfort, but it was built on brittle dogma. Once the dogma cracked under the reality of life in an uncertain world I filled the void with drugs. Today, without drugs or religion I feel lighter and the sun shines more brightly.
   

 

1. Embarrassment – At 25 I constantly worried about what others thought of me, that they would not like me. I still feel this at times, but far less often. I may not be wiser but I am not fearful about showing my ignorance or even my ass when the occasion warrants. At the risk of sharing too much information, I will say that (for reasons to lengthy to cover here) I once stood nude at my hotel window, peed into a cup and then drank it. Some have and continue to see this act as a sign of insanity. I do not. No one was hurt, offended perhaps, but no physical harm was done. I sometimes wonder if our puritanical belief that the body and its functions are "nasty" is not a greater sign of insanity than peeing into a cup and drinking it. Not to worry. Such actions are not a regular activity on my part. Most of the time I even wear a T-shirt when I swim, so that people are not subjected to the "nasty" flab of the old white dude. I know the rules and obey them at least most of the time.
   

 

1. Uncertainty – At 25 I was still on the hunt for "the" truth. I thought my prey could best be pursued through metaphysics, philosophy and spiritual means. If I could only find the right teacher, the right book, the right meditative practice I was sure that I would achieve enlightenment. Enlightenment. Oh how I longed for that blessed land of the "truth" where I would once more feel the safe haven of certainty. Today I welcome uncertainty. How boring life would be if all questions truly were answered? I prefer the angst and uncertainty of skepticism and science to the smugness I had when I was on a spiritual path. When someone engages me in evidence free discussions of "truth" I am like the little old lady in the Wendy's commercial. I can't resist thinking, "Where's the beef?"
   

 

1. Periods of Celibacy – At 25 my gonads drove my life. Now, in part due to age and in part due to temperament I enjoy periods. Oh all right, I do engage in self-gratification and so I am not a true celibate. But I often find good friendships are destroyed once the Rubicon of sexual intimacy is crossed. People's self-image seems to be more tightly linked to sex than just about anything else I can think of, except religion. After sex with a friend one of us invariably seems to feel a need to for a "stronger" more committed relationship. Once this happens the friendship tends to be replaced by role playing. Instead of sharing from joy, I find myself sharing from duty. So, many times, celibacy is the best course for me. Besides, given my sexual ineptitude, a good conversation generally lasts longer and is more enjoyable.
   

 

1. Being Alone – At 25 I was desperately afraid of being alone. I spent much of my time thinking about how to make people like and love me. As I have aged, I feel less and less of a need to prove myself to anyone. I sometimes worry I am becoming the old codger who steals kid's soccer balls when they trespass on his lawn. Thankfully, I have evidence to the contrary. I often travel and have found myself starting up conversations with most everyone who will pause to pass the time of day. Coffee shops, grocery stores and book stores have replaced bars as places to meet people. Yes, I am the garrulous old fart who wanders over sticks out his hand and asks, "Hi, I'm Dale. What's your name?" Many people turn away but whenever I find myself in a new city I soon have at least two or three people who smile when they see me and who welcome a conversation. So, I guess in one sense I am not afraid of being alone because at long last I feel I am part of the human race a family of over 6 billion. With a family that large I will never be truly alone. I just hope they don't all show up for Christmas dinner.
   

 

1. Freedom From Causes – When younger I was very concerned about the fate of the world and solving its problems. I constantly looked around for the right cause to join. Once I found "IT" I pushed IT to the limit (at least mentally) and discounted anything or anyone who had nothing to add to the IT. I viewed everyone through IT colored lenses. Today, I have no causes. I do visit a few to argue my point of view, but I hardly ever meetings or participate in hierarchies. In fact, I am pretty much an "anti-causist", with one exception. Kindness. I have a goal of acting with kindness at all times. I am not successful but for me the goal remains valid. I could wax on about this, but I have done that in other videos. I will leave it with the simple idea that if I have a cause it is to act with kindness. I do this not for philosophical or religious reasons, but because kindness is like gravity for me, ever present, inscrutable and mandatory.
   

   
    

2. Myself – One of my least favorite things at 25 was myself. I felt I was broken, flawed and filled with sin. I spent the next 30 years or so trying to find a way to fix myself or be deserving of forgiveness and love. This was a path of great misery. Today, I have not achieved "enlightenment" and frankly I hope I never do. I might get the idea that I should start a church or something. Now I often have peace with being Dale, just Dale – unadorned, unequivocal and free from the need to prove anything to anyone anymore. I get annoyed with people tell me how much better life would be if I understood this book, this philosophy, this teacher, etc. They seem determined to invite me to think of myself as broken and in need of "help", or alternatively as a source of wisdom who should "help" others. This broken and healing or sinning and forgiving model of life has not been useful to me, at least in the long term. It places me on a path filled with illusions. Far better for me (and probably for others) if I live my life as just plain Dale – the weird old dude who likes to write, play with his grandkids, hug his friends and sometimes make videos – the kind of fellow that you might sit and share a cup of coffee with. I like this old dude. I think he is a fine fellow. He needs no fixing as far as I can tell, and definitely is not interested in "fixing" anyone else.