Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Would you like cream or sugar with your dialectic tension?
...which would infer coffee.
....which is a flacid but adequate segue to bring us to today's subject matter: the dialectic springboard that time and somnolence can offer me. Huge, actually. You see:
I understand the dialectic tension as a force that can refine. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis. uh-huh. I have an idea or a proposition. I challenge it, let's say through dialogue, inner or outer, and if succesfull, like the oyster taking in an irritant and spitting out beauty, I come out with something new. Refined. I have moved forward.
The words, like many that present themselves to me, are tied to diaphanous images. I see an engine, a progressive machine that takes thoughts in, and through the tension of progress, produces something new but related at the other end.
Time and sleepiness both offer this for me, although right now their tension feels like it's just pushing my face up against a window; pressure steady, with no give yet. This would be the input of the dialectic engine.
I have seen into the kernel of time and sleepiness, but only in a limited fashion ~ usually the painful half of the whole. Which is ok, the pain is one of the drivers of dialectic tension. Time Shadechaser? How can Time be painful?
The clearest picture I have is of being on a ladder, painting. Summer job, look at my watch, 9:05 am. And the feeling associated with it is just...helpless, trapped, time. oh my god i don't like painting how long will this go on I've got to work for the whole day and oh FUCK it's only been 2 minutes how am I going to get through the next eight hours I'm bored what should I do...
And so on. Trapped in a miserable situation, not wanting to be there, wanting so much to be somewhere anywhere else but trapped TRAPPED as the clock marches interminably forward. Sleepiness hovers around - sometimes as a precursor to the trapped clock checking, sometimes as an escape route from the unpleasant feeling.
And of the two somnolence is, well, maybe not worse, but more dreadful. I contract, there is a heaviness around the eyes...I need escape...I need, I HAVE to have a nap.
Now I have progressed enough o'er the years to have a bit of insight and space around time and sleepiness, but my face is still up against the window. Maybe being rolled down a bit with non-dual inquiry with hsfh, but still a low dead pressure system hanging over my head.
When I am sleepy now, where does the Witness go? It is clearly there but clouded. But how can awareness be occluded?
When I am locked in and dreading time, I can have enough insight to step back as awareness and just watch the different sensations, but this process itself is timebound, and experience, and as such ultimately doomed to be sucked down into the Time hole itself.
So how do I deal with somnolenc-occluded awareness? And how do I remain aware outside of experience so that timelessness does not collapse into Time?
....which is a flacid but adequate segue to bring us to today's subject matter: the dialectic springboard that time and somnolence can offer me. Huge, actually. You see:
I understand the dialectic tension as a force that can refine. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis. uh-huh. I have an idea or a proposition. I challenge it, let's say through dialogue, inner or outer, and if succesfull, like the oyster taking in an irritant and spitting out beauty, I come out with something new. Refined. I have moved forward.
The words, like many that present themselves to me, are tied to diaphanous images. I see an engine, a progressive machine that takes thoughts in, and through the tension of progress, produces something new but related at the other end.
Time and sleepiness both offer this for me, although right now their tension feels like it's just pushing my face up against a window; pressure steady, with no give yet. This would be the input of the dialectic engine.
I have seen into the kernel of time and sleepiness, but only in a limited fashion ~ usually the painful half of the whole. Which is ok, the pain is one of the drivers of dialectic tension. Time Shadechaser? How can Time be painful?
The clearest picture I have is of being on a ladder, painting. Summer job, look at my watch, 9:05 am. And the feeling associated with it is just...helpless, trapped, time. oh my god i don't like painting how long will this go on I've got to work for the whole day and oh FUCK it's only been 2 minutes how am I going to get through the next eight hours I'm bored what should I do...
And so on. Trapped in a miserable situation, not wanting to be there, wanting so much to be somewhere anywhere else but trapped TRAPPED as the clock marches interminably forward. Sleepiness hovers around - sometimes as a precursor to the trapped clock checking, sometimes as an escape route from the unpleasant feeling.
And of the two somnolence is, well, maybe not worse, but more dreadful. I contract, there is a heaviness around the eyes...I need escape...I need, I HAVE to have a nap.
Now I have progressed enough o'er the years to have a bit of insight and space around time and sleepiness, but my face is still up against the window. Maybe being rolled down a bit with non-dual inquiry with hsfh, but still a low dead pressure system hanging over my head.
When I am sleepy now, where does the Witness go? It is clearly there but clouded. But how can awareness be occluded?
When I am locked in and dreading time, I can have enough insight to step back as awareness and just watch the different sensations, but this process itself is timebound, and experience, and as such ultimately doomed to be sucked down into the Time hole itself.
So how do I deal with somnolenc-occluded awareness? And how do I remain aware outside of experience so that timelessness does not collapse into Time?
Monday, December 29, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Separation Papers
My concept of death has passed through many topical gates of inquiry; past the millstone of "why"; passed the emotional moors of nihilism, travelled to and from (or through) the barren yet exhausting existentialist wastelands. Got snowblind in those, almost lost my way, on the way to finding it.
So I've matured in my concept of death somewhat.
Now, when I look at it, and this is in the light of several deaths in my life - grandparents, friends, friends of friends - natural, premature, or otherwise - now when I look at it the closest feeling I can associate it with is a separation profound and unbreakable.
My sense is that those who have passed enter into an impersonal state, where they can 'see' or 'be' with family, friends, their past - but are not attached the way to it the way they were prior to death. That, plus an absolute barrier where communication - at least in the way we think of it - cannot take place. I believe that almost all rules in life can be broken, often need to be broken, but this one - here's a way to think of it - it does not seem relative. It seems absolute. The ultimate separation papers, from who you were to what you now are.
And the sense that it is not nearly as hard for those who have passed as it is for those who are left behind.
And that is the koan that I'm wrestling with right now on some level. As well as what happens in deep sleep, and the answer there that confirms awareness as non-corporeal.
I've seen through my spiritual travels and travails that happiness is wed to sadness; anger to joy; suffering to pleasure; in the world of not-two, they are two sides of the same coin.
What then, with this feeling, this vague abstract that paints death as profoundly one-sided?
So I've matured in my concept of death somewhat.
Now, when I look at it, and this is in the light of several deaths in my life - grandparents, friends, friends of friends - natural, premature, or otherwise - now when I look at it the closest feeling I can associate it with is a separation profound and unbreakable.
My sense is that those who have passed enter into an impersonal state, where they can 'see' or 'be' with family, friends, their past - but are not attached the way to it the way they were prior to death. That, plus an absolute barrier where communication - at least in the way we think of it - cannot take place. I believe that almost all rules in life can be broken, often need to be broken, but this one - here's a way to think of it - it does not seem relative. It seems absolute. The ultimate separation papers, from who you were to what you now are.
And the sense that it is not nearly as hard for those who have passed as it is for those who are left behind.
And that is the koan that I'm wrestling with right now on some level. As well as what happens in deep sleep, and the answer there that confirms awareness as non-corporeal.
I've seen through my spiritual travels and travails that happiness is wed to sadness; anger to joy; suffering to pleasure; in the world of not-two, they are two sides of the same coin.
What then, with this feeling, this vague abstract that paints death as profoundly one-sided?
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
By the throat children
Strangely emotional. No reason why, just a lump in the throad that decided to come a' visiting. Snow falling outside in a placid cotton lint silkscreen between the balcony and the space and the sky.
Relieving Suffering
Maybe that's it.
I do get a thrill, a visceral jolt when I make people feel better. And it's something that I'm always trying to do. But how would that tie in to an advaidan worldview?
Distance and difference dissolve in That.
That's something I need to ask hsfh about. Dealing with the relative while anchored in the absolute.
Looking up; spiral webs winding down and around me dissolving into a silver fray at my feet. Stretch my arms out and defrock everything that is NOT me. Realization that what is left is not other. I didn't contain it, it shaped me and let me dissolve once again into it.
Tired tonite but pretty amazed at the grace that I've been given in this life. Even to get this far; through pain - of my own making and others; through discovery that the same heart that gave me flight can eviscerate me into the almost worse than dead; through cloistered beliefs and open space of awareness; through talent given and opportunity sacrificed on the altar of Id.
I must admit that this ttsj grace that I've been given seems almost too good to be true. Worries attenuated; for the first time in literally years and years and years, my sleep seems to be effective. I've gone for many nights over the last couple of weeks with 6-6.5 hours, which was never enough before to stop excessive daytime sleepiness. Hell, nothing was - I would get a day or two every month where by some godsend I wasn't falling asleep in meetings or in the commute, but it was never predictable or repeatable. Now, I still feel tired if I don't get a lot of sleep, but not I-have-to-have-a-nap tired. Absolutely fucking amazing to be able to function at this level after so many years.
The fear is that I will either adjust and be back to where I was or worse - think Robert Deniro in sleepers, a bit of hyperbole in the analogy but that's what it would feel like to some degree.
Also fear that I will squander this gift.
I've been here before; if only x was fixed, I would have everything I would need to do y. And then slip into old habits; addictive behaviour; unproductive schedules.
Choice is mine.
And I must remember that relieving suffering starts at a very personal home base.
namaste
I do get a thrill, a visceral jolt when I make people feel better. And it's something that I'm always trying to do. But how would that tie in to an advaidan worldview?
Distance and difference dissolve in That.
That's something I need to ask hsfh about. Dealing with the relative while anchored in the absolute.
Looking up; spiral webs winding down and around me dissolving into a silver fray at my feet. Stretch my arms out and defrock everything that is NOT me. Realization that what is left is not other. I didn't contain it, it shaped me and let me dissolve once again into it.
Tired tonite but pretty amazed at the grace that I've been given in this life. Even to get this far; through pain - of my own making and others; through discovery that the same heart that gave me flight can eviscerate me into the almost worse than dead; through cloistered beliefs and open space of awareness; through talent given and opportunity sacrificed on the altar of Id.
I must admit that this ttsj grace that I've been given seems almost too good to be true. Worries attenuated; for the first time in literally years and years and years, my sleep seems to be effective. I've gone for many nights over the last couple of weeks with 6-6.5 hours, which was never enough before to stop excessive daytime sleepiness. Hell, nothing was - I would get a day or two every month where by some godsend I wasn't falling asleep in meetings or in the commute, but it was never predictable or repeatable. Now, I still feel tired if I don't get a lot of sleep, but not I-have-to-have-a-nap tired. Absolutely fucking amazing to be able to function at this level after so many years.
The fear is that I will either adjust and be back to where I was or worse - think Robert Deniro in sleepers, a bit of hyperbole in the analogy but that's what it would feel like to some degree.
Also fear that I will squander this gift.
I've been here before; if only x was fixed, I would have everything I would need to do y. And then slip into old habits; addictive behaviour; unproductive schedules.
Choice is mine.
And I must remember that relieving suffering starts at a very personal home base.
namaste
Friday, December 19, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
GrIndia
That would be a lexicographical representation of my journey from there to here. Greece to India. Or I guess more accurately from Here to seemingly there to Here.
My memory is shite compared to most people I know - long term memory anyway - short term I can zone in and make it happen. Still I do remember the first book of philosophy I picked up - don't remember the title exactly, maybe it's around here somewhere.
Tish.
Anyways, the large image I have of it - still rings in my head to this day, is the discussion of nothingness and somethingness. Outside inside. All and Not All.
And here, at 42, I'm waking up (it's so hard with language to describe waking up. All descriptions seem to involve division. Waking up - means FROM sleep - that's distance baby, separation, and what we're talking about here is undivided being) and it's tying the knot in a significant way from then to now. Thing is now, there's more of a sparkle to it; a clarity; a coming home; a truth.
There's different ways I can look at it, but it seems to cut through a lot of the chuff. I can still muse about life's purpose, the right meditation technique, the right life I should be living, the right things I should be doing. But, using the razor sword of inquiry, I can slice through all questions and representational musings and look for that which is. And by recognizing that Is-ness, realize that even my pre-awake stage was part of the Is-ness.
I stand before me today, arms raised in sacrifice, to the group in front of me. Many voiced choir - different timbres, postures, abilities; different approaches, beliefs, and attitudes. Many different personalities, awaiting the aha-up-motion of my baton to inhale and ...
start
Hi falsetto from the back left, purity so disengaged from the blemished; so focused and pure; silver needle piercing me front to back, lifting me in a mother's swoon then soaring off into the background. Basso profundo rumbling from the front; a wall of vibration that catches me in the abdomen and heart; dissolving waste and distance; branding Eros then rolling away in salted thunder. Middle voice, but from both sides trying to find center. Straining journey, finding moments of solace and ringing behind the eyes.
And then
The fugue begins. Chords spinning Celtic wonder; flirting with infinity; tightening and expanding; creating and dissolving tension; creating and dissolving distance; sine waves like lovers spooning in closer and releasing into each other; one voice now, one stream of terrible beauty; coring me through center; lifted backward spread eagle; agonizing beauty and tension , then utter release; beyond mind; sex; judgement and distance.
Is
experiencing the
conductor
and the choir
the many
and
the
1
My memory is shite compared to most people I know - long term memory anyway - short term I can zone in and make it happen. Still I do remember the first book of philosophy I picked up - don't remember the title exactly, maybe it's around here somewhere.
Tish.
Anyways, the large image I have of it - still rings in my head to this day, is the discussion of nothingness and somethingness. Outside inside. All and Not All.
And here, at 42, I'm waking up (it's so hard with language to describe waking up. All descriptions seem to involve division. Waking up - means FROM sleep - that's distance baby, separation, and what we're talking about here is undivided being) and it's tying the knot in a significant way from then to now. Thing is now, there's more of a sparkle to it; a clarity; a coming home; a truth.
There's different ways I can look at it, but it seems to cut through a lot of the chuff. I can still muse about life's purpose, the right meditation technique, the right life I should be living, the right things I should be doing. But, using the razor sword of inquiry, I can slice through all questions and representational musings and look for that which is. And by recognizing that Is-ness, realize that even my pre-awake stage was part of the Is-ness.
I stand before me today, arms raised in sacrifice, to the group in front of me. Many voiced choir - different timbres, postures, abilities; different approaches, beliefs, and attitudes. Many different personalities, awaiting the aha-up-motion of my baton to inhale and ...
start
Hi falsetto from the back left, purity so disengaged from the blemished; so focused and pure; silver needle piercing me front to back, lifting me in a mother's swoon then soaring off into the background. Basso profundo rumbling from the front; a wall of vibration that catches me in the abdomen and heart; dissolving waste and distance; branding Eros then rolling away in salted thunder. Middle voice, but from both sides trying to find center. Straining journey, finding moments of solace and ringing behind the eyes.
And then
The fugue begins. Chords spinning Celtic wonder; flirting with infinity; tightening and expanding; creating and dissolving tension; creating and dissolving distance; sine waves like lovers spooning in closer and releasing into each other; one voice now, one stream of terrible beauty; coring me through center; lifted backward spread eagle; agonizing beauty and tension , then utter release; beyond mind; sex; judgement and distance.
Is
experiencing the
conductor
and the choir
the many
and
the
1
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Co Dependant Quilting
A reader asks "Shadechaser, I've noticed that marriges-in-atrophy commonly have discernable themes that can be traced back years to the courting days. Could you comment on this, preferably with a homey metaphor since it IS the Christmas Season?"
My readers are my most precious commodity, and far be it from me to not take suggestions from either one of them. Sure, I'd be happy to.
Marriages in atrophy can be thought of as an emotional patchwork of frozen patterns. Take co-dependency:
The marriage starts off amiably, but a pattern is developed early on, sheathed in good intentions. The wife acquiesces to make the husband happy. Or this, she believes, is her motivation. Doesn't want to rock the boat with him, better to take her husband's position in things and make him happy than come out with her own opinion and risk having conflict, however minor. So there is peace, or at least the appearance of peace. Problem is, as the pattern matures over the years (gets more emtionally embedded in the relationship, subtler, a living breathing entity that has a mind of its own) it darkens. The husband feels closed off from his wife; there is a subtle sheath between them; he is never getting the straight goods - naked honesty - from her. When he brings it up, she, of course, acquiesces and promises to try harder - but this is an endless loop for her.
So we have both of them:
Contracted, confronted, contracted, confronted. Constant in and out, but no FORWARD.
Take this pattern, add years and lots of fetid Id-Bits, and you have a nice, many threaded emotional patchwork you can throw over the marriage. It is equally effective at keeping things comfortable while cloaked; warm but detached; safe but muffled.
My readers are my most precious commodity, and far be it from me to not take suggestions from either one of them. Sure, I'd be happy to.
Marriages in atrophy can be thought of as an emotional patchwork of frozen patterns. Take co-dependency:
The marriage starts off amiably, but a pattern is developed early on, sheathed in good intentions. The wife acquiesces to make the husband happy. Or this, she believes, is her motivation. Doesn't want to rock the boat with him, better to take her husband's position in things and make him happy than come out with her own opinion and risk having conflict, however minor. So there is peace, or at least the appearance of peace. Problem is, as the pattern matures over the years (gets more emtionally embedded in the relationship, subtler, a living breathing entity that has a mind of its own) it darkens. The husband feels closed off from his wife; there is a subtle sheath between them; he is never getting the straight goods - naked honesty - from her. When he brings it up, she, of course, acquiesces and promises to try harder - but this is an endless loop for her.
So we have both of them:
Contracted, confronted, contracted, confronted. Constant in and out, but no FORWARD.
Take this pattern, add years and lots of fetid Id-Bits, and you have a nice, many threaded emotional patchwork you can throw over the marriage. It is equally effective at keeping things comfortable while cloaked; warm but detached; safe but muffled.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Breathe Me, Break Me
(:...Chuck, Dave, Colin)
Your face is bruised with charcoal
And the nite a tear of red
Absent from the emptiness
Hold on
Too soon for the mourning
Too late for the dawn
Do I celebrate your passions
Or break now that you're gone
(Chorus)
Thread time's ribbon gently even if it fails again
Through the tears of lovers
And the anguishes of friends
Fragile we may be but when we circle touching now
Breathe me break me breathe me break me whole
This goodbye will always be half away from done
Falling from the thunderheads
Into a midnight sun
I'll thread time's ribbon gently
Even if it fails again
Breathe me break me breathe me, make me whole
(:...Chuck, Dave, Colin)
Your face is bruised with charcoal
And the nite a tear of red
Absent from the emptiness
Hold on
Too soon for the mourning
Too late for the dawn
Do I celebrate your passions
Or break now that you're gone
(Chorus)
Thread time's ribbon gently even if it fails again
Through the tears of lovers
And the anguishes of friends
Fragile we may be but when we circle touching now
Breathe me break me breathe me break me whole
This goodbye will always be half away from done
Falling from the thunderheads
Into a midnight sun
I'll thread time's ribbon gently
Even if it fails again
Breathe me break me breathe me, make me whole
Virtual Cybernetic Extension Succesfully Implemented
Let me explain.
If you know me, or several member of my family, you know the horror of navigating from point a to point b unless there is a very clear, unambiguous and preferably graphically laid out route to follow. History has shown even that is not enough some times.
I have lost my way walking, driving, biking, busing. Never running, go figure. And in the woods I seem to be fine, again, antithetical to the problem statement but there you have it.
So, getting lost.
In a car is worst. Given my station in life, there is usually added pressure when I don't know where the HELL I'm going, given that somebody is depending on me to get them somewhere. Drop off. Pickup. Both. Add to that the fact that I am conspicuously and consistently late for most things, and you have the perfect storm.
Want to be self confident - not in a typical fucked-up man can't-ask-for-directions way, but in a lack-general-self confidence- most- of- the -time, behind- the -wheel -would -be -nice -so -I don't- look -like -a -complete -asshole way.
Now, along comes Google. And my new Samsung Jack. Google maps + GPS in the Jack = a fully functioning GPS.
Using this literally, literally changes my personality. I can drive stress free and confidently, and one of many neuroses is put to bed.
If I use it, however, and lose it - out in the boondocks, lose a signal whatever, the neuroses, anxiety and frustration jump back in the party lane with a vengeance.
So I am considering this a virtual neural implant into my behavioural and cognitive systems. Sound like an overstatement?
Try driving with me with and without my crutch.
If you know me, or several member of my family, you know the horror of navigating from point a to point b unless there is a very clear, unambiguous and preferably graphically laid out route to follow. History has shown even that is not enough some times.
I have lost my way walking, driving, biking, busing. Never running, go figure. And in the woods I seem to be fine, again, antithetical to the problem statement but there you have it.
So, getting lost.
In a car is worst. Given my station in life, there is usually added pressure when I don't know where the HELL I'm going, given that somebody is depending on me to get them somewhere. Drop off. Pickup. Both. Add to that the fact that I am conspicuously and consistently late for most things, and you have the perfect storm.
Want to be self confident - not in a typical fucked-up man can't-ask-for-directions way, but in a lack-general-self confidence- most- of- the -time, behind- the -wheel -would -be -nice -so -I don't- look -like -a -complete -asshole way.
Now, along comes Google. And my new Samsung Jack. Google maps + GPS in the Jack = a fully functioning GPS.
Using this literally, literally changes my personality. I can drive stress free and confidently, and one of many neuroses is put to bed.
If I use it, however, and lose it - out in the boondocks, lose a signal whatever, the neuroses, anxiety and frustration jump back in the party lane with a vengeance.
So I am considering this a virtual neural implant into my behavioural and cognitive systems. Sound like an overstatement?
Try driving with me with and without my crutch.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Greater than the Pieces
Dbm and I were talking about the visceral collective energy that crackles through a funeral gathering. Ipup referenced it too; holding somebody who's heart is so utterly broken that they are literally suffering from every pore.
And now, the flip side. Listenting to Awake by Scala, and thinking of what can be created when voices join together and create something bigger than the separate parts.
Haunting, ethereal, collective union reaches in behind the throat and eyes and pulls the soul out in naked fragility, if only for a few moments.
Grace.
And now, the flip side. Listenting to Awake by Scala, and thinking of what can be created when voices join together and create something bigger than the separate parts.
Haunting, ethereal, collective union reaches in behind the throat and eyes and pulls the soul out in naked fragility, if only for a few moments.
Grace.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
Laughter and Tears
Dbm and I were yakking the other night, discussing laughter - and he made the statement that humans were wired to need laughter / humour - just like love, food, and other things.
Couldn't agree more.
Out for a daytrip to Calgary yesterday to say goodbye to Colin. Pulled up to the church 45 minutes before the service, and hit the holding area just inside. There were a string of experiences that just grabbed me by the throat and pulled me into abject sadness...the end of a life at 37 - absolutely surreal, still expecting him to come walk in at any moment...his family, orphaned without him, his wife, his boys. And some of the little things as well. Table by the entrance to the church that had a some pictures of Colin, and his boat keys. Zoom in on:
Boat Keys
Insignifigant physical item to anybody who didn't know Colin; something that could have seemed cleft from Colin's heart for anybody who did know him.
Grief was everywhere; overflowing church; so many tears and embraces, just the saddest of saddest of sad. Tangible, choking grief.
Followed by laughter.
If we could have graphed the experience, it would have shown a descent into unimaginable pain, followed by relief of some sort. Nothing changed during the service; Colin didn't come bounding up in a Huck Finn-ish fashion and surprise us with his well being. Nope, it was more of having made it through one more thing around this tragic loss. And a significant thing. Sifb and her boys have years ahead of their 'new normal' where they are going to have to grieve, recover, and grieve some more. But they made it through the viewing two days ago, and they made it through the public goodbye yesterday. We all did. And when we did, it was time to laugh a little bit.
We headed back to her place and partied in Colin's workshop, and it wasn't as much about mourning as just being together, laughing, starting to heal.
It'll take a long time for them, and in some ways you never really get over somebody's death - especially at that horrifically young age.
But they made it through the tears, into the laughter, and each time the cycle repeats it will get a little easier.
Peace Colin. Peace Sifb.
Peace.
Couldn't agree more.
Out for a daytrip to Calgary yesterday to say goodbye to Colin. Pulled up to the church 45 minutes before the service, and hit the holding area just inside. There were a string of experiences that just grabbed me by the throat and pulled me into abject sadness...the end of a life at 37 - absolutely surreal, still expecting him to come walk in at any moment...his family, orphaned without him, his wife, his boys. And some of the little things as well. Table by the entrance to the church that had a some pictures of Colin, and his boat keys. Zoom in on:
Boat Keys
Insignifigant physical item to anybody who didn't know Colin; something that could have seemed cleft from Colin's heart for anybody who did know him.
Grief was everywhere; overflowing church; so many tears and embraces, just the saddest of saddest of sad. Tangible, choking grief.
Followed by laughter.
If we could have graphed the experience, it would have shown a descent into unimaginable pain, followed by relief of some sort. Nothing changed during the service; Colin didn't come bounding up in a Huck Finn-ish fashion and surprise us with his well being. Nope, it was more of having made it through one more thing around this tragic loss. And a significant thing. Sifb and her boys have years ahead of their 'new normal' where they are going to have to grieve, recover, and grieve some more. But they made it through the viewing two days ago, and they made it through the public goodbye yesterday. We all did. And when we did, it was time to laugh a little bit.
We headed back to her place and partied in Colin's workshop, and it wasn't as much about mourning as just being together, laughing, starting to heal.
It'll take a long time for them, and in some ways you never really get over somebody's death - especially at that horrifically young age.
But they made it through the tears, into the laughter, and each time the cycle repeats it will get a little easier.
Peace Colin. Peace Sifb.
Peace.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Just Whistle While You Work
And on we go. To bed at 12:40 last night, up at 6:30. Tired around the edges, but not whole mind tired, where I HAVE to go have a happy crapper nap, or the like.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Facebook 1, Shadechaser 0
I done been swallowed whole.
I guess it's possible or likely that the initial buzz will wear off, but it was sure an interesting ride. Signed up this afternoon, added a few friends - yes, I know it sounds smarmy - and wasn't expecting that much back, a few pings, basically a shinier version of something I was monkeying around with years ago on IRC. So I added my phone number for SMS updates, and for the next 6 hours, a steady stream of traffic.
Kind of touching, truth be told, that so many old friends were interested in hearing from me. Altho there is some karmic debt to be repaid, without a doubt. I've contracted into a pretty solitary creature over the last 10 or 20 years. Sometimes a sublter fade away, sometimes more obvious. But as KSI put it, I've basically been underground for the last 10 years.
So many lines of convergence happening for me right now. Went to Es Tufjo several weeks ago for some ttsj alignment, and my god, what a difference now.
Several months of malaise gone. Downward valley drift ... gone. Too much energy to know what to do with. Went to bed last night at 12:00 or 12:30, up at 6:45, it's 11:20 now - that' what - close to 18 hours? Not even really sleepy yet.
A little worried that maybe this has gone to the manic side a bit, but even if it has, it's better than walking around in a fog like the living dead.
I'm grateful, to be happy and awake.
I guess it's possible or likely that the initial buzz will wear off, but it was sure an interesting ride. Signed up this afternoon, added a few friends - yes, I know it sounds smarmy - and wasn't expecting that much back, a few pings, basically a shinier version of something I was monkeying around with years ago on IRC. So I added my phone number for SMS updates, and for the next 6 hours, a steady stream of traffic.
Kind of touching, truth be told, that so many old friends were interested in hearing from me. Altho there is some karmic debt to be repaid, without a doubt. I've contracted into a pretty solitary creature over the last 10 or 20 years. Sometimes a sublter fade away, sometimes more obvious. But as KSI put it, I've basically been underground for the last 10 years.
So many lines of convergence happening for me right now. Went to Es Tufjo several weeks ago for some ttsj alignment, and my god, what a difference now.
Several months of malaise gone. Downward valley drift ... gone. Too much energy to know what to do with. Went to bed last night at 12:00 or 12:30, up at 6:45, it's 11:20 now - that' what - close to 18 hours? Not even really sleepy yet.
A little worried that maybe this has gone to the manic side a bit, but even if it has, it's better than walking around in a fog like the living dead.
I'm grateful, to be happy and awake.
May I be Well
This, with a black background on my desktop, is strangely calming and ephemeral. Metta
Wastebook
This is what is has come down to.I have one friend.
Having discovered the great 'new' functionality that Wastebook foisted on the world about, say, 5 or 7 years before it was greasily birthed on the internet, I manfully stayed off it. Literally, until this morning, the closest I have come to it is signing up for an account to try and look somebody up. Gleefully fucked-off from that process when I had to send a will-you-be-my-friend request.
It's just...well, everything about it. Technology and concepts aren't particularly new, big-ass data grab and questionable ethics from those running the whole fetid mess.
It was a badge of honour that I literally had never officially logged into a Wastebook page that I held proudly until 10 minutes ago.
All my moaning and gnashing of teeth aside, it IS a source to keep in touch with people. i'm hoping to figure out how to do that via sucking info out of the behemoth, but not putting much in.
I feel like the virgin snow that somebody just peed in.
I am...not clean...
Monday, December 1, 2008
Hearts Heavy
Trying to connect your picture with your image, and your gone-ness.
Disconnect.
You are loved Colin.
Pain in Emptiness
Pain in emptiness; empty bed; empty truck; empty dinner chair. Pain in all his things that no longer have him. Clothes, books, mugs, sunglasses, hats, jackets...
Busy Good
When I'm busy, good. When the mind is free, Colin's face and memory flood me. Whole body sadness. God, the kids...
Hearts in Heart
Heart broken but awake. Keeping Rhea Johnny Roy Hoto David Cayden Jackie Wendy Pattie and a host of hearts in my heart
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