Attachment to Injustice

Irimi: <----click
To enter into an attack, without the thought of escape.

Commentary: For me, the most appealing of Aikido's beauties has been its applicability to all facets of life. When confronted with a shomen sword strike (a cut starting at the top of the forehead and ending at the groin), one can move to the right, left, back or permutations thereof, and will most certainly die. A seeming irony and paradox is that the safest place to go (and truly the only way to survive the attack) is to enter directly into the attacker, inevitably entering inside the lethal range of the weapon, throwing the attacker off balance, and reconfiguring his relationship with the ground.

To fully realize Irimi in daily life is to live in a way of intimacy with fear. To cut through the bullshit. Jumping into the abyss, centered, breathing, and therefore safe.
On the surface it appears ironic that the safest place is actually to fully commit yourself to entering in. In practice, it makes perfect sense. Irimi produces an unmistakable impression of reality on the mind.

How might we enter into the problems of our lives?

Without a thought of escape.

Gassho.


I'm ready . . .

Fall Nose

Font: Dig it.
Took the bike out to Secor park today and had just a grand 'ol time laying in the grass and uncomfortably reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I've read the book once already; it's been long enough.

One of my favorite things is to lay out in the grass or on the beach and feel the wind blow over my body. It always seems to "take me back." I have some vague notion/feeling of fall when I lay there. Which brings me to my next story:

Every fall, around the time that it just barely starts to cool off and the leaves say, "hey guys, bout time to get ridda all this green! Bitches!", I get what reminds me of an olfactory memory. Cept it's not so much the smell of fall (although it helps) which reminds me. Thing is, I'm not sure exactly what it reminds me of except all the other autumns I've ever experienced. I'm curious about the experience: it always gives me a pleasant and relaxed feeling, but the feeling is also vacant, empty, and alone. I always look forward to autumn, and it always seems to pass far too fast. Something about being in the woods in the fall that instills a sense of quiet and stillness. I wonder if it's kind of like a "death" that the environment undergoes before winter. I wondered today if, when my own death is here, I will feel the same way.

To me, thoughts of death seem very overwhelming. But as it were, it's always so hard when thinking about something, and so easy when you actually do it. And it is. I hope that death is something that I will do well.

Went to a party @ jake's last night. Met jake for the first time. It was a decent enough party, nice place, seemingly good people. Not my scene. I experienced so many parties like that one in my own college experience . . . nothing new there. Going to the party assuaged my thought that I should go out and "be social," but after being there for some time and getting buzzed enough, I'm glad that I didn't feel obligated to stay and the quiet at my own home after the party is what was really appealing about the whole evening.
Ideally, I'd like to go out to parties like that, or out on the town and get my fill (and it seems my fill has gotten a lot shorter) and then be able to go to a nice, quiet, peaceful home, and enjoy the company of someone that I care for. That sounds just grand.

I'm a gardner, dig it?

still waiting . . .

Lucida is in bed with my Blog

georgia arial Courier Lucida Grande Times Trebuchet Verdana Webdings.

Looks like Lucida wins.


I went for a fine run yesterday evening. Sun setting over the prairie, cool breeze. I warm up through the prairie almost every time I go to Wildwood, and almost as many times I see deer hangin' out there. What is our fascination with deer? I'm drawn to just gape there like an idiot like everybody else . . . is it because they're elusive?

It's been a quick week, and one that I will be eager to end. Such a joy with the stink of cool weather. And it's getting hot again. Too bad. Toledo heat . . . no likey.

I hate falling asleep in the laz-e-boy. I wake up feeling like ass. I hate falling asleep to TV as well. So invasive.

Had cool dreams this morning. Dreampt I was some sort of hideous queen-bug thing that represented an amalgamation of the Queen Alien, and some episode of Futurama. I was trying to escape, and going rediculously slow (of course), with a giant abdomen full of eggs (like queen alien). After I was relieved of my egg sac, I noticed that I had to instruments with which to help my escape (I also had some bug drones to help, but they looked a whole lot like people. I wonder if bugs have dreams of people that act like bugs? Ewwww). One of the instruments scanned my field of view with and intense, flat beam of light that they called a "laser". It was like Magnetic resonance or something, and the other one seemed to be an infared scanner. Cool shit.

Anyway, my point: I was eating some sort of animal meat (like a Really-big-chicken-leg) and then there were a bunch of apes running through what looked like a Day of Defeat map. One saw me, and the fucking King Monkey took my meat. Bitch. Is that Freudian?

let's hope so.

In what I Believe to be More Real

I took a medium sized motorcycle ride last night. Down to Secor park . . . the sun had receded behind the trees so my aspirations of falling asleep in it while letting the breeze relax my body didn't come through, so I kept riding. I was on my way back to Sylvania, through the countryside, sun setting over the fields . . . I had my helmet open because of a scratched facemask, and I'm glad. So many smells. I don't think they were the smells of autumn, but I was assaulted with memories on the way back. Memories of being small. Running under trees and smelling wood burning from a distance. The smells of random homes. Smells that don't have words attached to them, but the kind of smells I know that families smell every day, unaware that the scent is always with them until they leave for a time, and then return. It was lovely, and awful.

And I feel so lost. Not the kind of lost when panic sets in . . . the moment you realize you're lost. But instead well into being lost, like you've been lost for hours, come to accept it, come to see the depths of it, but still shy of being at peace . . . still the feeling of alienation. Like nightime, but the sun will not rise. Eyes that have gotten so used to the dark, the light is too painful . . . I close my eyes.

Penetrating honesty . . . to me, is healing.

I wonder what it would look like if I was drawn to a woman who was available. What would that look like? I see the same drama being played out. Attracted and attached to unavailable women, and then I get to reject them. And feel powerful, and not so helpless. I think that if I just talk with these women, and come to an understanding, then they'll be available. And I am good at talking, and I use all my experience at my disposal . . . and I think I can be very helpful. But . . .
It does not give to me.

It does not work. I thought that it would be healing to just realize that my current relationship endeavor will not work out, through no fault of my own. But it is not enough. Penetrating honesty . . . I have been drawn to unavailable women my whole life. Acting out a childhood drama that has been gone for over 20 years. But it lives in me. And it is true that I am full of love and affection. That is a wonderful thing. But I sometimes see it as a bitter irony . . . to be so loving, and to consistently choose women whom are unable to return it, through no fault of their own.

To me, there are no real "maybe's", "someday's", "time may bring us together's", "we'll see's". The reality of it is too obvious . . .

Why pretend?

I think it is more real, more honest just to say, "it is our misfortune; we are not capable of being together now." And the sigh of relief . . . . . . .
And I am in the present.

It is my misfortune. It is my hope that if and when I have children, I can be available to them. This pain must stop with me.

Gassho.

The air is still today.

Humility

Life is continually interesting, and if you let it, it will prove you wrong. I'm beginning to notice the tendencies of my own perception in regards to romantic relationships. It is very easy to write them off, with complete rejection. Utter denial. How foolish.

I am, however, refreshed to know that I am still full of love, and affection. And it's irresistible to me. And I realize that I want it in return. There is something very beautiful about two people offering each other affection freely.

It takes more courage that we give it credit.

I realize that when I view romantic relationship . . . I often associate a need to feel ok with myself, a sense of peace, safety, contentment. And I also think that that has nothing to do with romantic relationship. I find these things in my practice. I walk into the dojo, and I feel naked. I belong there.

It is important to separate the feeling of self-worth and vitality from the feelings that come up when being fond of another. Vitality. I want to bring that to my relationships.

When you do this . . . you find that many people do not have the courage for vitality. Enjoy it when you find one who does.

I'll close with a quote from Alice Miller's The Drama of the Gifted Child. I think y'all may be seeing more of these:

"The true opposite of depression is neither gaiety nor absence of pain, but vitality -- the freedom to experience spontaneous feelings. It is part of the kaleidoscope of life that these feelings are not only happy, beautiful, or good but can reflect the entire range of human experience, including envy, jealousy, rage, disgust, greed, despair, and grief.
But this freedom cannot be achieved if its childhood roots are cut off. Our access to the true self is possible only when we no longer have to be afraid of the intense emotional world of early childhood. Once we have experienced and become familiar with this world, it is no longer strange and threatening. We no longer need to keep it hidden behind the prison walls of illusion. We know now who and what caused our pain, and it is exactly this knowledge that gives us freedom at last from the old pain."

Gassho.

we are fortunate . . .

Confirmed

Had I the ability to be a whole person without any sort of sexual desire or drive or romantic interest, I would sign up for that shit. Ellen might say that I just don't have a very good understanding of that interest. And I would probably agree with her. It's just that it seems to get me into more trouble than good stuff.

Oh well, at least I'm not generalizing women. To be honest I've really only been involved with a small number, so it wouldn't be fair to say any blanket statements.

It just boggles my fucking mind that two people can seem very good for each other . . . but there's nothing. It's happened before, on a few occasions. On to the next . . .


I have this vague feeling that I'm not seeing something. Just a whisper.

Happy Surprise

Went to a party last night with Mondo. A bit of a get together with a friend whom I haven't seen in a couple months. Wore my bibs and tie dye -- lookin sexay. I think we lasted for about an hour and 15, being the sober pair. I sat in a reasonably comfortable recliner, watching everyone prepare their beers, smoke their cigarettes, and anticipate shwag. This was a different experience that I've had in a LONG time. I looked at the festivities and they were playing one of my favorite drinking games (closely bordering e, r, san).

And nothing . . . no desire to participate, just the thought that I could, and the memory that I used to.

The awareness that I wasn't getting much from being there seethed into my consciousness. I wanted to enjoy it, and I wanted to have fun. But . . .

Looking around at all the faces. You can see the drugs pull at the muscles. The general glaze of poisoned contentment. What a friend that used to be.

But where was the desire? Where was the difficulty? I imagine that some people in my situation might think they were getting old and boring . . . all I really wanted to do was curl up in bed, preferably with a warm, sleeping body beside me. That sounded like a good Saturday night. So I watched, and I looked at Armando . . .

and we just sat there looking at each other.

I wanted to say to him, "hey, I'm done. Let's bolt." But I felt a bit obligated to stay given that he drove and gas prices have their fuck machines doing double shifts. So I didn't say anything until he told me the urge to smoke was getting to him. Easy out, and I took it. It was surprisingly easy to say goodbye, and nobody really seemed to miss us, or notice we were there in the first place.

For the first time in a long time I didn't feel like I was missing out on something, like somehow, maybe this time I would get what I needed from these people. Connection, intimacy. It is not there. "We're gonna get retarded." And I imagine that's what they did. Not bad, not good, just a choice. But those clothes don't fit me any more.

To be honest I didn't want to go to the party in the first place, but I wanted to see Chris.

So, I guess I'm not sure what to say about it. So much anxiety has vanished, and I don't really want to smoke or drink at all. It's weird, and new, and old, and satisfying . . . all at the same time.

I've known for a long time that the life I need to live will probably leave many of my friends behind. You're welcome to come along . . . but there are no comprimises. Thanks for all the years of getting f'ed up. We had good times. That life is dead for me, making room for new, larger life.

Gassho.

irish rage

xanga sucks my butt. There's like zero freedom in code editing. Not diggin it. Even though I am a code virgin, I appreciate that it's there. This will remain my main blog spot. yuck yuck yuck. And, yes Will, there WILL be music.

oh, you can cut the puns with a rusty shelayley.

Possible relocation

I think that I may switch all my blogging to my new Xanga site. It's a pretty sweet deal. I mean, I get to have Music on my site! Check it out here.

We'll see how it works out. Maybe I can get a good posting program on it, cause theirs, like blogger's, sucks butt.


In the bad way.

You can Thank Me Later

Pour the Milk, Billy

Maxine, y'old bitch

Random: I really find that Koegel's hot dog billboard really vulgar. "Serve the Curve" . . . It may as well be "Slob the knob". Have you people seen this thing!? What is with censorship, they take out all the shit you want to see, and then give you a product which no one can relate to (thanks F.G.).

Less random: Thanks to all who were able to come to the party friday. You made it memorable (the good kind). Except Ziems . . . ziems, you suck. Stop being anti-social and drinking my guests' beer. I know you already stopped, but god dammit, you better be visualizing me shaking my finger at you like a polish babooshka. Tazi, tazi, tazi! Ed, you polish sonovabitch. I love ya!
Matt, stop drinking. I get it.


My mother is on a big Maxine kick. I think maxine is annoying, and not all that funny. Ironically when I went to make that link, the first cartoon I clicked on was amusing, but I'm willing to forget that and attribute it to drug use. I think my mom thinks she's getting old, and I guess she is. But, I guess what I see more . . . is that she's acting old. Not all the time, but she has her moments, and a sort of mental blocker that throws out the fun ideas and keeps the ultra safe ones.
I think that largely I have adopted this set of mind as well. You know that when you live in close proximity to another person for a long time you begin to adopt their habits. Actually I'm just assuming that's the case, cause what I really heard was that people whom are involved in an intimate relationship start to act like each other. Really makes you choose your mates, cause their idiosyncrisies will be yours. And visa versa. Wow, that's frightening. I can think of some f'ed up combinations.

You know, most of my Toledo friends don't read this. They suck anyway.



but suck good . . . schlongdinger! Ha, that's a funny word. Eat it, sucka!

My-CuRRent_LIFE

Man, this is some bullshit.

Dream analysis

I dreampt of buying hoodies last night. All were reasonably priced.

Needless to say I couldn't afford them. I'm poor in my dreams, too.

Them's was some good hoodies . . .

Good to get out, good to be back

Spent a great weekend in Columbus. Actually it was laddy, lassie, pot-o-gold Dublin. Mondo, Emi Jo and I went to a nice restaurant in an overcrowded mall . . . but I seriously had the best salmon I've ever had. Scrumptuous! We all decided it was better to have some random fun and when to a local skate park where we tortured small plastic bottles, apples, and a golfball. Satellites were spying on us . . . in jealousy, of course.

Saw the sun rise Sunday morning over a really nice conversation with emi. Sometimes you find the nicest things in places that you don't expect. How refreshing.

Mondo and I took a great route back from columbus. Mostly on Rts. 203 and 199. 203 has mucho curves and hugs rivers most of the way. We stopped at a resevoir where we waved to a lackadaisical family and almost sat on what eerily resembled human feces. I knew I smelled SHIT, Mondo!

Maybe catch an Irish fest this weekend, hopefully . . . then off to Cleveland for Ed's house warming party. I think I'll take him a bottle of sake.

Anyhoo, I gotta go register for classes. Hopefully I'll be taking some composition lessons. that equals happy justen.