The depression I mentioned in my previous journal entry looked like it was going away when I wrote, but instead it turned worse and stayed around for a while. This isn't the first time I've gone through bouts like this, but it my reaction to it this time was different. Something in me stood up and said, "Enough is enough." The time has come to make some changes and deal with the depression, once and for all.
The O.T.O. members I talk to speak in reverenced tones about "The Ordeals", but not as something written in stone that comes down from the initiators or body masters. Instead, the ordeals happen on their own, at the bequest of the universe. The consensus is that, as soon as you choose to seek an initiation (either making the choice or handing in the application) the wheels of the universe are set in motion and the ordeal begins. Only Mark has given the details of one of his ordeals, having to deal with his 16 year old daughter having a baby. With my Minerval, it seemed to be LL crawling out of the woodworks. So this last weekend I decided to get the ball rolling for my First Degree and baptism at the next Gnostic Mass. This was about the time I decided to do something about the depression. This isn't a new thought for me, but after hearing the other people talk, I backed off from it, thinking it was written in stone that the ordeal would choose me instead of me choosing it. But then this fit of depression hit, and the uncharacteristic reaction to finally do something with it, and I had to reverse myself yet again. I think this is the ordeal. And if I am wrong? The effort won't be wasted…and the real ordeal will certainly find me.
Friday, March 18, 2005
Friday, March 11, 2005
Triggers
First let me report on the mundane happenings in my universe. ADP informed us all last month that we are moving to a common review date for yearly raises. April 1st for the raise, so the reviews get done during March. My last review was in November, so this one will be prorated for the short number of months. The money part of it has the potential to be rather nice, but I'm not sure this makes up for what a pain in the ass it was to do the review, especially when I have barely recovered from the trauma of my last review. But it was nice to be dealing with Johnny this time instead of Kris. I also found that my classification is Tech 3 - top for my department (but likely lower than reality). This is better than the Tech 2 they pasted on me after the acquisition.
The last several weeks I have been attending a 'Thelemic Magick and Mysticism' class at Amber's place, taught by Mark Anthony. While the quality of the 'class' is nothing to strike fear into the hearts of college instructors, the actual flow and results have been great. Every week turns into a pretty good discussion, even when it veers wildly off topic. But most important, the class has got me (and a few others) started on doing a daily practice. We started out with the first leg of Yoga and tried to progress though them one each week. This is an absurdly fast pace for true practice, but there really is no other way to teach it in a group such as ours. I have settled on a version of yoga that emphasizes observing body and mind, while not trying to control the mind. I'll move to that later. I'm up to 30 minutes of asana (admittedly it is sloppy asana), 3 to 4 times a week. It feels good.
Last weekend I made myself a white robe. I had two aims in mind. First, I needed to learn and practice for making a black robe for my first degree initiation. Second, I need a white robe for my confirmation into the ECG. The project took me most of the weekend. It looks pretty good on me, has no major flaws, but would make a real seamstress swoon in dismay. Among other things, I learned the black robe will have to have the edges all sewed up to keep end threads from unraveling in the wash. I'm hoping to purchase black material tomorrow and get started this weekend, then finish next weekend. Also next weekend, I'll be asking for my first degree application.
But all that stuff above is just bookkeeping. The real issues right now are depression and anger. It is odd that one of the results of the yoga has been to increase self awareness and observation - seeing the bullshit for what it is and separating from it. I would expect this self awareness to be good for me, but it isn't working out that way this time. It seems that the self awareness is only having an influence on the level of the intellect - the "thinking" Andy. On the level of emotion, the "feeling" Andy, I am - to quote Trent Reznor, "Down in it." It's an odd feeling, sort of like the ego-dystonic state that an OCD victim finds herself in. Here I am getting all wrapped up in bad reactions and feelings, while a part of me is watching it all happen, detached and separate, with a sort of shock and amazement.
The stage for this was set last week when Kate e-mailed her first play in our Scrabble by Mail game. She used all seven letters to rack up a hefty opening score, but with a word that she essentially made up. She confessed that it isn't in the dictionary, but that it was still valid for some bullshit reason or another. I plugged it into Google and found that Microsoft uses it as some sort of private geek term, but only in the same way half a million other non-words flash in and out of existence in sheltered settings. "Isobits." Whatever. So this put me in the position where I can either call her on it and be the asshole, or roll over and accept it, losing the game while allowing her to push my ass around. Great - I can lose, or I can lose.
This and other incidents set the stage for the depression, but I was still barely above it. The trigger point for down in it came a few days later, and was the most stupid and embarrassing incident. On the way back from the track on Wednesday, I made the mistake of swinging by the H.H. residence and trying to say hello to H.H.'s whelp. I was soundly ignored. So I just went away. But it really bugged me - more than it should have for anyone, and far more than it should have for an inbred shit like her.
[Redacted gripe and moan centered on wenches]
I must make one thing very clear at this point. The events above are not causes for depression. The causes are several and varied and tied up in all aspects of who I am and the little universe I live in. The events above are triggers. As such, they aren't the problem and really don't matter. If there is a problem to be addressed, it is to change how I respond to the triggers, not to make the triggers go away.
Despite my complaining, there is a good side to things. The discussion at the seminar was good, and the only thing better than a good group discussion is good one-on-one brain sex. I also finished my white robe last weekend, and it actually looks pretty good (as long as you don't look too closely). This clears on hurdle for confirmation into the EGC and I'm ready to make the black robe for my first degree initiation. And, to leave of this feel good fest, we bring up my favorite obsession - my weight has been staying down.
The last several weeks I have been attending a 'Thelemic Magick and Mysticism' class at Amber's place, taught by Mark Anthony. While the quality of the 'class' is nothing to strike fear into the hearts of college instructors, the actual flow and results have been great. Every week turns into a pretty good discussion, even when it veers wildly off topic. But most important, the class has got me (and a few others) started on doing a daily practice. We started out with the first leg of Yoga and tried to progress though them one each week. This is an absurdly fast pace for true practice, but there really is no other way to teach it in a group such as ours. I have settled on a version of yoga that emphasizes observing body and mind, while not trying to control the mind. I'll move to that later. I'm up to 30 minutes of asana (admittedly it is sloppy asana), 3 to 4 times a week. It feels good.
Last weekend I made myself a white robe. I had two aims in mind. First, I needed to learn and practice for making a black robe for my first degree initiation. Second, I need a white robe for my confirmation into the ECG. The project took me most of the weekend. It looks pretty good on me, has no major flaws, but would make a real seamstress swoon in dismay. Among other things, I learned the black robe will have to have the edges all sewed up to keep end threads from unraveling in the wash. I'm hoping to purchase black material tomorrow and get started this weekend, then finish next weekend. Also next weekend, I'll be asking for my first degree application.
But all that stuff above is just bookkeeping. The real issues right now are depression and anger. It is odd that one of the results of the yoga has been to increase self awareness and observation - seeing the bullshit for what it is and separating from it. I would expect this self awareness to be good for me, but it isn't working out that way this time. It seems that the self awareness is only having an influence on the level of the intellect - the "thinking" Andy. On the level of emotion, the "feeling" Andy, I am - to quote Trent Reznor, "Down in it." It's an odd feeling, sort of like the ego-dystonic state that an OCD victim finds herself in. Here I am getting all wrapped up in bad reactions and feelings, while a part of me is watching it all happen, detached and separate, with a sort of shock and amazement.
The stage for this was set last week when Kate e-mailed her first play in our Scrabble by Mail game. She used all seven letters to rack up a hefty opening score, but with a word that she essentially made up. She confessed that it isn't in the dictionary, but that it was still valid for some bullshit reason or another. I plugged it into Google and found that Microsoft uses it as some sort of private geek term, but only in the same way half a million other non-words flash in and out of existence in sheltered settings. "Isobits." Whatever. So this put me in the position where I can either call her on it and be the asshole, or roll over and accept it, losing the game while allowing her to push my ass around. Great - I can lose, or I can lose.
This and other incidents set the stage for the depression, but I was still barely above it. The trigger point for down in it came a few days later, and was the most stupid and embarrassing incident. On the way back from the track on Wednesday, I made the mistake of swinging by the H.H. residence and trying to say hello to H.H.'s whelp. I was soundly ignored. So I just went away. But it really bugged me - more than it should have for anyone, and far more than it should have for an inbred shit like her.
[Redacted gripe and moan centered on wenches]
I must make one thing very clear at this point. The events above are not causes for depression. The causes are several and varied and tied up in all aspects of who I am and the little universe I live in. The events above are triggers. As such, they aren't the problem and really don't matter. If there is a problem to be addressed, it is to change how I respond to the triggers, not to make the triggers go away.
Despite my complaining, there is a good side to things. The discussion at the seminar was good, and the only thing better than a good group discussion is good one-on-one brain sex. I also finished my white robe last weekend, and it actually looks pretty good (as long as you don't look too closely). This clears on hurdle for confirmation into the EGC and I'm ready to make the black robe for my first degree initiation. And, to leave of this feel good fest, we bring up my favorite obsession - my weight has been staying down.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Walter Mitty meets Adolph Hitler
The Yoga practice from the Thelema class has moved along to observing the thoughts without trying to change or control them. Just observe. The phrase I initially jotted down after the first time ding this was, "Floor show in the brain while doing yoga". I have since stopped calling it a Floor Show and started calling it a zoo. In my magickal journal I noted it was like a series of overwritten and overacted dramas, played out with me as the star of them all, acting a role that is an odd combination of Walter Mitty and Adolf Hitler. Having been forced to observe my thoughts like this may have changed what is happening in my every day mind. I am playing out fewer dramas and spending less time obsessing. For the past several months I have also had this same awful little 2-bar tune repeating in my mind, day and night. For the first time since it started, I realized a few days ago the tune was gone. This was something of a minor shock. The tune has since returned, but is less obtrusive than it used to be. I am also wondering if there is a connection between the yoga and my earlier complaints of some of my Monkey Boy reactions. I recognized my behaviors sooner and more completely than I am used to. In other words, I have been more self aware. I have also done better at asking myself how to change future reactions, and have come up with better answers. Having said this, I will probably by punished for my hubris by doing or saying something in the next few days that will truly mortify and appall me, maybe even getting me into a serious trouble with a friend or coworker. This will be the equivalent of the universe smiling, rocking back on its heels, and saying, "This is the real lesson, bub. The other shit was just a warm up."
Beverly is reading a book called The Brain and the Mind by a Dr. Schwartz who has also written a few books on OCD. It looked interesting enough, so I got a copy of my own tonight. The central thesis of the book is that the brain doesn't stop growing and connecting at a certain age. The adult brain has been found to have stem cells and to generate new cells, new neural connections, and new pathways. The way Beverly phrased it is that it is possible to get a new brain. Like the old quote, "If you want to be somebody else you'll have to change your mind." I also bought the CD Summertime Dream by Gordon Lightfoot. This was a pure and simple nod to nostalgia - this was one of the first albums I bought as a teen. When I listened to the album later I realized just how good it is. I found myself singing along with a few of the songs as if I had never forgotten them.
Beverly is reading a book called The Brain and the Mind by a Dr. Schwartz who has also written a few books on OCD. It looked interesting enough, so I got a copy of my own tonight. The central thesis of the book is that the brain doesn't stop growing and connecting at a certain age. The adult brain has been found to have stem cells and to generate new cells, new neural connections, and new pathways. The way Beverly phrased it is that it is possible to get a new brain. Like the old quote, "If you want to be somebody else you'll have to change your mind." I also bought the CD Summertime Dream by Gordon Lightfoot. This was a pure and simple nod to nostalgia - this was one of the first albums I bought as a teen. When I listened to the album later I realized just how good it is. I found myself singing along with a few of the songs as if I had never forgotten them.
Sunday, February 06, 2005
To betray the Bread and Salt
The Web Migration project at work is ahead of schedule and is really being a turn-on for the left lobe of The Wombat’s brain. It has been ages since something at work has really reached out and grabbed my interest. Part of why I like this project is that it is coming together so well - better than I had hoped, and better than what I told the boss to expect. On Friday it want live for Alpha testing. Most of the HTML conversion worked as planned, and it looks sweet as hell. There is still some work to do on it, if fact there is a lot of work to do on it, but so far the conversion program has things over 80% of the way to where I want them. If I wanted to, I could take support live on it within another week. But then the bosses would expect that kind of action all the time. So I’m going to stick with the February 28 date and get it as pretty as I can before that. At least this way I don’t run the risk of being late, it will look like a good job, and I get time to do the shit I know I need to (but the bosses never see as important).
There is other news at work that isn’t really good in itself, but has nice timing. We are all moving to a common review date in April and I need to do the whole PMF process again, even though I did it just last November. It is a pain in the ass and I never enjoy it, but this time it will come right on the heels of my completing the Web Migration. Even better, we may be integrating the web search into Vision (our call logging software) and I have already figured out how to enable importing the solution from the Knowledge Base entry into the Case (call log) in Vision. I am seriously thinking this might justify having Denos reclassify my designation so I get paid more.
I was thinking a few days ago about my decision not to write too much about my Minerval, and especially about the content of the ritual itself. I used to look at stuff like this as being no big deal, laughing at the seriousness of the Occult Initiation thing. I laughed (or at least scratched my head) at the way people take it all so seriously and pretend it is all so secret (and that there is something to be had from playing the secrecy game). But something happened after my own Minerval. I think I am beginning to understand. The fact is that the ritual was no big deal, at least when taken from my old position described above. But in the study materials I got from my sponsor a few weeks ago there was mention of the fact that you get more from it if you treat initiation with respect, as if it really does mean something. Expectation forms reality.
Before the ritual, I had trolled the internet looking for the text of the ritual, but didn’t find it. The O.T.O. must do a good job of chasing down the copies posted on the web and getting people to take them down. Either that or there just isn’t much interest in the topic. Then about a week ago I was looking for instructions on making a Tau robe for my first degree (something that is surprisingly scarce) and stumbled on a file claiming to have the texts of all the O.T.O. rituals. So I downloaded it and took a look. The table of contents listed them all, right up through the degrees that a schmuck like I could ever dream of. As The Wombat sat there looking at the screen, something happened in his fuzzy little psyche. First he had to see if it was the real thing, so he ventured into the text of the Minerval ritual. It was the real deal. Now the dilemma had teeth. On the one hand I could just read the scripts and it would be no big deal (this coming from the pre-Minerval Andy). On the other hand, it would be cheating. To look at the rituals, to learn the secrets he had not yet earned, would be to betray the bread and salt. So I made my choice. I printed up the Minerval as a study aid, then carefully closed the file and vowed not to look at it again.
I suppose printing up the Minerval was hedging, but my initiator hasn’t been available for questioning. G. has also been a bit scarce. So I’ll use this as a resource until I can dredge up a teacher or two. Another reason for not looking at the other rituals is that I know how initiation is supposed to work and what it is supposed to do. If you go into it armed with the script, it is all lost on you. I don’t want to do this to myself. I want to get the full bang for my buck and let the rituals work with me as designed.
There is other news at work that isn’t really good in itself, but has nice timing. We are all moving to a common review date in April and I need to do the whole PMF process again, even though I did it just last November. It is a pain in the ass and I never enjoy it, but this time it will come right on the heels of my completing the Web Migration. Even better, we may be integrating the web search into Vision (our call logging software) and I have already figured out how to enable importing the solution from the Knowledge Base entry into the Case (call log) in Vision. I am seriously thinking this might justify having Denos reclassify my designation so I get paid more.
I was thinking a few days ago about my decision not to write too much about my Minerval, and especially about the content of the ritual itself. I used to look at stuff like this as being no big deal, laughing at the seriousness of the Occult Initiation thing. I laughed (or at least scratched my head) at the way people take it all so seriously and pretend it is all so secret (and that there is something to be had from playing the secrecy game). But something happened after my own Minerval. I think I am beginning to understand. The fact is that the ritual was no big deal, at least when taken from my old position described above. But in the study materials I got from my sponsor a few weeks ago there was mention of the fact that you get more from it if you treat initiation with respect, as if it really does mean something. Expectation forms reality.
Before the ritual, I had trolled the internet looking for the text of the ritual, but didn’t find it. The O.T.O. must do a good job of chasing down the copies posted on the web and getting people to take them down. Either that or there just isn’t much interest in the topic. Then about a week ago I was looking for instructions on making a Tau robe for my first degree (something that is surprisingly scarce) and stumbled on a file claiming to have the texts of all the O.T.O. rituals. So I downloaded it and took a look. The table of contents listed them all, right up through the degrees that a schmuck like I could ever dream of. As The Wombat sat there looking at the screen, something happened in his fuzzy little psyche. First he had to see if it was the real thing, so he ventured into the text of the Minerval ritual. It was the real deal. Now the dilemma had teeth. On the one hand I could just read the scripts and it would be no big deal (this coming from the pre-Minerval Andy). On the other hand, it would be cheating. To look at the rituals, to learn the secrets he had not yet earned, would be to betray the bread and salt. So I made my choice. I printed up the Minerval as a study aid, then carefully closed the file and vowed not to look at it again.
I suppose printing up the Minerval was hedging, but my initiator hasn’t been available for questioning. G. has also been a bit scarce. So I’ll use this as a resource until I can dredge up a teacher or two. Another reason for not looking at the other rituals is that I know how initiation is supposed to work and what it is supposed to do. If you go into it armed with the script, it is all lost on you. I don’t want to do this to myself. I want to get the full bang for my buck and let the rituals work with me as designed.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Collisions and Conversions
Last Saturday Michael (my son) and I went to get him a new bicycle. It was fun, and it was also nice not having to mess with Kathleen being in the works (she is in Colorado dealing with her grandmother’s funeral). We were going to shop around a few different shops, but there was a good deal on a Schwinn at Bingham Cyclery, so we bought it. Michael really likes it and I think he is taking satisfaction from having paid for it with his own money. But yesterday, on the ride home from school, he managed to crashed it. He reached down to adjust something while riding, went a bit off track, and hit the back of a trailer. He claims he was out cold for ten minutes. I don’t doubt the out cold part, but the 10 minutes may be a stretch. The bike also suffered a bit of damage, but the guys at the shop managed to fix all the important stuff, and didn’t charge for the labor. This was pretty damned cool, and I think they just made a loyal customer of me. In fact Kathleen went back there to get a helmet for Michael, not even making noises of going to Wally World to get one on the cheap.
There has been an interesting turn of events at work. I have been pointed to the task of pulling the Knowledge Base out of the current format and search program and converting it all to a web based search. It has been interesting. Among other things, I get to extract over 5000 individual entries from a single formatted text file and shove each of them into a discrete HTML file. If nothing else, it will be educational. Most of the work has centered around programming tasks, writing one conversion program for the database search engine and another program to create the discrete HTML files from a single text listing. Then there is programming the search screens themselves and adding a few features into them that the good people at Inference didn’t think of (or maybe they did and I’m just reinventing the wheel).
There has been an interesting turn of events at work. I have been pointed to the task of pulling the Knowledge Base out of the current format and search program and converting it all to a web based search. It has been interesting. Among other things, I get to extract over 5000 individual entries from a single formatted text file and shove each of them into a discrete HTML file. If nothing else, it will be educational. Most of the work has centered around programming tasks, writing one conversion program for the database search engine and another program to create the discrete HTML files from a single text listing. Then there is programming the search screens themselves and adding a few features into them that the good people at Inference didn’t think of (or maybe they did and I’m just reinventing the wheel).
Thursday, January 27, 2005
To initiate is to begin
To initiate is to begin
But now that the initiation ritual is passed, I read this and have an initial reaction that I haven’t really started anything. But then I stop and realize I am doing some things, and some meaningful things, mostly in the context of Mark Anthony’s class. It has been good. Where the initial reaction and frustration come in is with looking at the suggested study list for Minerval and having the usual reactions of intimidation for never getting it done coupled with lust for having it all done and perfected now. This will happen in its own due time with steady reasonable effort.
A few days ago I finished reading The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed ben Clifford. Great book. The combination of humor, common terminology and metaphor really did the trick. Great book, and I’ll have to re-read it soon (and more slowly and carefully).
But now that the initiation ritual is passed, I read this and have an initial reaction that I haven’t really started anything. But then I stop and realize I am doing some things, and some meaningful things, mostly in the context of Mark Anthony’s class. It has been good. Where the initial reaction and frustration come in is with looking at the suggested study list for Minerval and having the usual reactions of intimidation for never getting it done coupled with lust for having it all done and perfected now. This will happen in its own due time with steady reasonable effort.
A few days ago I finished reading The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed ben Clifford. Great book. The combination of humor, common terminology and metaphor really did the trick. Great book, and I’ll have to re-read it soon (and more slowly and carefully).
Sunday, January 16, 2005
43 Skidoo & Gnostic Mass
In the immediate wake of my Minerval, my mind went blank - at least for writing in my journal. Then, starting a few nights ago, the thought started coming again. Fast, though not furious. I should have captured more of them, but life was just moving too fast and I never took the time. Nevertheless, here is a bit of what I remember.
An expected friend wasn’t at the Minerval, for all of her expressed excitement beforehand. It was a disappointment, but then my expectations wee misplaced.
Just after my Minerval, Mark Anthony announced the Thelemic Magick and Mysticism class to be taught weekly, every Thursday night at 7:00. So I rearranged my workout and work schedules and have been attending. So far so good. It has been a growing crowd, and only one loose wheel in the bunch (but a congenial and harmless loose wheel). Actually, I have given the loose wheel a ride home a few times and he’s a fit flaky, but then even as he acts the flake he’ll babble about a topic and have the most amazing information, both in quality and sheer quantity, roll out his mouth.
Once again, my initial impulse is to write something like ‘no big moments or revelations yet’, but then I have to stop and correct myself. It is true the heavens have not opened and, with the singing of the seraphic hosts, imparted to us secret wisdom in the voice of Metatron. But there have been some small things that, in thinking of them, may not really be that small.
First among these small things is writing an essay after the first week on “What is my Will”. It was good to have a formal writing assignment and clean the cobwebs from that part of my psyche. But this is also the first time I have taken on the task of formally defining my Will. For a supposed Thelemite, this is a profound indictment of The Wombat. Only after finishing the essay did I realize how vexing this omission was for me and how refreshing it is to have it corrected, even if the end result was the following:
I do not know what my True Will is
It is my will to find my True Will
It is my will to use the teachings, practices and brotherhood of the O.T.O. to find and realize my True Will
After the first class I had an interesting conversation about the situation with Kathleen and not having a lover, etc. It produced an interesting nudge in my outlook, albeit in a direction I was heading anyway. One of the things she ran by me was the “If you really had to” notion. “If you either had to get laid tonight or die (literally), you would be able to get laid, even if it was with Kathleen.” The point being, none of really needs the things we pine for. We get along just fine without them and obviously have some reason for choosing not to take the have to route and doing without instead.
Another good thing about the class is that we are all being encouraged (forced kicking and screaming) to begin a simple daily practice of Yoga. It has been educational and refreshing to get back into a daily practice. We have also been encouraged to record the results of our practices in a Magickal Journal, so that is where the details of my practice will be found (not cluttering up this narrative).
I attended Gnostic Mass last night at the shop above Jack’s Drum and Guitar. This was the second Mass I have attended with J.P. being the priest. The first time was over a year ago, and the man intimidated the hell out of me, as have others associated with the O.T.O. and The Mass. But this was totally different. As I helped set up for Mass, and as the ritual progressed, I felt myself the equal of each and every person there. I had no illusions that I was equal to them in knowledge or practice or accomplishment, but on the root level I felt no lower and no higher. We are all Men among Men (Women among Women). Since then, I have retained this feeling. I have also come to realize that my knowledge of Thelema and related ideas is on par with most of the people in the Oasis. I also have some small capital in experience, but not near so much as the others. But I have potential and I am working to realize this potential. It feels good to feel equal.
It was also interesting to watch Jeffery perform the Star Ruby in preparing for the ritual. Somewhat dramatic, but not the way I would have done it. I’ve seen other people do the ritual, and have made similar observations. This got me to thinking about rituals, and variations, and what it “right” or “wrong” in doing a common ritual. I have concluded that such variations are of little or no consequence - each mage does what resonates within the self. This doesn’t mean that you can depart wildly from the script without raising an eyebrow or two, or even having a short talk with the person in charge of an event (in the case of public ritual). But it does mean that, so long as there is a basic understanding of the core of the ritual, and so long as variations are reasonable, there is no right, no wrong, and no need to criticize. For example, at the beginning of the Star Ruby, is it said “So-Eeee” (the way I do it), or “So-Eye” (the way I’ve heard everyone else do it). I suppose I am “wrong” on this point, but it works for me, so I do it.
After that first class with Mark, I had an interesting conversation with Amber where we poked at the idea of desperation for companionship as opposed to dumping the desperation but placing the self in the path of possible companionship. In other words, just go do the things you love and don’t be surprised when you bump into that special someone. This isn’t a new idea for me, but I never seem to get off my ass and actually play the script to its logical ending. This was another nudge in the direction that I have been heading, and am mostly arrived at, that I just need to stop jonesing for sex. I’ve lived long enough without it, I’ll continue to live, so get over it. The more concrete result is that I’ve stopped obsessing on the young attractive wenches I encounter (A few members of the local O.T.O. and a fw more in the Provo pagan scene). Besides, as related, with at least Andrea there are plenty of reasons why anything with her could be real bad news.
On larger issues, I’ve been trying to find a balance between the two common extremes (at least for me) in my new association with the O.T.O.. On the one side I am resisting the urge to overdo the whole thing and spend every waking moment obsessing on it, surrounding myself in piles of books and grand numbered lists (after which I will collapse under the weight of it all and end up doing little or nothing). On the other side I need to overcome inertia, laziness and distractions. The deal is to find the sweet middle ground of a steady reasonable effort.
As a short random note, I’ve mentioned that the number 43 haunted my up to my Minerval. But 48 has also screwed with me - so what happens in 5 years?
An expected friend wasn’t at the Minerval, for all of her expressed excitement beforehand. It was a disappointment, but then my expectations wee misplaced.
Just after my Minerval, Mark Anthony announced the Thelemic Magick and Mysticism class to be taught weekly, every Thursday night at 7:00. So I rearranged my workout and work schedules and have been attending. So far so good. It has been a growing crowd, and only one loose wheel in the bunch (but a congenial and harmless loose wheel). Actually, I have given the loose wheel a ride home a few times and he’s a fit flaky, but then even as he acts the flake he’ll babble about a topic and have the most amazing information, both in quality and sheer quantity, roll out his mouth.
Once again, my initial impulse is to write something like ‘no big moments or revelations yet’, but then I have to stop and correct myself. It is true the heavens have not opened and, with the singing of the seraphic hosts, imparted to us secret wisdom in the voice of Metatron. But there have been some small things that, in thinking of them, may not really be that small.
First among these small things is writing an essay after the first week on “What is my Will”. It was good to have a formal writing assignment and clean the cobwebs from that part of my psyche. But this is also the first time I have taken on the task of formally defining my Will. For a supposed Thelemite, this is a profound indictment of The Wombat. Only after finishing the essay did I realize how vexing this omission was for me and how refreshing it is to have it corrected, even if the end result was the following:
I do not know what my True Will is
It is my will to find my True Will
It is my will to use the teachings, practices and brotherhood of the O.T.O. to find and realize my True Will
After the first class I had an interesting conversation about the situation with Kathleen and not having a lover, etc. It produced an interesting nudge in my outlook, albeit in a direction I was heading anyway. One of the things she ran by me was the “If you really had to” notion. “If you either had to get laid tonight or die (literally), you would be able to get laid, even if it was with Kathleen.” The point being, none of really needs the things we pine for. We get along just fine without them and obviously have some reason for choosing not to take the have to route and doing without instead.
Another good thing about the class is that we are all being encouraged (forced kicking and screaming) to begin a simple daily practice of Yoga. It has been educational and refreshing to get back into a daily practice. We have also been encouraged to record the results of our practices in a Magickal Journal, so that is where the details of my practice will be found (not cluttering up this narrative).
I attended Gnostic Mass last night at the shop above Jack’s Drum and Guitar. This was the second Mass I have attended with J.P. being the priest. The first time was over a year ago, and the man intimidated the hell out of me, as have others associated with the O.T.O. and The Mass. But this was totally different. As I helped set up for Mass, and as the ritual progressed, I felt myself the equal of each and every person there. I had no illusions that I was equal to them in knowledge or practice or accomplishment, but on the root level I felt no lower and no higher. We are all Men among Men (Women among Women). Since then, I have retained this feeling. I have also come to realize that my knowledge of Thelema and related ideas is on par with most of the people in the Oasis. I also have some small capital in experience, but not near so much as the others. But I have potential and I am working to realize this potential. It feels good to feel equal.
It was also interesting to watch Jeffery perform the Star Ruby in preparing for the ritual. Somewhat dramatic, but not the way I would have done it. I’ve seen other people do the ritual, and have made similar observations. This got me to thinking about rituals, and variations, and what it “right” or “wrong” in doing a common ritual. I have concluded that such variations are of little or no consequence - each mage does what resonates within the self. This doesn’t mean that you can depart wildly from the script without raising an eyebrow or two, or even having a short talk with the person in charge of an event (in the case of public ritual). But it does mean that, so long as there is a basic understanding of the core of the ritual, and so long as variations are reasonable, there is no right, no wrong, and no need to criticize. For example, at the beginning of the Star Ruby, is it said “So-Eeee” (the way I do it), or “So-Eye” (the way I’ve heard everyone else do it). I suppose I am “wrong” on this point, but it works for me, so I do it.
After that first class with Mark, I had an interesting conversation with Amber where we poked at the idea of desperation for companionship as opposed to dumping the desperation but placing the self in the path of possible companionship. In other words, just go do the things you love and don’t be surprised when you bump into that special someone. This isn’t a new idea for me, but I never seem to get off my ass and actually play the script to its logical ending. This was another nudge in the direction that I have been heading, and am mostly arrived at, that I just need to stop jonesing for sex. I’ve lived long enough without it, I’ll continue to live, so get over it. The more concrete result is that I’ve stopped obsessing on the young attractive wenches I encounter (A few members of the local O.T.O. and a fw more in the Provo pagan scene). Besides, as related, with at least Andrea there are plenty of reasons why anything with her could be real bad news.
On larger issues, I’ve been trying to find a balance between the two common extremes (at least for me) in my new association with the O.T.O.. On the one side I am resisting the urge to overdo the whole thing and spend every waking moment obsessing on it, surrounding myself in piles of books and grand numbered lists (after which I will collapse under the weight of it all and end up doing little or nothing). On the other side I need to overcome inertia, laziness and distractions. The deal is to find the sweet middle ground of a steady reasonable effort.
As a short random note, I’ve mentioned that the number 43 haunted my up to my Minerval. But 48 has also screwed with me - so what happens in 5 years?
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Minerval
Existential angst tour 2005. 5:20 PM at Steamers. I took out my Minerval initiation today. It was at D.H.'s place, with D. officiating. True to my previous journal entry, I studiously avoided doing anything to prepare. To initiate is to begin. So I knew that the ritual was the time to begin. So I didn’t begin before the beginning. It was interesting, but if I write anything at all about it, it will be after I’ve had some time to digest the events.
Driving home, as I hit the freeway entrance, I was thinking to myself that I sure didn’t feel any different. But then I realized that...it was a beginning. Not the end. So I wasn’t supposed to feel different or changed or complete or anything. I was supposed to begin. Actually, we had a conversation earlier that rituals do that - they leave you feeling like, “So what?” Then the next morning you wake up in a totally different world. But as of now, I’m just the same old guy, with the same old ache in the pit of my stomach on the drive home, the same doubts, etc.
Before going home I headed north to the cemetery to pay homage to my dad. Then, I allowed my car to drive me to Golden Braid. Lo and behold, there was Bill, formerly of the O.T.O.. (He does tarot reads there). It was an uncomfortable conversation for the first bit. At first I didn’t want to mention the Minerval, but when I did it actually brightened him up a bit. Somewhere in there I said thank you to him “for all he had done.” His brows knit in question marks. Then I told him I understood his questioning, but he really had done something for me. What I didn’t tell him was that the conversation at Pagan Pride Day, and helping with the mass, really made up my mind to take this path.
Driving home, as I hit the freeway entrance, I was thinking to myself that I sure didn’t feel any different. But then I realized that...it was a beginning. Not the end. So I wasn’t supposed to feel different or changed or complete or anything. I was supposed to begin. Actually, we had a conversation earlier that rituals do that - they leave you feeling like, “So what?” Then the next morning you wake up in a totally different world. But as of now, I’m just the same old guy, with the same old ache in the pit of my stomach on the drive home, the same doubts, etc.
Before going home I headed north to the cemetery to pay homage to my dad. Then, I allowed my car to drive me to Golden Braid. Lo and behold, there was Bill, formerly of the O.T.O.. (He does tarot reads there). It was an uncomfortable conversation for the first bit. At first I didn’t want to mention the Minerval, but when I did it actually brightened him up a bit. Somewhere in there I said thank you to him “for all he had done.” His brows knit in question marks. Then I told him I understood his questioning, but he really had done something for me. What I didn’t tell him was that the conversation at Pagan Pride Day, and helping with the mass, really made up my mind to take this path.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Small Sacrifices
In her novel The Sea Priestess, Dione Fortune stated that any true temple demands a sacrifice. In this story the sacrifice was the retarded son of one of the workman constructing the edifice. In Kate's life, this was her cat "Soji" who died the week before she opened her shop A Different Path. Earlier this evening, Kathleen and I buried Smudge, out beloved cat, a Siamese/Calico mix, just to the west of the circle in our back yard. Tomorrow, my 43rd birthday, I will take out my Minerval initiation into the O.T.O..
All of my life, since puberty(?!?), the number 43 has dogged me - not always nipping at my heels, but waiting for the moment that I would barely forget it, then rising up and giving me a friendly bite on the ass, thus restoring its small place in my psyche: Scout Troop 43, route 43 for the Daily Herald (my first job), numbers assigned to me in school and such. I had intended to take my Minerval at least a year earlier, but things conspired against me. First there was stuff with Kathleen (such as nursing he when she hurt her shoulder, time spent out of the country, etc.), then trying to set it up with Bill and having that fall apart. Then things turned around when I found out about Mass at Pam’s (which was actually intended to be a members only event). I got the papers there (as recounted above) and everything just fell into place for the 8th. Shazam.
The one thing that bothers me in this script - the one thing I can't quantify, figure out, and place a measure to - is the fact that it wasn’t my cat that was the sacrifice, but Kathleen’s, or better still Shannon’s. Why would some one else sacrifice for my temple? But then, in the novel, it was the son of the workman, not of the priestess, that was let go.
All of my life, since puberty(?!?), the number 43 has dogged me - not always nipping at my heels, but waiting for the moment that I would barely forget it, then rising up and giving me a friendly bite on the ass, thus restoring its small place in my psyche: Scout Troop 43, route 43 for the Daily Herald (my first job), numbers assigned to me in school and such. I had intended to take my Minerval at least a year earlier, but things conspired against me. First there was stuff with Kathleen (such as nursing he when she hurt her shoulder, time spent out of the country, etc.), then trying to set it up with Bill and having that fall apart. Then things turned around when I found out about Mass at Pam’s (which was actually intended to be a members only event). I got the papers there (as recounted above) and everything just fell into place for the 8th. Shazam.
The one thing that bothers me in this script - the one thing I can't quantify, figure out, and place a measure to - is the fact that it wasn’t my cat that was the sacrifice, but Kathleen’s, or better still Shannon’s. Why would some one else sacrifice for my temple? But then, in the novel, it was the son of the workman, not of the priestess, that was let go.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Tits on a Platter Vs. Kenya Dark
Yesterday was another Saturday without mail delivery. The family stayed up to ring in the new year. I went to bed an hour early, having lost a battle to the effects of swilling down an entire bottle of Champagne (extra dry). This morning's missive is being written at Juice and Java. I've given up on Steamers, for a little while at least, as being a bad place to try to write or read. They also don't open early enough on Sundays. I sort of hate to admit it, but the people at Steamers are (how do a say this) a bit below what would prefer to associate with. I speak this mainly in terms of conduct and motivation. If I have to look at the barista's 'tits on a platter' show one more time, I'll lose all self control and say something she will regret. Perhaps I will someday tell the other barista to just shut up and stop being the Universal Instant Expert.
Bonus - I just discovered, to my delight, that the Kenya Dark they serve here at J&J has a real punch to it.
Last week was a short one at work, with one day trimmed off the front for Christmas, and another off the end for New Years Eve. I'm really getting sick of time off. I don't get enough done at work and I don't have anything lined up at home to make my time there worthwhile. Wait. I misstate. I have plenty to do at home, this being proved by the list on the computer that I just took a peek at. The real problem is that I allow myself to get waylaid by the diversions and distractions. It will be good to return to work for a long string of full work weeks. Much to do, and for once it is the right stuff (not fruitless diversions) and only a bit behind schedule.
Last Wednesday was a class at the Sprague Branch Library, put on by the O.T.O.. The original plan was for Gretchen to present on the Mystic Rose, but she had to cancel. Too bad, because a part of me was curious to see if our previous conversation would come up and continue itself. But the class we did get was well worth the time. Thomas did a presentation on Vibrating Holy Names. It had a lot of overlap with the CM presentation in Phoenix. It confirmed some things from that class, then complemented and expanded others. It was good.
Thursday on the way home for my extended weekend, I purchased a copy of The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford by Lon Milo DuQuette. I had seen the book and would have dismissed it if not for the author. Then it was recommended by Thomas, then I learned that another of DuQuette's books, The Magick of Aleister Crowley, is recommended on the O.T.O. main web page as a better beginner's manual for the fledgling Thelemite than Magick in Theory and Practice (which is said to be better suited to more advanced students). So...... I bought it. So far I am still in the first few chapters, so it is all about laying the paving stones and not yet about traveling the path, but it has offered some good insights and some better laughs. It looks like money well spent.
As to The Magick of Aleister Crowley, I have two copies on the way from Amazon - one for me and one for Kate. She wanted me to send her a book that would let her know what is going on with these crazy Thelemites (or something like that). I phrased it in terms of wanting to know what is going on with the Andy, but she said that was wrong - that is was the O.T.O. and CM thing. This didn't really ring true to me, but then I think between conversations with me and other recent exposures to the CM/O.T.O. gestalt, she may have concluded that she really doesn't know what is going on with the whole thing. Or as an alternate theory, I think she took one sliver of Ceremonial Magick and assumed it applies to every person who chooses to wear the CM label - sort of like meeting a fringe member of the Mormon church (as portrayed in any of a hundred Pat Bagley cartoons) and assuming all Mormons are like this. It could be fun reading the books in tandem and having a few good conversations.
The big news came last night. About 10:00 PM I got a call from Pam. My Minerval is scheduled for noon next Saturday. It will be at Dave's place.
While out walking yesterday I was wondering how to prepare for the Minerval. Then I realized that the Minerval is not 'to be prepared for'. It marks the beginning of the time of preparation, with the first degree ritual being the object of preparations. So I smiled inwardly and determined to just live life and not do anything special to prepare. Just make sure I am sober and rested and in the right place at the right time. Wait for the books to come in from Amazon. Read the Chicken Qabalah. Get the UNIX docs wrapped up from work. Normal life.
The same problem, but on a lower plane, is with the new year. I was tempted to mark the new year with some sort of 'must do something' reaction, then had to remind myself that my year begins on the eighth. I don't have any plans for the Existential Angst Tour, and I don't think plans are needed. For Saturday, my hands will be full with the Minerval. For Sunday, that is when I will plan the next year. No matter where I go, there I am. So the planning (or The Tour) might take place at home - no....not at home... - in one or more coffee shops, a Denny's, the Mall, a local park, or something like that. Just find a place where Andy can have a private conversation with Andy.
Bonus - I just discovered, to my delight, that the Kenya Dark they serve here at J&J has a real punch to it.
Last week was a short one at work, with one day trimmed off the front for Christmas, and another off the end for New Years Eve. I'm really getting sick of time off. I don't get enough done at work and I don't have anything lined up at home to make my time there worthwhile. Wait. I misstate. I have plenty to do at home, this being proved by the list on the computer that I just took a peek at. The real problem is that I allow myself to get waylaid by the diversions and distractions. It will be good to return to work for a long string of full work weeks. Much to do, and for once it is the right stuff (not fruitless diversions) and only a bit behind schedule.
Last Wednesday was a class at the Sprague Branch Library, put on by the O.T.O.. The original plan was for Gretchen to present on the Mystic Rose, but she had to cancel. Too bad, because a part of me was curious to see if our previous conversation would come up and continue itself. But the class we did get was well worth the time. Thomas did a presentation on Vibrating Holy Names. It had a lot of overlap with the CM presentation in Phoenix. It confirmed some things from that class, then complemented and expanded others. It was good.
Thursday on the way home for my extended weekend, I purchased a copy of The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford by Lon Milo DuQuette. I had seen the book and would have dismissed it if not for the author. Then it was recommended by Thomas, then I learned that another of DuQuette's books, The Magick of Aleister Crowley, is recommended on the O.T.O. main web page as a better beginner's manual for the fledgling Thelemite than Magick in Theory and Practice (which is said to be better suited to more advanced students). So...... I bought it. So far I am still in the first few chapters, so it is all about laying the paving stones and not yet about traveling the path, but it has offered some good insights and some better laughs. It looks like money well spent.
As to The Magick of Aleister Crowley, I have two copies on the way from Amazon - one for me and one for Kate. She wanted me to send her a book that would let her know what is going on with these crazy Thelemites (or something like that). I phrased it in terms of wanting to know what is going on with the Andy, but she said that was wrong - that is was the O.T.O. and CM thing. This didn't really ring true to me, but then I think between conversations with me and other recent exposures to the CM/O.T.O. gestalt, she may have concluded that she really doesn't know what is going on with the whole thing. Or as an alternate theory, I think she took one sliver of Ceremonial Magick and assumed it applies to every person who chooses to wear the CM label - sort of like meeting a fringe member of the Mormon church (as portrayed in any of a hundred Pat Bagley cartoons) and assuming all Mormons are like this. It could be fun reading the books in tandem and having a few good conversations.
The big news came last night. About 10:00 PM I got a call from Pam. My Minerval is scheduled for noon next Saturday. It will be at Dave's place.
While out walking yesterday I was wondering how to prepare for the Minerval. Then I realized that the Minerval is not 'to be prepared for'. It marks the beginning of the time of preparation, with the first degree ritual being the object of preparations. So I smiled inwardly and determined to just live life and not do anything special to prepare. Just make sure I am sober and rested and in the right place at the right time. Wait for the books to come in from Amazon. Read the Chicken Qabalah. Get the UNIX docs wrapped up from work. Normal life.
The same problem, but on a lower plane, is with the new year. I was tempted to mark the new year with some sort of 'must do something' reaction, then had to remind myself that my year begins on the eighth. I don't have any plans for the Existential Angst Tour, and I don't think plans are needed. For Saturday, my hands will be full with the Minerval. For Sunday, that is when I will plan the next year. No matter where I go, there I am. So the planning (or The Tour) might take place at home - no....not at home... - in one or more coffee shops, a Denny's, the Mall, a local park, or something like that. Just find a place where Andy can have a private conversation with Andy.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Saturday Without Mail Delivery
Yesterday was, as I was gleefully telling myself, not Christmas. It was "Saturday without mail delivery". There was the usual up early and open gifts, but then the house emptied at 8:30 and I was alone for nearly 12 hours. The wife and kids started with a breakfast at Heather's then moved on to spend that day with Kathleen's mother. This left me blissfully alone. It ended up being a good day. I ditched my lists and just did what I felt like, lots of computer time, burned a few yiff discs, dressed up some documents for work, worked out, walked, and drank a fairly nice bottle of Australian Shiraz. About mid day I took my brain out for a walk, and was thinking to myself that there are people who would feel sorry for me, spending the day alone. So I stopped and asked myself how I was doing. I realized that I really WAS enjoying the day. It was great. The was also when I decided that it was Saturday Without Mail Delivery.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Ziggy Stardust and Mack the Knife
What did the church fathers said about the 35th birthday? That you will be JUST LIKE THIS in the resurrection. Today would have been Rick's 35th. If he was still around, I am sure that I would be forcing him to endure the horrors of a party, and a central theme would be to list everything wrong with him and inform him that he was stuck with this for ALL OF ETERNITY. Buwah-ha-ha-ha. I guess I could go on about it, but it all boils down to one thing - I miss the asshole.
One small note - it seems that Rick shares a birthday with Frank Sinatra, just like I share with Elvis and Ziggy Stardust. It seems very fitting.
Last week I quit the Coven here in Provo. We were supposed to meet last Sunday at Steamers. I showed up and found out the hard way that there really wasn't a meeting. I then spent a half hour listening to one member (and employee of the shop) complain about life in general and the coven leader in particular. Then Thursday rolled around and I was looking at coven meeting that night. I realized that I really wasn't looking forward to it, and that if I wasn't looking forward to it then I shouldn't be going. I spent a while thinking it over, especially comparing to my feelings about the O.T.O., where I always looked forward to the meetings. On top of that was the realization that I wouldn't have the time in my schedule to handle both the Coven and the O.T.O.. So I headed over to Steamers and told the woman who was doing the complaining of my decision and to pass the message along to the fearless leader.
In the theatre of the mind, I imagined the leader might put me to some sort of grilling and try to find out what was 'wrong' or what 'the cause' was for me quitting. I determined to tell her that it just wasn't a good fit, nothing wrong with them, but it didn't resonate with me, and that was all. Last night she called to give me her new phone number then asked why I quit. Much to my delight, she accepted my well rehearsed explanation with grace and kindness, and all was good.
Once again I find myself at the end of the year with unused vacation days on my schedule at work. So I am taking Fridays off work again. In some ways it is nice, in others it isn't working put as well as it has in the past. Instead of using the time to play, I've been trying to get things done. Even things from work. For example, on the first Friday (last weekend) I completed some training I had committed to at work. But it went slower than it should have, and most of the time I had Kathleen over my left shoulder at her desk. I don't know what bothered me worse about that: Feeling like she was spying on me, or noticing that she was doing nothing but playing games or screwing around with e-mails. She wasn't DOING anything - just vegetating. How can a person live that way (says the kettle in reference to the pot).
This weekend was more of the same. I had a list of things to do. While I made good progress on it, when taking the weekend as a whole, the Friday portion seemed to be mired.
My one salvation in this has been the work I have been doing with focus. "Focus" is a factor that I chose to invoke into my life about a month ago. Invoking is fine, but you need to do more than just clench your teeth and spit out the pained words..."m-u-s-t - - - f-o-c-u-s". So I did two things, and they seem to combine to do the trick. The first is to make sure I go into the evening or the weekend with a prioritized list. Then during daily Gnosis, there has been a bit of a change to what is recited. The additions are, "I will work the list. I will do it in the order listed. I will not allow distractions." Simple as that. But this brings the observation that one of the easiest and hardest things to do is to identify the problem, then say to yourself, "I will do this. I will not do that." But once the words are spoken, it seems to add force to will, and the job gets done. Today, for example, I really wanted to waste time instead of writing in my journal. But the larger part of me wants to get some thoughts down before they fly. So I remembered what I had invoked, and I sat my ass down and wrote. It felt good. Earlier in the day, I wanted to take some work in the back yard and push it to next weekend. Easy enough. But then I remembered that it was next on the list, and that I told myself I would take things in the order I had initially listed. So I did it. And it felt good. Getting the wood stacked, as on the list, was no big deal. But sticking with my commitment to myself and staying true to my word, that was another.
Ye Gods - I look back on that last paragraph and part of me is appalled that it is written by a 42 year old man and not a teenager. Eek.
One small note - it seems that Rick shares a birthday with Frank Sinatra, just like I share with Elvis and Ziggy Stardust. It seems very fitting.
Last week I quit the Coven here in Provo. We were supposed to meet last Sunday at Steamers. I showed up and found out the hard way that there really wasn't a meeting. I then spent a half hour listening to one member (and employee of the shop) complain about life in general and the coven leader in particular. Then Thursday rolled around and I was looking at coven meeting that night. I realized that I really wasn't looking forward to it, and that if I wasn't looking forward to it then I shouldn't be going. I spent a while thinking it over, especially comparing to my feelings about the O.T.O., where I always looked forward to the meetings. On top of that was the realization that I wouldn't have the time in my schedule to handle both the Coven and the O.T.O.. So I headed over to Steamers and told the woman who was doing the complaining of my decision and to pass the message along to the fearless leader.
In the theatre of the mind, I imagined the leader might put me to some sort of grilling and try to find out what was 'wrong' or what 'the cause' was for me quitting. I determined to tell her that it just wasn't a good fit, nothing wrong with them, but it didn't resonate with me, and that was all. Last night she called to give me her new phone number then asked why I quit. Much to my delight, she accepted my well rehearsed explanation with grace and kindness, and all was good.
Once again I find myself at the end of the year with unused vacation days on my schedule at work. So I am taking Fridays off work again. In some ways it is nice, in others it isn't working put as well as it has in the past. Instead of using the time to play, I've been trying to get things done. Even things from work. For example, on the first Friday (last weekend) I completed some training I had committed to at work. But it went slower than it should have, and most of the time I had Kathleen over my left shoulder at her desk. I don't know what bothered me worse about that: Feeling like she was spying on me, or noticing that she was doing nothing but playing games or screwing around with e-mails. She wasn't DOING anything - just vegetating. How can a person live that way (says the kettle in reference to the pot).
This weekend was more of the same. I had a list of things to do. While I made good progress on it, when taking the weekend as a whole, the Friday portion seemed to be mired.
My one salvation in this has been the work I have been doing with focus. "Focus" is a factor that I chose to invoke into my life about a month ago. Invoking is fine, but you need to do more than just clench your teeth and spit out the pained words..."m-u-s-t - - - f-o-c-u-s". So I did two things, and they seem to combine to do the trick. The first is to make sure I go into the evening or the weekend with a prioritized list. Then during daily Gnosis, there has been a bit of a change to what is recited. The additions are, "I will work the list. I will do it in the order listed. I will not allow distractions." Simple as that. But this brings the observation that one of the easiest and hardest things to do is to identify the problem, then say to yourself, "I will do this. I will not do that." But once the words are spoken, it seems to add force to will, and the job gets done. Today, for example, I really wanted to waste time instead of writing in my journal. But the larger part of me wants to get some thoughts down before they fly. So I remembered what I had invoked, and I sat my ass down and wrote. It felt good. Earlier in the day, I wanted to take some work in the back yard and push it to next weekend. Easy enough. But then I remembered that it was next on the list, and that I told myself I would take things in the order I had initially listed. So I did it. And it felt good. Getting the wood stacked, as on the list, was no big deal. But sticking with my commitment to myself and staying true to my word, that was another.
Ye Gods - I look back on that last paragraph and part of me is appalled that it is written by a 42 year old man and not a teenager. Eek.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
Beastalon!!!!!!!
Last night was the Beastalon fundraising dinner at the Sun and Moon café up Emigration Canyon. Fun party. The after party party was pretty good too.
I was the first to arrive - of course - and had to wait a while for the crew to show up. Dave showed up with his mother. I invited her to sit with me and share a bit of wine. Then she ended up spending the entire dinner with me, and we had a fabulous conversation. I really don't think the dinner could have turned out much better for me. I also had Dave pull me aside and extend a thank-you. He feared his mom wouldn't find anyone to connect with and would spend the evening being the odd person out. I saved her from that fate, and Dave was grateful. From what Jesse had to say, she thought the whole thing turned out pretty nice herself. But looking at it from the view of the cynic, I would wryly observe that is was very convenient to have the old people off in a corner, taking care of themselves, and not bothering the youngsters.
As the evening wound down, I got sucked into a conversation with a few folk. It was pretty good. Eventually, they decided to take the conversation to one of their homes (can't remember the name of the couple). I accepted and presently found myself in a second story flat above the capitol with a gorgeous view of the valley. In short order the conversation divided into the bedroom gathering and the living room gathering. The former got off to a good (?) start by pulling up a bestiality web site and taking a few hits of the sweet stuff. They later devolved into a Terrence McKenna video, strobe lights and the computer having a screen saver that was a slideshow of naughty pictures of the Lady of the House. It was a bit disconcerting to view soft porn while sitting next to the model.
The living room conversation was more to my liking and that is where I ended up. Our drug of choice was wine and the conversation was over Nuit and the idea of there being None, then Two, but no such thing as the One. Once there is something to define itself as the One, then everything outside of the One must be Other, therefore Two. "For I am divided for Love's sake, for the chance of Union."
But, alas, the living room crowd dissolved when a few key people went home. After a while with the Bedroom crowd, sobering up, I went home. But even with the bedroom crowd, it was a fun evening all around. Once again, I felt like I belonged, like I didn't have to force anything or make pretenses or put up fronts.
I was the first to arrive - of course - and had to wait a while for the crew to show up. Dave showed up with his mother. I invited her to sit with me and share a bit of wine. Then she ended up spending the entire dinner with me, and we had a fabulous conversation. I really don't think the dinner could have turned out much better for me. I also had Dave pull me aside and extend a thank-you. He feared his mom wouldn't find anyone to connect with and would spend the evening being the odd person out. I saved her from that fate, and Dave was grateful. From what Jesse had to say, she thought the whole thing turned out pretty nice herself. But looking at it from the view of the cynic, I would wryly observe that is was very convenient to have the old people off in a corner, taking care of themselves, and not bothering the youngsters.
As the evening wound down, I got sucked into a conversation with a few folk. It was pretty good. Eventually, they decided to take the conversation to one of their homes (can't remember the name of the couple). I accepted and presently found myself in a second story flat above the capitol with a gorgeous view of the valley. In short order the conversation divided into the bedroom gathering and the living room gathering. The former got off to a good (?) start by pulling up a bestiality web site and taking a few hits of the sweet stuff. They later devolved into a Terrence McKenna video, strobe lights and the computer having a screen saver that was a slideshow of naughty pictures of the Lady of the House. It was a bit disconcerting to view soft porn while sitting next to the model.
The living room conversation was more to my liking and that is where I ended up. Our drug of choice was wine and the conversation was over Nuit and the idea of there being None, then Two, but no such thing as the One. Once there is something to define itself as the One, then everything outside of the One must be Other, therefore Two. "For I am divided for Love's sake, for the chance of Union."
But, alas, the living room crowd dissolved when a few key people went home. After a while with the Bedroom crowd, sobering up, I went home. But even with the bedroom crowd, it was a fun evening all around. Once again, I felt like I belonged, like I didn't have to force anything or make pretenses or put up fronts.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Schmucks in Love
The wheels are in motion. Yesterday I handed over the paperwork for my Minerval initiation. An interesting conversation accompanied this, but it has been redacted. Suffice it to say that, in the time between getting my paperwork and handing it back in, the Oasis suffered scandal and has a new (returning) body master.
My initiation has been a long time coming. In fact is has been years in the making. But it is finally time. Pam replaced the deposed Body Master. I am assuming that mine will be her first initiation since taking the office. When I stop and think, I realize that this is something of a burden. I'm sure everyone already has enough to do without me coming along and asking for a chunk of their time and energy. But that is actually a secondary reaction. My initial reaction before that is the time has come for me to pitch in and help. I know it will be a while for me to advance far enough to make a real contribution, but my time will come. It will be interesting to see how things stand a year from now, or even five years down the road.
It also feels like it is time for me to take my place in the lodge. It is a "gut feeling" thing. I belong. It is meant for me, and I am meant for it. I can't explain it any better than that.
Then, of course, there is the number 43. The way things worked out, pretty much without planning it that way, the best logical date for my initiation turned out to be January 8, 2005. My 43'rd birthday. Then I realized that the number 43 has followed me around for years, since I was a teenager. So maybe this is why I've been followed by 43? Does it all point to birthday 43 as being a turning point? It this a sign post, telling me that I am on course? Maybe. I would like to think so. We'll see.
In other observations, I've been more faithful at doing the adorations of Liber Resh. It has improved my mood and my focus. I'm getting shit done and feeling better. This is a good thing. Even the "Kathleen thing" has improved. I've known for I while that I'm screwing up in the way I treat her. But the combination of inertia, pride and just plain not knowing what else to do has kept me from changing. But after the Karma discussion with A.M. last week, the change has been small (that is one really tough wall to climb, and I'm not ready to climb it yet.)
I'm also picking up that Kate is pissed off about the O.T.O. thing. She will deny this. Maybe she is right - but then maybe not. She sees it as way to structured and anal and heaven knows what else. She has now taken the tack of saying things like, "You follow your heart. You do what calls to you. Good for you. I'm sure you'll love it. Blah, blah, blah." But I've heard the words and the tone of voice before, usually when talking about Barry and his fuck-ups (real or perceived). So what she is really telling me is, "Don't say I didn't warn you. You'll be sorry. Don't come crying to me. You made your bed, now sleep in it. Been nice knowing you." Sigh. I guess I'll just have to prove her wrong.
But then Kate is also getting a taste of come-uppance from the universe. The circle she is in drew lots to see who would take charge and set the agenda for the next year. The deal was to use the tradition the 'winner' was "first trained in." So, who is the person in the circle who most tweaks Kate? Rowan. Why? Because she comes from the most regimented tradition of all the people in the circle. Kate has done a bit of complaining about her. So who won the lottery? Rowan. It gets better - Rowan has asked Kate to be Crone for the year (snigger). Oh yeah - and the Priest (only guy in the group) is my age and is, according to Kate, a putz. Kate says if I was in the circle I would be the obvious first choice for HP (her opinion - others might disagree), so that will add to her tweak factor.
I am taking a very small measure of perverse joy in Kate's suffering. The universe will punish me.
[redacted long rant about friend who is in love and being jilted. Boo hoo.]
I made noises that were pleasant but non-committal. There is nothing else to do.
Schmuck.
I love the man, but the fact is he did this all to himself. He set himself up like a bowling pin, pasted a neon sign to his brow, flashing "Kick me in the ass." Then he all but forced Laura to break his heart for him.
Schmuck.
I suppose the day will come when I can knock him to the ground, sit on his chest and tell him what a schmuck he is. Until then I get to be nice and make the pleasant noises.
My initiation has been a long time coming. In fact is has been years in the making. But it is finally time. Pam replaced the deposed Body Master. I am assuming that mine will be her first initiation since taking the office. When I stop and think, I realize that this is something of a burden. I'm sure everyone already has enough to do without me coming along and asking for a chunk of their time and energy. But that is actually a secondary reaction. My initial reaction before that is the time has come for me to pitch in and help. I know it will be a while for me to advance far enough to make a real contribution, but my time will come. It will be interesting to see how things stand a year from now, or even five years down the road.
It also feels like it is time for me to take my place in the lodge. It is a "gut feeling" thing. I belong. It is meant for me, and I am meant for it. I can't explain it any better than that.
Then, of course, there is the number 43. The way things worked out, pretty much without planning it that way, the best logical date for my initiation turned out to be January 8, 2005. My 43'rd birthday. Then I realized that the number 43 has followed me around for years, since I was a teenager. So maybe this is why I've been followed by 43? Does it all point to birthday 43 as being a turning point? It this a sign post, telling me that I am on course? Maybe. I would like to think so. We'll see.
In other observations, I've been more faithful at doing the adorations of Liber Resh. It has improved my mood and my focus. I'm getting shit done and feeling better. This is a good thing. Even the "Kathleen thing" has improved. I've known for I while that I'm screwing up in the way I treat her. But the combination of inertia, pride and just plain not knowing what else to do has kept me from changing. But after the Karma discussion with A.M. last week, the change has been small (that is one really tough wall to climb, and I'm not ready to climb it yet.)
I'm also picking up that Kate is pissed off about the O.T.O. thing. She will deny this. Maybe she is right - but then maybe not. She sees it as way to structured and anal and heaven knows what else. She has now taken the tack of saying things like, "You follow your heart. You do what calls to you. Good for you. I'm sure you'll love it. Blah, blah, blah." But I've heard the words and the tone of voice before, usually when talking about Barry and his fuck-ups (real or perceived). So what she is really telling me is, "Don't say I didn't warn you. You'll be sorry. Don't come crying to me. You made your bed, now sleep in it. Been nice knowing you." Sigh. I guess I'll just have to prove her wrong.
But then Kate is also getting a taste of come-uppance from the universe. The circle she is in drew lots to see who would take charge and set the agenda for the next year. The deal was to use the tradition the 'winner' was "first trained in." So, who is the person in the circle who most tweaks Kate? Rowan. Why? Because she comes from the most regimented tradition of all the people in the circle. Kate has done a bit of complaining about her. So who won the lottery? Rowan. It gets better - Rowan has asked Kate to be Crone for the year (snigger). Oh yeah - and the Priest (only guy in the group) is my age and is, according to Kate, a putz. Kate says if I was in the circle I would be the obvious first choice for HP (her opinion - others might disagree), so that will add to her tweak factor.
I am taking a very small measure of perverse joy in Kate's suffering. The universe will punish me.
[redacted long rant about friend who is in love and being jilted. Boo hoo.]
I made noises that were pleasant but non-committal. There is nothing else to do.
Schmuck.
I love the man, but the fact is he did this all to himself. He set himself up like a bowling pin, pasted a neon sign to his brow, flashing "Kick me in the ass." Then he all but forced Laura to break his heart for him.
Schmuck.
I suppose the day will come when I can knock him to the ground, sit on his chest and tell him what a schmuck he is. Until then I get to be nice and make the pleasant noises.
Saturday, November 27, 2004
The power of NOT
Tonight was Un-Gnostic Not-Mass. H. and B. hosted it as the Priestess and Priest, but they have to be careful to maintain a proper distance from the O.T.O.. It has something to do with recognizing the letter of the law, but the members of the lodge joining in spirit to support them. Dave was there, with his mother: She was attending her first mass, just to see what her little boy as been up to all of these years. Pam would have been there but for having to travel to Las Vegas to ordain a priestess. Once again, Mass was great. Conversation was great. Helping the gang clean and pack when it was done was great.
I've had a number of people tell me now that the first degree and higher initiations are real head turners. Yet all of them then took a step back and said, "It's not the actual initiation ritual. It's what the universe does to you before and after." This conversation took place tonight with a woman I have known for a few years now. I mentioned to her something about the universe seeing if you are really serious about it (no one corrected me). She agreed, but then added that I should make sure to get all of my "Accounts Paid Up", referring to Karma. She also said something about making sure I had the oil changed in my car, and mundane things like that, because if I didn't do it before initiation, it sure as hell wouldn't get done after. So I mumbled something about all the energy I had put into being totally pissed off at my wife, and I got a look from her like, "Yup, you better do something about that."
I've had a number of people tell me now that the first degree and higher initiations are real head turners. Yet all of them then took a step back and said, "It's not the actual initiation ritual. It's what the universe does to you before and after." This conversation took place tonight with a woman I have known for a few years now. I mentioned to her something about the universe seeing if you are really serious about it (no one corrected me). She agreed, but then added that I should make sure to get all of my "Accounts Paid Up", referring to Karma. She also said something about making sure I had the oil changed in my car, and mundane things like that, because if I didn't do it before initiation, it sure as hell wouldn't get done after. So I mumbled something about all the energy I had put into being totally pissed off at my wife, and I got a look from her like, "Yup, you better do something about that."
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Starting the ball rolling
Last Saturday night was Gnostic Mass at Pam's place. Much came of the meeting, not the least of which was getting the paperwork to apply for my Minerval initiation. But let's take it one step at a time.
First is Pam's place. It's a two story townhouse with a living room that soars to the roof, almost the full two stories up. As you enter, there are stairs to the left, a large slab of wall directly ahead, going up the full two stories, nothing to the right, then a bay window behind. The large wall had a large cross mounted on it, each part of it made of three parallel lengths of square steel tube of different width. It was impressive and artistic. In the middle of the cross was a rose made of a sort of filigree or wire mesh. The rosy cross. In the alcove next to the bay window, opposite the cross, was a coffin - a real live coffin purchased for a ritual last year. After the ritual was done there was a "What do we do with this thing?" moment. So it ended up at Pam's place. Then lining the sides of the room were pews purchased from an LDS chapel that was 'going out of the business'. Set up in the middle of all this are the alters and tomb. It was a tight fit overall, but still very workable.
Before the ritual proper, there was a baptism for Dave and Pam's 11 year old daughter. She was the cutie that I was trading faces with at my first ever mass, about 2 years ago. She is still a cutie (more attitude that looks) and still thin as a pole, and still a fun one to flirt with (all in innocence, of course).
It was a bit crowded for mass, but it was a good ritual. Pam and Dave doing the honors as HP, and a gentleman named Marc doing duties as deacon. After Mass I talked to Pam about getting a Minerval initiation. She interviewed me and must have like my answers because I left with the application papers in my hands. On the other hand, the Minerval is sort of a 'get to know each other' grade, so I think they allow pretty much anyone to apply.
Also after the ritual was a fit of drinking and socializing. It really felt good. The conversation was good. Better still I felt like I could be me and not fake at being someone I am not.
It was an interesting group, and an interesting time socializing. I'll have to admit the group has its odd points and players, but that is all to be expected. I will also have to confess that I was doing my own small part to add to the strangeness, having the 'slut radar' going. (By that I mean to say that I was playing the part of slut, at least so much as I am capable, and was keeping an eye out for unattached women. This is NOT to mean that I was looking out for sluts.)
First is Pam's place. It's a two story townhouse with a living room that soars to the roof, almost the full two stories up. As you enter, there are stairs to the left, a large slab of wall directly ahead, going up the full two stories, nothing to the right, then a bay window behind. The large wall had a large cross mounted on it, each part of it made of three parallel lengths of square steel tube of different width. It was impressive and artistic. In the middle of the cross was a rose made of a sort of filigree or wire mesh. The rosy cross. In the alcove next to the bay window, opposite the cross, was a coffin - a real live coffin purchased for a ritual last year. After the ritual was done there was a "What do we do with this thing?" moment. So it ended up at Pam's place. Then lining the sides of the room were pews purchased from an LDS chapel that was 'going out of the business'. Set up in the middle of all this are the alters and tomb. It was a tight fit overall, but still very workable.
Before the ritual proper, there was a baptism for Dave and Pam's 11 year old daughter. She was the cutie that I was trading faces with at my first ever mass, about 2 years ago. She is still a cutie (more attitude that looks) and still thin as a pole, and still a fun one to flirt with (all in innocence, of course).
It was a bit crowded for mass, but it was a good ritual. Pam and Dave doing the honors as HP, and a gentleman named Marc doing duties as deacon. After Mass I talked to Pam about getting a Minerval initiation. She interviewed me and must have like my answers because I left with the application papers in my hands. On the other hand, the Minerval is sort of a 'get to know each other' grade, so I think they allow pretty much anyone to apply.
Also after the ritual was a fit of drinking and socializing. It really felt good. The conversation was good. Better still I felt like I could be me and not fake at being someone I am not.
It was an interesting group, and an interesting time socializing. I'll have to admit the group has its odd points and players, but that is all to be expected. I will also have to confess that I was doing my own small part to add to the strangeness, having the 'slut radar' going. (By that I mean to say that I was playing the part of slut, at least so much as I am capable, and was keeping an eye out for unattached women. This is NOT to mean that I was looking out for sluts.)
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Ben Stein (argh)
There is this problem. You think you have it all figured then some kike on a website starts rocking your boat. Ben Stein, in an article on his website, shows that he just doesn't get the "Bush Lied – Saddam didn't have fuck to do with 9-11" thing. But then he recounts some of the atrocities that Saddam forced on his people. Then I have to re-evaluate. As fucked up as our presence in Iraq is, maybe things really could be worse. (But then how do you balance the few people no longer subjected to extreme torture against the thousands now being subjected to the current disruptions – or the few being killed by the Islamaniacs – or the odd US Marine who takes his angst out on a wounded man in a mosque.)
I went to Steamers, hoping to find a quiet corner to crawl into. But there was a concert starting and the place was packed. I ran into a friend at the door and she extended a last minute invitation to her birthday party. I was flattered she would ask, but declined. My choice had everything to do with needing to get some sleep and already having enough to drink. She said she would have invited me sooner, but knew about my problems with booze. I tried to explain she was making assumptions. She does that a lot. There was another conversation where I had to stop her and explain that she had filled in gaps with assumption. Do I need to sit her down and have the talk with her about close hole, open ears, stop filling in gaps? We all do it. Mea culpa, but not quite so mea as her culpa.
I went to Steamers, hoping to find a quiet corner to crawl into. But there was a concert starting and the place was packed. I ran into a friend at the door and she extended a last minute invitation to her birthday party. I was flattered she would ask, but declined. My choice had everything to do with needing to get some sleep and already having enough to drink. She said she would have invited me sooner, but knew about my problems with booze. I tried to explain she was making assumptions. She does that a lot. There was another conversation where I had to stop her and explain that she had filled in gaps with assumption. Do I need to sit her down and have the talk with her about close hole, open ears, stop filling in gaps? We all do it. Mea culpa, but not quite so mea as her culpa.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Mirth and Reverence
I attended my second ritual with the coven last night. This time the leader asked to meet in advance with a few of us. The theme of the meeting was the need to shape up some loose ends of the coven. For starters, we are instituting a "No alcohol or drugs" rule. We are also changing locations and meeting at the leader's house. The previous venue is too much of a party zone (not to mention the other chaos) and isn't conducive to ritual or to the new Straight and Sober rules. Beyond that, she also want us older and wiser members to set an example for the younger members. This includes dressing nicer, maintaining a better persona (I mentioned the phrase "Mirth and Reverence" and Liz liked the balance it presented), and "Acting with and projecting power". That last one (which I know I am misquoting) seemed a bit much to me. Magpies and Wombats don't project power. Oh...did I mention my Coven Name is "Magpie?"
Then, of course, none of the baby bats who we are supposed to put on this act for actually showed up for ritual. Then again, I think some of the pep talk is for us, not for them. It is easier to ask you to be the example for someone else than to tell you that you are actually the problem. For example, there was the thing with Drunk Chick wrapping herself around me, followed by the "What the Fuck?" conversation. Did this cause the move in the direction of cleaning up? Another question is how much of this has to do with me joining? I had made a point of saying that I couldn't be around pot. But I also made it clear I wasn't joining, but just trying it on for size. Maybe things were already headed this direction and I sort of nudged them along. If so, I wasn't trying or asking. Nevertheless, I am pleased.
So does this mean I am one of the elders of the Coven? I ask that a bit tongue in cheek. Maybe they figure "Old" and "Elder" go together.
The focus of ritual was to do some energy work – hold an item to the heart and see if you tend to fall toward it or away from it. It seems as if everything I held raised a mental reminder of Kathleen, resulting in my not being able to trust my reactions. Of course I tended to fall away from these items, but was it an honest reaction or not? Man – it would be nice to turn off the brain for awhile and just let things happen on their own.
Then, of course, none of the baby bats who we are supposed to put on this act for actually showed up for ritual. Then again, I think some of the pep talk is for us, not for them. It is easier to ask you to be the example for someone else than to tell you that you are actually the problem. For example, there was the thing with Drunk Chick wrapping herself around me, followed by the "What the Fuck?" conversation. Did this cause the move in the direction of cleaning up? Another question is how much of this has to do with me joining? I had made a point of saying that I couldn't be around pot. But I also made it clear I wasn't joining, but just trying it on for size. Maybe things were already headed this direction and I sort of nudged them along. If so, I wasn't trying or asking. Nevertheless, I am pleased.
So does this mean I am one of the elders of the Coven? I ask that a bit tongue in cheek. Maybe they figure "Old" and "Elder" go together.
The focus of ritual was to do some energy work – hold an item to the heart and see if you tend to fall toward it or away from it. It seems as if everything I held raised a mental reminder of Kathleen, resulting in my not being able to trust my reactions. Of course I tended to fall away from these items, but was it an honest reaction or not? Man – it would be nice to turn off the brain for awhile and just let things happen on their own.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Attack of the Rotater Cuffs
I'm waiting for Kathleen to get out of surgery. She's getting the rotator cuff on her left shoulder repaired.
I first ran across the quarterly rag called "Tin House" about 3 years ago. This past summer I ponied up for a subscription and this week I finally got around to seriously reading it. I had forgotten what truly good writing is like. The poetry is so-so, but the first two short stories were amazing. I almost fear to move on to the third, for the opposing fears that it will either be a disappointment, or that it will be good enough to drag me over some sort of literary precipice – a point of no return that will prevent me from ever picking up another lesser magazine or novel.
The waiting area for outpatient surgery is interesting for two reasons, related to each other and both having to do with people watching. First is that there is such a cross section of people here. Unless you are the cherry atop the economic cake, or the droppings on the floor, you are stripped of strata and difference before being ushered into the labyrinth of check in, preparation and waiting. All are the same. So I am seeing a wide cross section of the populous. More than that, where ill health is the whole reason to be here, there is less of the Fitness/Glamour magazine feel to the place and more of a misting of well drizzled and grizzled reality. (Perhaps if there is a common thread in the parade of souls, there is that of obesity, especially among those who are obviously here for treatment. Fat seems to be the polio or bubonic plague of 21st century America.)
The second venue for observation sweetens the first, being the fact that nearly every person in this area is in the company of a child or parent. In a few cases there are three generations walking down the passage together. It most interesting to observe when the younger generation is adult, and has become set and settled into the ways of their life. Then you compare that person to the parent and see the similarities, in appearance, behavior, habit and persona. You realize that how a person plays out their life, and by that I define life in terms that ignore such trivialities as possessions, career or role, is embedded in the template of their parents and grandparents. Thus when I look to Kathleen, I see her forever being like her mother, full of projects and crisis and children, always swooping in and out of their lives and home, as a planet on the elliptical orbit, sometimes near and sometimes far, but always within the firm bonds agreed upon by the opposing pulls of gravity and motion. As for me, I see my father, living his life in the office, in the Rose Room of his house, or in solitary projects. He supported his family and helped them, but always from a proper and protected position, much like the bank teller who, no matter how friendly and caring, is still behind an impenetrable barrier and is still concerned with your transactions and happiness only in so far as it will look good on his books and in his cash drawer at the end of the day. Or I see gramps, whose last act before his stroke (an act that was also the mark and or cause of his stroke) spent a small number of days suddenly shunning the house and his wife and busying himself with the garden. Even before that, I remembered him as being reserved and sticking to himself. So. My fate is foretold in the actions of my fathers.
It was almost exhausting to listen to the conversation before Kathleen was wheeled off to pre-op, as the doctor went over the list of medications she was on, the ones she was allergic to, the ones she just thought were icky, etc. Again, my eyeballs scrape in their sockets as I wonder how much of the paranoia is justified and how much is fantasy. I contrast this to when I will some day be talking to the same doctor before having my knees done: "I take no drugs and I fear no drugs." [ed. That day fast approaches. Since the original writing, my left knee has gone to hell and I have my first appointment scheduled for Nov. 23.] The last thing I took was Advil two weeks ago to kill a hangover, and I've never consumed a drug (legal or illicit) that I wasn't able to stare down and force into an abject submission to my will. (OK…there was that little incident with the percedan, but that was a matter of dosage and enthusiasm. Then there was the X. It won't happen again.)
To add to the book list: "The man who gave thunder to the earth" by Nancy Wood.
I first ran across the quarterly rag called "Tin House" about 3 years ago. This past summer I ponied up for a subscription and this week I finally got around to seriously reading it. I had forgotten what truly good writing is like. The poetry is so-so, but the first two short stories were amazing. I almost fear to move on to the third, for the opposing fears that it will either be a disappointment, or that it will be good enough to drag me over some sort of literary precipice – a point of no return that will prevent me from ever picking up another lesser magazine or novel.
The waiting area for outpatient surgery is interesting for two reasons, related to each other and both having to do with people watching. First is that there is such a cross section of people here. Unless you are the cherry atop the economic cake, or the droppings on the floor, you are stripped of strata and difference before being ushered into the labyrinth of check in, preparation and waiting. All are the same. So I am seeing a wide cross section of the populous. More than that, where ill health is the whole reason to be here, there is less of the Fitness/Glamour magazine feel to the place and more of a misting of well drizzled and grizzled reality. (Perhaps if there is a common thread in the parade of souls, there is that of obesity, especially among those who are obviously here for treatment. Fat seems to be the polio or bubonic plague of 21st century America.)
The second venue for observation sweetens the first, being the fact that nearly every person in this area is in the company of a child or parent. In a few cases there are three generations walking down the passage together. It most interesting to observe when the younger generation is adult, and has become set and settled into the ways of their life. Then you compare that person to the parent and see the similarities, in appearance, behavior, habit and persona. You realize that how a person plays out their life, and by that I define life in terms that ignore such trivialities as possessions, career or role, is embedded in the template of their parents and grandparents. Thus when I look to Kathleen, I see her forever being like her mother, full of projects and crisis and children, always swooping in and out of their lives and home, as a planet on the elliptical orbit, sometimes near and sometimes far, but always within the firm bonds agreed upon by the opposing pulls of gravity and motion. As for me, I see my father, living his life in the office, in the Rose Room of his house, or in solitary projects. He supported his family and helped them, but always from a proper and protected position, much like the bank teller who, no matter how friendly and caring, is still behind an impenetrable barrier and is still concerned with your transactions and happiness only in so far as it will look good on his books and in his cash drawer at the end of the day. Or I see gramps, whose last act before his stroke (an act that was also the mark and or cause of his stroke) spent a small number of days suddenly shunning the house and his wife and busying himself with the garden. Even before that, I remembered him as being reserved and sticking to himself. So. My fate is foretold in the actions of my fathers.
It was almost exhausting to listen to the conversation before Kathleen was wheeled off to pre-op, as the doctor went over the list of medications she was on, the ones she was allergic to, the ones she just thought were icky, etc. Again, my eyeballs scrape in their sockets as I wonder how much of the paranoia is justified and how much is fantasy. I contrast this to when I will some day be talking to the same doctor before having my knees done: "I take no drugs and I fear no drugs." [ed. That day fast approaches. Since the original writing, my left knee has gone to hell and I have my first appointment scheduled for Nov. 23.] The last thing I took was Advil two weeks ago to kill a hangover, and I've never consumed a drug (legal or illicit) that I wasn't able to stare down and force into an abject submission to my will. (OK…there was that little incident with the percedan, but that was a matter of dosage and enthusiasm. Then there was the X. It won't happen again.)
To add to the book list: "The man who gave thunder to the earth" by Nancy Wood.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Doing battle with Microsoft
The weekend was dominated with the computer. I found out the hard way that the combination of Office 2003 and FrontPage (any version) breaks things, and there is no way to unbreak them. True, they are annoying things and not vital things, but still a pain in the ass. So I copied a bunch of shit to the D drive and nuked it. Reloaded, pulled it all up to the configuration I wanted, copied files to a "in case I need to do this again" CD, then stepped away from it before I would be tempted to overdo it. The only problem is with desktop themes...which fixes itself if the jpg files are converted to bmp. I have laughed to myself in the past about Kathleen wasting hours on end wrangling her computer through similar contortions. Now the joke is on me. But now that it is running again, it sure is sweet.
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