Lloyd M.

Last evening (Monday, February 9, 2009) I received three calls in quick succession, all of which I ignored since I was in the closing moments of an appointment.

The trio of callers bore sad news of the passing of a kind and gentle man, a friend and fellow traveler on a well-trod path: Lloyd M.

None of us knew how to absorb this sorrowful ending to a life so abruptly and prematurely lost.

Tears, yes of course; aching hearts, confusion, anger . . . and beneath it all a hint of fear. In this moment most of all mute numbness.

This young man struggled greatly to find and maintain a sense of balance - peace of mind was for him a seemingly elusive, even mercurial state. We were his friend, and he ours, exactly because we viscerally understood. So is the nature of our bond that this tragic finale was not entirely unexpected. Still, second guessing and doubt comes: if we could've just found the magic words. But in this business there is no magic -- no smoke nor mirrors, simply hard work -- trudging -- and a fine measure of divine grace.

As for me, the only sense of comfort I am able to reach as I write this is the notion that Lloyd, who made the ultimate sacrifice as a beacon for those he left behind (behold and avoid these rocky shoals!), now at long last is free from what had been his increasingly painful struggle.

He can now enjoy the peace beyond knowing of perfect and eternal Grace. He can at long last simply rest.

Here's an image of one of the last times I saw him truly happy.

(NOTE: for reasons I am too tired to puzzle out the link above does not correctly render in Mozilla Firefox, so in order to see it correctly please past the resulting URL into an Internet explorer window, or copy this into IE: http://jwmurray.net/Lloyd.htm )


If you, dear reader, have any remembrances of Lloyd and would care to share them here I would deeply enjoy the opportunity to read them.

Peace be with you.

Leaves #3

Upon close inspection I've decided that the majority of my recent leaf imagery inventory fails to meet my standards for publication, largely due to sharpness/focusing issues.

Two factors come into play here: inadequate depth-of-field (due to the fact that these large organic canvasses most often occupy far three-dimensional space than may be apparent), and movement -- even wafts of breezes barely perceptible are enough to generate significant and unwanted undulations of these finely laced veins, particularly when the scene is under considerable magnification as they are in my oeuvre.

Nonetheless, for the sake of further Photoshop experimentation I offer up a new vision for you, this one modestly cropped from the original and adjusted for sharpness using the Smart Focus filter. Taken October 9, 2008, in my condominium complex courtyard; I encourage any and all comments . . .

(c)2008 James W. Murray, all rights reserved.
(Click on the image to see full sized version.)

A New Leaf (2)

Yes, is it far too late for this . . .

Another leaf, this one more of an experienment with shooting the original in Adobe RGB mode (vs. sRGB), processing the raw using Canon's DPP (rather than converting in CS3), and adjusting the saturation a bit. (Also: maybe a more reasonable size for browers?):

(c)2008 James W. Murray, all rights reserved.
(Click on the image to see full sized version.)

(Turning Over) A New Leaf

Quick one here:

I will eventually finish off my retreat musings below . . .

Besides a momentary fascination with bubbles yesterday, I also turned my attention to one of my favorite subjects, that being organic objects in strong lighting - particularly leaves. I offer up one of the best from yesterday for your approval (or critique -- please, all are welcome) :

(c)2008 James W. Murray, all rights reserved.
(Click on the image to see full sized version.)

On the Bubble

Will get back to the retreat review later . . . we interrupt our Retreat Review programming to bring you this bulletin: a word from the world of Art . . .

As usual, the path to this paragraph's point is a bit convoluted: this morning I got the notion to take a few simple pictures of the pristine and humble little park near my house, which is a favorite spot of mine to meditate. Really, just an excuse to combine a bit of spiritual work and play. So, I managed to arrive at the park early enough in the morning to find decent lighting conditions (I was wanting to avoid the flat light of high Noon), and took a couple of unremarkable photos just to record the general scene. Meanwhile my good friend Jerry came by to join me for some conversation; we share a good deal of interests, photography and meditation being two. So we simply visited for a time, after which Jerry departed in order to tackle a myriad of chores. Once he left I sat in meditation for about 30 minutes. I was then considering my own obligations for the rest of the day (which were few), but decided to stroll around the (tiny) park a bit more, camera in hand, and let the Spirit move me. Aha! The babbling (artificial) brook might yield some nice shots . . . so I gave the water some attention, and noticed the interplay of bubbles and gurgling water over the various stones which pass for a creek bed. This reminded me that Jerry had only last night sent me a link to a website which is a clearing house for free digital photography lessons, and this week's assignment happens to be "bubbles." So -- I spent more than a few minutes photographing (among other things) bubbles. Lots of tiny bubbles.

Well, of the 20 or so images I took focused on the topic of bubbles . . . maybe two are worthy of admitting to; below is one:

(c)2008 James W. Murray, all rights reserved.
(Click on the image to see full sized version.)

Personally, I find the composition to be okay, but frankly this isn't one of my better efforts. Mind you it required some patience awaiting for an array of bubbles to arrange themselves just-so. (It was fun kneeling over the sweetly murmuring water, however, on a day of ever-so-gentle hints of a breeze and perfect temperatures.) The rule of the "assignment" is that any submission to the site of an image must be taken within the time period specified for the assignment in question. Makes sense.

However, I have a far better image reflecting at least in part the concept of Bubble(s), which I happened to have captured directly across the street from my beloved park a year ago, in April 2007 . . . said photograph ranks high on my list of personal favorites from those I've taken in the past two years. As with the image above, considerable time was expended awaiting for the happy confluence of light reflections and bubbles in an interesting configuration . . . finding a solo globule hovering exactly over a an intersection within a metal grate was a sublime experience -- and no easy feat! Many attempts were made; one stood out.

So, without further delay, I hereby offer it up for public viewing for the first time (I regret to report that due to a lack of funding I was unable to acquire the requisite marching band and fireworks to accompany this unveiling):

(c)2008 James W. Murray, all rights reserved.
(Click on the image to see full sized version.)

There you have it. I'm most interested in your take on these images; for those who have been sitting on the edge of your desks awaiting the next chapter in my serialization of last weekend's retreat -- I will try to add some later today.

Thanks for looking!

Retreat, Reading One

Last weekend, here being defined as Friday, October 3, 2008, through Sunday, October 5, 2008, I joined a group of some 120 or so men for the annual Gratitude Retreat held at the St. Francis Retreat Center in the foothills above San Juan Bautista, California. I drove down with my beloved friend Nino; we've been roommates for 16 of the 17 consecutive years we've mutually attended this powerful gathering. (A couple of years ago Nino had a schedule conflict for the First Weekend, and so attended the Third Weekend.) This year marks the 58th Gratitude retreat (!).

Nino, at "James' Pre-Retreat Meditation Spot"

As has been the case for a number of Octobers now, a contingent of fellow Caveman Group fellows also were present, among them Ben N., David S., Eric K., Kevin G., Jim O. and Trevin V. Past regular Caveman who were missing (at least for this, the First Weekend) included Bejan F., Bill S., Brad K., Dan J., Kevin A., and Mike B. Brad, Dan and Kevin will be joining me at the Third Weekend.

Jim exercised a bit of faith by driving in from Reno, Nevada, despite having been advised that his application and money had not been sent in time, thus leaving him without a room. Fortunately (and predictably) this news was erroneous: as usual Jim's roomie was Eric, whose money was good and validated legal tender. Eric Has A Room = Jim Has A Room.

For the second straight year the retreat sessions were lead by Brian, who utilized a great deal of PowerPoint slides which conveyed a lot of good information. For my taste the best part of the "conferences" were the periods when Brian had us break up into groups (generally of 3 men) wherein we each took a turn sharing our experience on a specified topic. For the first evening session, on Friday, this was the matter of surrender. (As of this writing I can't recall any of the other topics.) For each of the conference sharings I found myself one-third of the triad composed of Nino and Jim D.'s friend John, who flew in from North Carolina. Jim, a retired lawyer who worked as a "bannister" in England for years (much to my great envy!), is a very interesting guy who I hope to get to know better via email.

My raison d'être for making the October retreat is much more to connect with my many fine fellow retreatants than it is to sit in the conferences, for it is this mutual sharing of our experience, strength and hope which has been so aptly characterized as the "language of the heart." Thus, while Brian's presentations were certainly interesting (especially the one on Relationships), for me the true essence and power of the weekend was in the deep connections I made with the men who shared their time and trust with me.

Each year one experiences the retreat differently (this true for me, at least, and not being unique I suspect this holds for everyone else), which makes sense from the perspective that over the course of a year of life's trials, tribulations, joys and and accomplishments we as individuals show up as slightly different beings than the year before. In my case, I found that for the first time in my 17 years I had very little interest in expending much energy photographing the crew and/or grounds (I did turn my attention that way after the retreat was over). Indeed I discovered, in retrospect, that although I was just as enthusiastically social as ever, nonetheless I ended up limiting my serious conversations largely to those men I see regularly back home. This was not a premeditated decision . . . however, the blissful nap I took immediately after lunch on Saturday (a nicely convenient -- and rare -- drizzly day) was Priority One before I even drove through the gates on Friday.

The Caveman Contingent has enhanced the weekend experience for the past two years (three?) by holding its own formal, small and intimate meetings: one after the Friday night's "official" schedule is concluded, and a second gathering at four o'clock on Saturday afternoon. These semi-private affairs have so far been held in the small gathering room between the library and the "Fireside Room" (formerly, not so many years ago, this space was an alcove). Last year we had on the order of a dozen men stuffed into this chamber; this year the group was just over half that and much more comfortable.

The Caveman Contingent, First Weekend 2008 Edition, plus Nino. Photo by Ben N.

Like the monthly GV Potluck dinners currently held at Eric's house in Los Gatos, albeit much smaller, the sharing is considerably more open and powerful than is typically experienced at more "public" meetings of this sort. Jim O. agreed to "chair" the Friday night group; everyone was in attendance. Jim's topic was "surrender." On Saturday Eric K. was the speaker; Ben and Trevin were "intensely working with one another" elsewhere, thus the congregation was especially small. It must be noted that Nino, who is not a Caveman but is one of the original co-founders of the Men's Potluck & GV Study meeting, has attended the Saturday afternoon gatherings the past two years. His gentle wisdom and loving insight has been most welcome, and refreshing.

It was particularly gratifying and encouraging to have both David S. and Trevin V. among us this weekend. Our hope is that they might, perhaps upon reflection, experience a taste of the freedom, joy, and priceless power of fellowship which are concrete and sustaining outcomes from the willingness to participate in events such as this weekend's.

[Updated Tuesday afternoon:]

On Friday, before packing my standard 100 lbs of books, toiletries, and a baffling (even to me) array of other creature comforts, I checked the online weather forecast for San Juan Bautista. This was a feigned effort to avoid lugging along too many unnecessary layers of clothing, should the temps be projected as summer-like. Sometime earlier in the day I'd heard rumors of rain as being a theory, and sure enough according to the web the precipitation possibilities were set to begin at ten percent early Friday evening, peaking at sixty percent in the wee-hours of Saturday morning. (So, I was compelled to pack for arctic conditions, naturally.)

Sure enough, the meteor guys got it right. Even by the time Nino and I began our traditional slow drive up the beautiful tree-lined approach to the retreat center the sky was filling with low and dark clouds. Drama was building overhead as we pulled off and briefly stood at my "meditation spot" (which I do as an attempt to complete the transition from my 75 mph drive down Highway 101 into the sedate and becalming atmosphere of the weekend) . While I have a deserved reputation as one who relishes the summer heat -- Sonoran desert upbringing will do that to you) -- I found myself joining the general consensus of my fellow guests who welcomed the wintry elements as a nice change of pace. (Let's not overdue the notion of "wintry" here: except for perhaps very early Sunday morning the temperatures were quite moderate throughout the weekend.)

I can't clearly recall the last time any significant rain fell during these October stays at the retreat center; the skies are usually blue (although there have been many such sunny retreats which were nonetheless cold due to significant winds coming in from the Pacific, not all that distant). On this weekend I first became aware of drops falling from the sky while enjoying the Annual Cigar Chat at around 1:00 a.m. Ben N., David S, Kevin G., Trevin V. and I had been sitting in chairs placed next to the gazebo at Serenity Point, taking in the view and discussing wh0-knows-what for an hour or so. The gentle sprinkle (barely that, really) served as a well-timed call to wrap up the first day's activities, so we headed back past the "pond" (totally dry this year) and to our respective rooms. Later, it might've been around 3:00 a.m. or so, I was awakened by the gentle sound of rain falling . . . a moment as pleasant as it is infrequent at these October gatherings.

Nino and I shared room 53 this year, which is one of the "luxury suites" which comprise the block of rooms known as the "motel," or to some, as the "swamp." While I actually prefer the rather more spartan (and quit a bit smaller) accommodations of the rooms arrayed in the halls bordering the chapel, Nino appreciates the heater (!) and more expansive space in the "motel" rooms. Thus, when I sent in my application this year I included a note to Jim D. asking that he put us up in the motel, as a bit of a gift from me to Nino. Jim D. , who has given amazing service to this retreat as its coordinator for 27 or so years, came through. Little did I know at the time that this would be the last time he would so lovingly grant my request: he announced his retirement from his duties as the retreat coordinator, during the first conference Sunday morning. (I actually made another decision rare for me: while I did get up for breakfast -- gotta have my retreat center oatmeal -- I deliberately kept my time in the dining room short so as to return to my room for more sleep. Thus I missed the undoubtedly emotional and loving "job well done" chorus that must've be the unanimous reaction to Jim's news.)

Thanks for your years of excellent and loving service to us all, Jim!

[update, very early in the morning, Friday, October 17, 2008:]

Well, later today (almost exactly 12 hours hence, if all plans hold) I shall head out onto Highway 85 bound for Dan's house, where I shall add him as a travel companion for a return to the Retreat Center: the Third Weekend Edition begins.

So I figured it might be high time to attempt finish off this overly long review of the First Weekend's affairs. Some highlights, then:

Alvin was our Friday night speaker; in my view he gave a very nice talk. The main thing I remember from his story was this: he once attended a meeting where the speaker was overly profane, which left Alvin unhappy and (silently) critical of the message delivered. Ironically, another attendee of the same meeting, apparently a bit of a newcomer, enthusiastically gushed to Alvin just how excellent the (very same) talk was, and that many parts of the speech resonated deeply. Alvin's own, unexpected epiphany: that it is not all about him (or me!) -- so long as at least one person in the room finds hope, help or solace from a "chair", mission accomplished.

There are, of course no coincidences . . . although I deeply respect and enjoy the new-appointed and current retreat "facilitator", I am not fond at all of his delivery method, which largely consists of speaking to PowerPoint slides densely packed with verbiage. In light of Alvin's realization it was only natural that one of my own "understudies" approached me after the Friday night's Conference and gushed a bit about how much he got out of our presenter's method and style -- it was focused and orderly and clear! Fortunately for my pride and ego I had not yet felt it necessary to insert my foot into my mouth by offering a less-than-glowing discourse of my critique of the evening . . .

As I mentioned in my original posting on this topic, I'd armed myself ahead of time with a bit of knowledge regarding the weather forecast. Having done so I made a decision rare for me at these retreats: I chose to deliberately sleep in on Saturday, insofar as I skipped any attempt to make the 7:05 a.m. sunrise. And, although I also knew that the Sunday skies would likely be spectacularly clear and fresh, I also skipped the opportunity to see Sunday's sunrise. Consciously choosing to miss both days' dawnings is unprecidented for me, so far as I can remember. (Sunday's refusal was a consquence of visting and remaining out at the gazebo again for more cigars after the close of Saturday's Official Events, and falling into bed far more exhausted than is usual even for me.)

During the course of the weekend I was privelged to share intimate and considerable time with four men, individually: Jim O., Eric K., Ben N. and Nino. These particular meetings were mostly premeditated: Jim and I met for a vital Get-Current session, as I work with him long distance; Ben and I had some specific homework to review (he was ready for me just as the final conference of the weekend was getting underway, so he and I trekked out to the gazebo on what was a beautful morning).

Eric had made an off-the-cuff comment during Friday's "introductions-all-around" meeting which really drove home my realization that he and really need to sit down in a formal manner and review the twelve proposals outlined as the heart and soul of our purpose and participation in this common fellowship we share. Thus I arranged to talk to him Saturday and gained his commitment to do so, on Monday evenings.

Nino had approached me a week or two prior to the retreat weekend with the desire for me to accompany him to the ocean, for the purpose of burning some old writings of his. I was deeply honored to be sought out as his support for this exercise in Letting Go. As Sunday morning got underway it occured to me that, since he and I nearly always linger on the retreat center grounds until late in the afternoon -- long after the last of our fellow retreatants depart -- why not simply burn his journals in the Fireside Room's massive, elegant, and deeply familiar fireplace? He found this an agreeable idea.

So we ended our 17th retreat together after lunch on Sunday by initiating a minor ritual of burning away old memories committed to paper, followed by a brief and last visit (for he and I, this year) to the chairs and gazebo at Serenity Point where we soaked up a few final moments of peace and comfort before returning to the clamoring and chaos of everyday life in Silicon Valley.

A wonderful weekend it was, indeed.

Inertial Enlightenment

Bonsoir from the Del Web Elders' Expanse in simmering Palm Desert, where the pre-visit weather forecast -- being >101°F highs for the duration -- quickly determined that all long-sleeve attire would be best left at home.

This entry's title refers to two recent experiences, perhaps characterized as passively and urgently informative, in turn . . .

I.

Last weekend three friends (fellow "Cavemen") and I trekked up to Marin county, north of the Golden Gate, for fine dining, fellowship at the Pt. Reyes Station hostel, and (Main Objective:) a day-long immersion in the art of meditation as presented by the Spirit Rock Meditation Center.

Let me first put an absolute all-thumbs-up for the excellent dining experience we enjoyed in the Olena Farm House restaurant situated directly by the T-intersection where Sir Francis Drake Blvd. dead-ends in to Highway 1. Brad, Jerry and I arrived there, famished, around 7.15pm; upon Jerry's general recommendation for the virtues and flavor of Steelhead Brad and I added to Jerry's choice of this excellent menu item for dinner . . . we were all suitably impressed. Equally delightful was our waitress's perfect and willing timing of the submission of Dave's order (a nice hunk of steak), which resulted in a hot and juicy meal being delivered to our table barely moment's after Dave's arrival (from his cozy room in San Anselmo 30 minutes distant) around 8.15pm. Got to take care of HALT; consider it a service geared towards unity via self-preservation.

After dessert (frankly, this was a bit of a disappointment) the four of us trekked (in three separate vehicles -- blame us for a moment's delay in any potential drop in gas prices) out to the Point Reyes Station hostel, which we found just a wee few minutes after the 9.30pm late-check-in deadline. The attendant gave us just enough good-humored razzing to keep us humbled, and after a cursory unloading of sleep-over materiel (into the disturbingly claustrophobic bunk-dense crucible which functions as the men's dorm-cum-fart/snore-compression chamber) we settled outside in the patio area for cigars and a Meeting. The meeting was a good idea, but the cigars less so, the truth of which became increasingly appearent (if so in a haze) in proportion to their diminishing sizes as our BTC* approached 100% (all but Brad, wise, wise Brad who prudently did not partake; which as we shall soon see upheld the notion that no good need goes unpunished).

Our choice to congregate in the patio was driven by the lack of privacy anywhere inside; initially this location was irrelevant and even desirable, as the fresh air was, well, fresh, and bracing. Being rather close to the hidden yet audible heaving of the frigid Pacific, the air became more and more laden with a damp and cooling quality, eventually driving us to seek refuge in the hostel's dining room, blessedly recently vacated by others who'd been using it for their own socializing. Thus we continued and finished our Caveman Team Meeting therein, with the ironic tableau of Dave and Your Author (and, to a lesser extent, Jerry) suffering the wooziness and general sense of Just-Shoot-Me-N0w-What-Was-I-Thinking? consequences of our stogie stints.

Enlightenment #1: repeatingly taking deep, slow drags off of fine cigars, passing them to the man next to you with a barely uttered, don't-exhale-stifled, "ere!", produces unsavory effects not dissimilar to those we are trying to avoid in the first place . . . as our Primary Purpose . . . an irony not lost on any of us.

*Blood Tobacco Content

Dave, being possessed of a clear Vision For Him -- that being blissful, solo slumbering in a king-sized bed, departed for his pre-paid utopia after our sharing finally came to an end around 12.30am. Brad and Jerry, simply seeking a reasonable sleep in advance of our mutual meditation encounter, willingly entered the dubious dormitory sleeping cell.

Being James, I remained up a bit, to journal and read. When I finally did slip into the sleeping room I discovered the air therein was already sapped of any discernible oxygen, that precious life-sustaining substance having been converted by snoring, flatulence and the alcohol-saturated exhalations of at least one comatose body into something more resembling a simulation of Venus's atmosphere. Thus I voluntarily joined Jerry and Brad's nightmare venture towards attempted sleep as a means of survival.

By alarm time (6.45am) I managed perhaps 2.5 hours of fitful sleep, and that was made possible only by a belated decision to utilize the earplugs which I never travel without. (Being responsible for minding our reveille I was conflicted between enduring the pains of group snoring and the yearning for potentially dream-induced silence promised by auditory muffling. Foam won out over duty, but thankfully the alarm's increasingly loud call eventually pierced even my personal defenses.) Jerry's torso soon began a slow pivot towards an upright position (bringing to mind many old vampire movies), and in due course we effected our escape by emerging into the hostel's equivalent of an expansive living room.

It was by this time it was apparent that Brad was missing; after attending to First Things First (here meaning, "God, please help me find an immediate source of coffee!") I took a small stroll outdoors (caffeine in hand) and noted that indeed Brad's departure was complete, indicated by the absence of his car. We later learned, via several voice mails, that (a) Brad's system could not endure the Rite Of Passage imposed by alcoholic-methane-infused carbon dioxide sleeping methods, so (b) at 5.00am, having not slept one eye-ota, he packed it in and returned to Los Gatos. Wisdom again: he knew that attempting a day-long meditation experience on no sleep might have lead to a deep REM adventure perhaps beyond recovery.

Thus it was that Jerry and I ended up as the Cavemen dharma duo at Spirit Rock, where we greatly enjoyed the amazing, sometimes (for me at least) intensely challenging journey into the realm of Buddhist meditation techniques. I may revisit this dense and complex personal experience in a future entry, but for now suffice it to say that I at least (and I suspect, Jerry too) got far more than I anticipated from the act of taking this next step in spiritual growth. At times it was painfully difficult to sit with the reality of my emotions, yet the vital need to face such temporary mirages was revealed to me to crucial for my life's path.

(The photo above was taken just before we left the center, on Sunday afternoon.
A higher-quality will be posted next week.)

Enlightenment #2: serious meditation is not easy, at least not for a neophyte such as me. Growth indeed often involves necessary pain, yet misery indeed is only optional.


II.

A perhaps jolting change of gears here . . .

Mid-week, as I was hustling downstairs from my bedroom to my living room (in response to water coming through the ceiling from an overflowing toilet: an emphatically spiritual start to my day) my left leg was suddenly the source of intense pain, entirely focused on a thumb-tack sized spot directly behind and below my "knee pit." (I rarely get to use the sophisticated technical term, "knee pit.") This, much like the Spirit Rock day, brought me an entirely new life experience, utterly unique to my life's adventures to date.

I was quite unable to put any weight at all on my leg -- and thus effectively unable to walk. This frightened not only me but also my wife, whose brother-in-law has very recently been hospitalized for a blood clot. (Even more recent: I lost a sweet friend, Carole, to such a massive blood clot in her heart that the doctors deemed it inoperable. She passed after 3 days.) So my loving and worried spouse took me to Kaiser where my physician ordered an MRI.

Thankfully no blood clot; the diagnosis is an inflammation of the a vein, often a precursor to more serious issues (such as -- blood clots). And just what could have given birth to this troubling development? My doc's verdict: "too sedentary of a lifestyle."

Who, me? Oui, c'est moi. Je m'accuse!

Enlightenment #3: if I wish to capitalize on my general joie de vivre by living to a ripe old age (say, anything past 75), I best view this as a serious wake-up call: my spiritual fitness is not all that is in need of enhancement . . . it is well past time I give determined and emphatic attention to both healthful nutrition and exercise. Hmmm . . . how "coincidental" that I've been recently introduced to elements of the Eightfold Way, which includes some emphasis on wholesomeness.

Right after I finish off this Häagen-Dazs coffee ice cream.

Room 216 musings

Room 216, in this particular case, refers to the very nice quarters my wife Julianna and I have enjoyed, since the night before last, in the Hyatt Place Rancho Cordova.

I've traveled extensively, and have experienced pretty close to the full gamut of hotel environments: from far-too-old roadside motels to true 5-star international suites . . . and this place is surprisingly nice, even for the well-renowned Hyatt chain.

During our stay I took advantage of a bathtub design seemingly rare in America: one that almost conforms to the human back . . . thus making the prospect of a comfortable bath (as opposed to shower) a real possibility.

Last night's bath was actually this morning's: finding myself unable to sleep I slipped into the bathroom and began a lengthy soak at 1:30 a.m. During that time, with a single candle burning, the door closed, and the room utterly quiet, I decided a meditation period would be a healthy exercise.

I'll write more on this later, but for now I wish to put down two insights which came my way during this contemplation and attempt to still my Mind:

1. All of my "problems" are like the rivulets of sweat which inched their way down my face as I sat immersed in the hot water: troublesome only in direct proportion to how much emphasis I give them, and temporary by definition.

2. I approach nearly every new experience with a subtle yet potent undercurrent of fear, rather than allow myself the possible exhilaration which comes from learning something. (The most recent example of this: attempting to put together a trivial website using CSS techniques.)

I have much to be gained from these messages provided me by the Universe last night.

August Addition

'Tis been awhile. My friend Jerry warned me of this: maintaining a blog (unless one is hopelessly narcissistic, perhaps) is a feat of uneven and unpredictable attention, and any comments from viewers are rarities at that. Glad to know I'm adhering to the Standard Model, then.

Spent this evening taking my step-daughter to the movies: Step Brothers, with Will Ferrell. Think, Dumb and Dumber, but with considerably more crudity. Still, there are moments of hilarity to be had. The best part was spending some time with HMB; she and I have developed a very cool relationship over the years. At twelve years old she's already a quite sophisticated kid. I am lucky to be able to experience this time in life, and I am grateful and intensely aware of the trust bestowed upon me by both her mother and her father.

HMB had asked me earlier if I'd be willing to help her with her summer homework (egad! I am glad I went to school centuries ago and avoided such an Unspeakably Horrid concept as off-year homework!). Tonight's topic: multiplying fractions. It is interesting that often times the role of step-parents can be vilified . . . yet in my life experiences it seems that the natural state of being somewhat less emotionally involved as a step-parent yields less frustration and impatience when it comes to often contentious activities such as school work. Thus it was a pretty easy task to guide HMB through her exercises tonight, and I enjoyed not only encouraging her but also witnessing that she was understanding what she was doing . . . for the most part my role was to provide a bit of confidence (and on-the-stop answer validation).

All went well until I got a bit too smart for my own good, and provided her a "short-cut" method . . . which turned out to be wrong! She got too tired (we were on the last problem anyway) and so went to bed, slightly frustrated . . . and I used the Google God to review some appallingly basic information. (Humbling for this pseudo-computer scientist.) So while step-daughter hit the sack yours truly spent another 20 minutes solving a rather basic pre-algebra equation.

Last night was the August, 2008 edition of the Men's Potluck and GV gathering at Eric K.'s house. Along with Nino, Fr. Jerry (deceased), Fr. Ron (also deceased), Paul S., John S., and D.J. I founded this gathering back in the fall/winter of 1997, at 1775 Nelson Way. It was not quite so formally structured then as it is now. Yesterday's event saw twenty-two men attend -- so far I can recall, a record turnout. Jerry B. (living!) arranged to temporarily escape his Korean stint, deliberately timed in order to be able to make it last night, and it was a delight not only to have him present but also his superb brisket as well! The sharing was powerful as usual, and as is nearly always the case we had one very new man, David S. It has been the trend that those men who make the effort to attend such fellowship events such as ours remain on the path. We all hope this will be David's experience as well. Bill S. made a return visit last night too; once a stalwart regular, his attendance has been rare over the last year or so, and it was very good to have him and his wisdom in the room. All thanks to Eric K. for once again opening his home to us, and for being such a gracious host extremely late into the night -- due to both the size and the excellent dessert spread (cheese cake, cherry and apple pies, and ice cream!) some of us lingered until midnight ; Carlos and I chatted outside (delightful summer evening) until 1.00am on the sidewalk in front of Eric's house. The best night of the month so far!

Sweet dreams.

Insomnolently Thick

My love is away -- America's Gateway. Meanwhile recovery from the 4.00am SFO dropoff remains an abstract notion; between busyness and nocturnal nuttiness I've not managed more than 3 hours of sleep since Monday morning's 45 minute nap. It is making for an interesting experience, rather reminiscent of my post-landing lizard-brain functioning after a non-stop flight I took (c. 1998) from Amsterdam to Hong Kong, entombed in a middle seat, coach section thank you very much.

My lack of access to any heavy machinery to operate at this time is a good thing for us all.

In between sentences here I am lapping up the last of an exquisite roasted duck curry; leftovers having steeped in the refrig since last Thursday's dinner at Thai Pepper. Washed down with some icy root beer, seems quite close to haute cuisine to me.

Majority of the day passed with yours truly toiling in the mines of web-based job listings. Makes the notion of a endoscopy somehow more appealing. Breakfast with one good friend, and lunch with two others, made for at least a brush with the Universes Outside. And now I'm going to venture out one last time for a weekly gathering I attend . . . let's hope the streets are cleared in advance of my sleep-driving journey. (In Curry I Trust.)

Ciao

Seeking Saline

Welcome back.

Discovery: aforementioned email problem is a non-issue . . .

Day:
Part 1: studying software (semi-remedial work).

Part 2: sweet quite time relaxing with my love.

Part 3: Excellent meditation session with a group of friends.

Part 4: Dinner -- restaurant interior very cool indeed; the food, however, was as disappointing as the ambiance was excellent. (Will try a different dish next time -- then offer a verdict.)

Part 5: Dessert -- a wonderful parking-lot discussion with a good friend..

Part 6: How Did I Get Here? scenario wherein I found myself taking a trip down memory lane,
back to 1989 when I made a solo spiritual sojourn to the quite remove Saline Valley;
Evil Internet allowed me to spend far more time that I should tracking down other
Saline visitors' photos of the place. Sadly it seems to have deteriorated somewhat
due to a reduction in the water flow into the natural springs, essentially closing 2 of 3
pools. Would be a very long and arduous journey to discover there is scant
room at the inn. No images of the homesteader's cabin where I had my first,
certified spiritual experience.

Part 7: Instead of being smart enough to go to bed, spent considerable time replacing initial
Saguaro Wandering image, then writing this breathtakingly interesting update.

Bonsoir.

Genesis

Well, here it is: 02:08 Pacific Time (Standard or Savings I never know: Arizonans ignore such craziness whenever possible) . . . and long over due I suppose, this constitutes my belated entry into the Modern Age of blogging . . .

Wow. It wasn't so bad, except that after an hour or more of poking around I remain unable to figure out how to remove my private email address from the Title section. Any hints for me?

It is far too late after an especially long day to offer up much here, beyond noting that I must give a nod to my good friend Jerry for (unwittingly and as yet unawares) providing the inspiration to delve into this journey. Yet another distraction for which I have no legitimate time.

Still. Here I am. All thanks to Jerry's own blog, which has come along rather nicely, his effort to maintain a connection as he endures (and hopefully increasingly enjoys) his first trip overseas -- a lengthy visit to South Korea.

So, who knows what I'll do here. Perhaps a short story. Or random rants. Or some emphasis on photography. (There's that time factor again: I played around far too long trying to get the saguaro just so, for my logo. I'm sure I am the only one on Planet Earth who really cares about the nuances of abstraction in this little image. The original was a photo I took last December near The Rock, a beloved place of private renown nestled in the alluvial plane on the sunset slopes of Gates Pass. Taking as much time as I did on this trivial little project leaves me little hope of having enough allocated years left to make this blog a private homage to my art. But we shall see.)

The apparently new neighbors are doing their best to simulate the inane and extremely irritating behavior of oh-too-juvenile intoxicated twenty-somethings, banging around doing God-knows-what on the other side of my condo's too-thin-for-such-nonsense walls. Great. After 11 years of nicely quiet wall-mates it appears payback for my own college years' activities has landed next door.

On that note I think it is time I finally get to bed.