truth: the most elusive

Why is it that the simple truth evades us like the shy fish in the pond who only reveals itself for that instantaneous bite at the surface? What does truth mean that we cannot face it?

I think to some of the most fundamental aspects of the animal world. Deception, trickery, and manipulation. If one is familiar with Shakespeare, then think of Puck - he was a character straight from nature.

The predator must attack without being seen too quickly. The prey must perform every trick it can to hide itself or it will be consumed. The lover must act and perform in a way to attract its mate (requiring various forms of the above mentioned tools).

Truth's supreme avoidance of us, as paradoxical as it sounds, seems to be one of our sharpest tools. In many, if not most, cases, the absence of truth can benefit us. Here's the rub, though: when we finally need the truth (when the truth becomes paramount for our own sustenance), it still remains just as elusive as before.

The irony of this post is its vagueness and thus avoidance of real truth. I do not give you any examples from my own life; I rarely write those things here. In a way this has become my only autobiography. And as with most things, what it fails to say is just as important as, if not more important than, what it says.

special trip

I had a special trip. I went to special place and saw special people and special animals. Now I am back in the city.

The light in that special place is unlike the light in other places.

If only all trips could be like this trip.

As we get older, day by day
Orange light will chase the cats away,
Whose whiskers reach for distant walls;
All dark without scent of stars,
Blocked by rooftops.

Haha. Instant poetry may lack a certain avid poet's touch, but it is so fun to make! So I will be a poet even if you protest.

lucky dreams

I just awoke from a dream in which Björk was clutching the upper half of my body like a monkey and kissing me. I, meanwhile, was walking through the old person's home in which we were working and trying to gather two other souls to go and watch a movie at the theatre with Björk. The funny thing is that it may have been the movie, "The Science of Sleep," which was made by (a guy I used to confuse with) Björk's husband. Sorry buddy.... I can't help my dreams.

Usually I don't share my dreams so openly. As you all know, dreams can be quite disturbing. But I thought this dream was innocuous. And a clear indicator that oregano, which I had on a slice of pizze late last night, truly does contribute to having dreams. So eat oregano and dream away, you starlight fools!

Afar

While the past is close, inside of us, the future is afar, in front of us (or to the sides, depending on which paths we take).

There are many people who, having reached old age, wish they were back in their youth. Then there are many who wish they were older. As for me, I am content where I am as long as I maintain my awareness of past and future.

This, however, is not what I meant to write about.

I wanted to talk about the strange awareness of the fact that someday we will age and grow old (if we do not die an unexpected death beforehand). It is probably wise to be aware of this fact. So many young people seem to forget it - they naively act as if their twenties are not tied to their thrities, forties, and so on. They forget that even today will effect many tomorrows ahead.

Then again, it is tedious to be too aware, so fear not if you never are.

I am tired again. I didn't even go out last night! Maybe I'll take a nap....

Ago

It was almost ten years ago that I lived in a place that had this as the view from the window. I remember sitting by the window sill with my tripod, excited to take the perfect shot.

I remember running through the streets of Siena wearing my over-sized, hand-me-down clothing as the sun set, looking down each unique, cobbled street for the perfect picture, cars and mopeds streaming by.

I remember my friend Benedetta and all the drama of her life, the visits to the Irish pub on Saturdays, the delicious tomatoes, the fizzy water. The photogenic pigeons that lined the ancient sculptures.

It was great to be a kid in a land far away, a land with visible history. So many Americans never get to do that; I really wish they could.

Pollutions

The past few days I have been editing a historical document about a special lake called Leonard Lake. The certain details that have surprised me the most are those describing how much cleaner and more beautiful the lake had been in the past, a past that I had never known because it was well before my birth.

The water in the lake had been so clear that you could look down and see vast arrays of underwater plants and fish in the depths. Now you can barely look through five or ten feet of the lake, which may be as deep as 100 feet.

You see, at one point they decided to add blue gill fish into the lake in order to provide food for a special species of bass, or so the story goes. Then, shortly after, the lake got all opaque.

The funny thing is, I never noticed or even imagined that the lake could have been that way. The opaqueness, to me, was normal.

And yet now I see it from a different perspective. I see a lake that had been polluted with the wrong species of fish by some blundering humans who did not understand ecology or biology enough to make the right decision. The lake had had more bass before they tried to bring in these other fish. And they were big, special bass.

I can't help to think of this specific case as an example for what humans have been doing around the world. Over and over they take virgin lands and destroy their once held beauty. People seem to have no real understanding of, or respect for, the simple notion of cause and effect.

The good news is that to some degree the earth knows how to renew itself. In the end, we cannot control our planet; it controls us. We are just a small part of the planet that has gotten egotistical.

I guess we must also separate the well-intentioned mistakes (those that stem from simple ignorance), from the careless, malicious acts of destruction that happen just as often. For example: wars. Wars produce perhaps the worst forms of social and environmental pollution. They no longer stem from passion and ignorance as they may have used to at some point (i.e. when chimpanzees battle and kill each other)....

There are other questions worth asking. Where does one draw the line between artifice and pollution? Is an airplane a piece of pollution, or is pollution only the exhaust it emits? Are some forms of art pollution? When does a pile of garbage become a mountain rather than a pile of pollution? Are really annoying television shows a form of pollution? Perhaps the concept of pollution should expand and contract in particular ways and then we can really clean this place up.

At Peace

There is no place like San Francisco other than San Francisco. L.A. is the same way. However, there are parts of the bay area that are nearly identical to parts of L.A. county.

I have been here for almost three weeks. I feel great here. Never before has a place felt so natural, so freeing. I never feel uncomfortable in this city. I am like the moon in its place in the sky.

Life flows here so gently and easily. There are so many good things going on all at once. The amount of positivity is sometimes astounding.

Buena Vista Park, Golden Gate Park, the Presidio: these places give this city a heart of peaceful beauty. Then the architecture of the city, and the temperate climate adorn the place with thoughtful artifice and comfortable temperatures.

Haha. I am going a little too far. But, really, people love this city and I can certainly see why that is. So I am just thankful. Thankful for the events, the places, the people, the family, the friends. Even the city's homeless have radiated warmness as well as a form of enlightenment.

I'm tired now,
As you may be able to tell.
So until next time,
Be well.

Unconventionality

The other day I was walking up a hill and checking the time on my cell phone. It was 8:56pm. But for some reason the minute refused to change. That minute, 8:56, lasted a long, long time. My close observation, and perhaps the fact that I was moving at the time, made the minute seem so long.

I don't really know how that fits in to what I wanted to express today.

Last night I slept very well. After having walked around the city, stopping by Zeitgeist for a pitcher of Mt. Tam Pale Ale, and talking about all kinds of funny stuff with Slaven and Claire, my dreams were long, strange, and varied. I won't restate them here though....

I am very relaxed right now. And a little sleepy.

What I wanted to express was that I have found the key to good living: that key involves something that some European cultures (Spain, Italy, France) seem to have - a healthy, hearty respect for daily life that rejects the notion that the "productive day" is the only worthy kind of day. In other words, prestige, wealth, and class are not necessities for the good life. Friendship, awareness, the basics of life (food, shelter, clothing), and perhaps most importantly—time—are the more important elements of the good life. The basics, of course, are fundamental. But time is perhaps even more so.

This is not to say that being a productive, hard worker is a bad thing. Nor that one should be lazy all the time.

. . . . . . .

A man on Van Ness asked me for food money today. He was a Vietnam War vet. He told me his story when I asked him. He said that his time behind the gun gave him 30 years of grief - in fact, he could not even begin to confront that grief until 30 years after the fact. He described how he shot two children (who had been armed with AK47s, or so I understood). He told me his name is Michael Bray.

I keep my ears open in this city. It is an education just to live in a place like this, to encounter the people, the places, the history, the nature, and the complexities.

A blind man

The other night some friends and I were walking back from a gathering at the Swig bar on 571 Geary. It was a Wednesday night, I believe.

There was a man on the streets who asked for money. His eyes were glazed over, making it pretty clear that he was blind. He asked us for money to ride the bus. I searched my pockets as usual, and found no change. So I wished him my luck. Then he asked in a kind voice, "where are you," and gently reached out his hand. I showed him where I was and he clutched my hand.

He said, "Let's protend you're a doctor. What do doctors do for people?"

"They try to help people," I responded.

"They cure people. Cure me. Fix my eyes." I wished that his words were true. If only doctors could really cure us.

But we left the man on the cold streets, just as doctors sometimes leave their patients with no cures. But the man was kind enough to leave me with the memory of him.

It's remarkable how kind and earnest the street people can be at times. There is much to be learned from them. They have witnessed some of the kindest and some of the worst human deeds. Even this blind man is less blind than he knows. (For so many people who can see with their eyes lack vision).

Recently...

Recently I've been side-swiped by both the pastness of my past and the myriad possibilities of my future.

To sometimes reflect on things past - to realize that they are to never be again, that is one of the hardest things to do. Not only is it a hard thing to realize, but if and when it is realized, it is incredibly emotionally challenging. But so is the realization that the future could go in any which direction....

The future. It is made by chance and by choice. A wise man once told me it is fifty-fifty. Many doubt that claim, but then they are either a) not taking advantage of their full power of choice or b) not willing to take on the incredible responsibility that even 50% of that equation would imbue (ah, existentialism).

The other 50% is always there to pick you up and swing you around when you yourself are not willing to take on the amazing burden of choice. Necessity will save you. It always will. It always has to.

The shock of truth is enough to put you in shock. It's true. As crude as it may sound.

Luckily there is padding for so many of us. Just as there is padding between your brain and the outside world; just as their is the fact that your brain really ain't that big (especially compared to an elephant's). So no worries. Bathe in stupidity, ignorance, bliss, etc. And when you're down, you may as well think that the future and past are merely equations that have already been settled. There is no choice. Your life is a foregone conclusion (a form of depression). And then you realize it is the opposite (mania).

Advice for the year:
Practice copia. Make lists. It opens minds. Then remember to be surprised every once in a while. If you're not surprised, something is probably wrong. Then again, usually a lot more than just something is wrong when it comes to human life and society (and that's okay... the sweet just wouldn't be as sweet without the sour, right? And there is no human world without the existence of bads - it is a logical necessity).

Today I miss Ubuyama

Today I miss the little kids. I miss the kids who loved me as their big, foreign-looking teacher. The teacher who they could say anything to, the teacher who was also their friend.

I miss the teachers. They were so kind and earnest. I miss my friends, foreign and domestic.

I miss the sky, the trees, the water, and so on.

But that's okay. I am falling in love with SF, its beautiful Golden Gate Park, its amazing, varied people, its diversity, its life, its hardships. Its outdoor shower at the bikram studio in Haight-Ashbury. Its wines.

I walked straight through the Tenderloin yesterday. It was interesting. I kept my eyes down, careful not to look like I am staring at anyone.

I love this place with its foods: Greek, Mexican, Japanese, Vietnamese, Senegalese, Ethiopian, Thai.

I love the friends I am making.

I love being unemployed, although I will also love to be employed.

I love finding good new roommates....

San Francisco / Bay Area

This place is great.

Diversity adds life to a society.

There is a whole lot of diversity here and it fills my heart with joy when I see all kinds of people from different places getting along harmoniously.

I love riding the Bay Area Rapid Transit. As counter-intuitive as it sounds, the diversity seems to bring about the feeling that everyone in the train is part of one family. Also counter-intuitively, it didn't feel that way on Japanese trains (the constant staring that I invoked did not do much to evoke the feeling of family, nor did the extreme silence of the passengers)...

I still don't have my own place yet and therefore haven't had the time or space to write very much. That's ok though. Transitions require attention. And there is so much here that requires my attention (and that I desire to be attentive to).

Still I think of the place where I could've gone (ny) and that makes me long to see those people and be on those streets. But SF has so much to offer. Perhaps I just need to buy a plane ticket to go and calm my friendly cravings.