Fucking hippies! I’m fed up with the lack of respect those of us with choices apply toward them. So many suffer impossible inescapable predicaments of health, economics, and social order. But the savvy free that pick at their stables of richness haven’t the sense to bow their heads in gratitude and offer silent thanks with the rigor of their methods.
I’m talking about the “it’s all good” lingering hugs smiling eyes sage burning flower children of the 21st century who fancy in the hodge-podge regalia of absurdity that frees them from their more-likely-than-not privileged origins. These are the folks who spin their minds around pointless realizations of reality and the universe. Those who rape and sodomize sacred traditions with a weekend workshop and a lifetime of Sanskrit namedropping. These are the folks who dwell and nit-pick on the self-righteous scheme that serves their leaky identities while actually contributing nothing. These are the folks who feel their own peace of mind, but do nothing to offer it to those who can’t have it so easily.
It’s always a surprise to me that people choose to read my blog. Most of it is me prodding the ether with my internal heat or momentary pulse of creativity. I never claim that it’s truth or endorse its value as a readable pastime. But perhaps this time there will be an effect. I can only hope.
Listen. Think about what’s going on. Consider how you fit in. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Go deeper than the first twinkling idea that keeps you mesmerized like an optimized monkey. Get the heart of the matter. Understand other peoples’ experience. I assure you it’s not like yours. Suffering exists everywhere. So does truth. Neither one requires a transatlantic flight to find.
Accept that vibration means oscillation and that oscillation means a little of this and a little of that. You’ll never be permanently stable or full of joy. You could be content with what you get. You could aim your efforts at balance. And if you choose to do so, you will no doubt discover that other people are a great part of that balance. And you will strive to respect them.
Once in a while you will meet someone special. Someone learned, experienced, kind and generous. Someone who is willing to teach you their ways. Not someone rubber stamped with the legacy money of an academic marketing firm. But someone with practical know-how - the goods. And when you do, by all means offer them the respect they deserve.
I am lucky to have a phenomenal set of teachers whom I currently study herbal medicine with. Essentially all of them got to where they are by scraping and clawing and pushing against relentless impediment. And still they offer their services with a smile. Yet I’m embarrassed to say how many times I’m the only one who shows up, even though the registry is full of commitment. People wander in 30, 40, 90 minutes late. Or many never show up at all. Of course there are circumstances, emergencies, demands that can’t be averted. But I know for a fact that this is not the primary issue. The issue is a looseness of will. A feeling that softness of the heart means softness of the mind. Fuck that shit and send it back to where it came from.
We are the people who get it. Who feel love and have the fantastically good fortune of being able to do something about it. Wake up goddamn it! Do the right thing, get there on time, take the generosity of those who aim to help you, be grateful, and cut the hippie crap.
Thank you.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Salvia, Pyrethrins, Crush
I have a crush. It’s been blooming for 3 days now. I don’t know the person. I’ve seen her twice. Spoke briefly each time.
The first time went something like this:
Me: “Do carry the Mexican Salvia?”
Her: “ We’ll have that in tomorrow.”
She was wearing a cute hat, the variety I would associate with rice farmers in Vietnam. Her voice was kind and clear, and her eyes beamed along with her dimpled smile. Descartes called the eyes the window to the soul. For me, they’re an imperative. I can’t speak to people wearing dark glasses. I feel like I’m missing on so much expression, like they’re hiding something. The subtle movement of the brow, the flicker of the lids, the level of the gleam. So much is offered there. For me, it was all it took.
This turned out to be her standard MO, as per today’s conversation:
Me: “Do you have any insecticidal soap with pyrethrins?”
Her: “ The one in the bright green bottle on the top shelf there has pyrethrins.”
Ah, we’re destined for a deep love no doubt. Isn’t it the mundane where the real connection happens? This is no seduction. This is Life 101, and here I am living it, buying potted starts and earth-safe insecticide. If it’s not obvious, this hapless stranger in the wily machinations of my deluded drama works in the garden department at a hardware store.
Now it’s true that I was interested in both the Salvia and the soap. But I admit that I might not have made the extra walk today if I didn’t think I might have a second chance at whatever. Clearly I was not on the offensive. It was more like reconnaissance. Or maybe browsing. And I guess that’s really where I stumble. People with service jobs are just doing their job. I can’t get myself to show up to someone’s workplace and steer their attention toward my life, and my interests.
Instead I ask real questions that have no chance of leading them to think of what I have in my mind: that something about the way they are makes me want to ask for more, whatever that means, however it may be. Is that deceptive? Only to myself perhaps.
Okay so I did compliment her hat. Well actually I said I liked it. Which is not necessarily a compliment unless there’s an assumption that I have good taste. She thanked me, so perhaps she thinks I do. After all, she’s the one wearing it, so my taste must be at least as good as hers, unless it’s a work requirement, but I didn’t see anyone else wearing one. What kind of hardware store makes people wear Vietnamese rice farmer hats anyway? Breathe.
She’s probably married, engaged, in love with a decent person who keeps her photo in a small gilded picture frame at his workplace. I wonder if he's a rice farmer. Maybe she’s into women. Maybe she’s into solitude. But the eyes, the glow. I’m not lonely. I’m intrigued.
Well, I’ll need a pot for my Salvia at some point. And probably run out of the soap with pyrethrins. I wonder if I'm out of 5/8" wood screws. And there’s always the possibility of exchanging the dimmer I bought on the first visit for one that matches my other faceplates. Perhaps I should have joined their frequent shopper program as the cashier suggested today when I was leaving.
This is going to be a costly affair.
The first time went something like this:
Me: “Do carry the Mexican Salvia?”
Her: “
She was wearing a cute hat, the variety I would associate with rice farmers in Vietnam. Her voice was kind and clear, and her eyes beamed along with her dimpled smile. Descartes called the eyes the window to the soul. For me, they’re an imperative. I can’t speak to people wearing dark glasses. I feel like I’m missing on so much expression, like they’re hiding something. The subtle movement of the brow, the flicker of the lids, the level of the gleam. So much is offered there. For me, it was all it took.
This turned out to be her standard MO, as per today’s conversation:
Me: “Do you have any insecticidal soap with pyrethrins?”
Her: “
Ah, we’re destined for a deep love no doubt. Isn’t it the mundane where the real connection happens? This is no seduction. This is Life 101, and here I am living it, buying potted starts and earth-safe insecticide. If it’s not obvious, this hapless stranger in the wily machinations of my deluded drama works in the garden department at a hardware store.
Now it’s true that I was interested in both the Salvia and the soap. But I admit that I might not have made the extra walk today if I didn’t think I might have a second chance at whatever. Clearly I was not on the offensive. It was more like reconnaissance. Or maybe browsing. And I guess that’s really where I stumble. People with service jobs are just doing their job. I can’t get myself to show up to someone’s workplace and steer their attention toward my life, and my interests.
Instead I ask real questions that have no chance of leading them to think of what I have in my mind: that something about the way they are makes me want to ask for more, whatever that means, however it may be. Is that deceptive? Only to myself perhaps.
Okay so I did compliment her hat. Well actually I said I liked it. Which is not necessarily a compliment unless there’s an assumption that I have good taste. She thanked me, so perhaps she thinks I do. After all, she’s the one wearing it, so my taste must be at least as good as hers, unless it’s a work requirement, but I didn’t see anyone else wearing one. What kind of hardware store makes people wear Vietnamese rice farmer hats anyway? Breathe.
She’s probably married, engaged, in love with a decent person who keeps her photo in a small gilded picture frame at his workplace. I wonder if he's a rice farmer. Maybe she’s into women. Maybe she’s into solitude. But the eyes, the glow. I’m not lonely. I’m intrigued.
Well, I’ll need a pot for my Salvia at some point. And probably run out of the soap with pyrethrins. I wonder if I'm out of 5/8" wood screws. And there’s always the possibility of exchanging the dimmer I bought on the first visit for one that matches my other faceplates. Perhaps I should have joined their frequent shopper program as the cashier suggested today when I was leaving.
This is going to be a costly affair.