No space and time

I'm thinking of that place where there's no space and time.  In particular, those free-spirited days from 1967 through early 1971. I had so few responsibilities, and could devote myself to whatever crack-pot, beguiling notion entered my head. There was plenty of room in that head. It needed to be filled, and only real life with all its wonders could fill a head that empty. 

In the early days, psychedelic drugs were not taken for "fun." I still don't quite understand the notion of taking it for "fun." Altered reality is often a terrifying place. Sometimes, however, it offers beautiful and mystical experiences. It opens one's mind to new ideas and alternate consciousness. It puts many in direct contact with the creative imagination.  

We were foolish and naive, thinking we could shortcut the quest for numinosity and creative bliss. We played with fire, wide eyed and unprepared. The Old Gods were awaked by all that ecstatic devotion. Those primitive forces are both good and bad. They act according to their own nature. People died. But the music from that time period was most certainly inspired.

Grounding myself

I went to see a Reiki master two weeks ago. Yep, my first time. I am open to and accepting of just about anything that doesn't hurt innocent people. But in my tight-fisted universe if it is not paid for by my health insurance, I usually don't go.

This Reiki master was having a sale, and you KNOW how hard it is to resist a sale! She's been learning Pranic Healing and needed warm bodies to practice on. My ailment? Anxiety, of course. What liberal American in their right mind is not experiencing anxiety at this point in time?

In my old stomping grounds in NYS, a practitioner might own an enormous, late 19th century Victorian house in town. S/he might rent apartments in the house to quirky graduate students who occasionally dropped by for tea. Everything she owned would be old, used and obviously potent. S/he would have ancient houseplants and overindulged pets.

This Orlando area practitioner lives in a modern, beautiful home in an upscale gated subdivision. Her house was elegantly appointed with stunning artifacts and fine art. The place was exquisitely tasteful. I experienced the sort of cognitive dissonance I suffer from ever since moving to Central Florida. I fear I will never belong here. The real problem is I am not sure I want to. I like old, used, and quirky. Don't get me wrong. She is a good person: kind, calm, and patient. I am the one who struggles with right and wrong.

I was laid out on her work table like a corpse, with my eyes closed. She worked slowly, walking around my body without touching me, except for my feet. She touched my feet. I wonder why?

The dark behind my closed eyes immediately changed to orange. That was strange; I do not see colors when my eyes are closed. I mentioned it to her. After that we did not speak until she was done. I was aware of her movement around my body, because colors changed depending on where she was. When she was on my left side colors popped, ranging from white to gray to pea green, blue, and yellow; all bubbling together like a lava lamp. When she was on my right the colors exploded into magenta, maroon, pink, orange, and purple. I wish I knew the language of colors, because my unconscious mind was speaking eloquently in that foreign tongue.

When finished, she asked if I saw other colors. I said "Yes, it was like a light show that changed depending on where you were in relation to my body." She told me she had never known that to happen to anyone before. That surprised me, it seemed so obvious and apropos. Perhaps it does happen to others, but people don't mention it?

Her recommendation? Become more grounded. I like clear instructions so I asked,"What exactly does that mean?" "Feel the earth, touch a tree, walk in a forest, dig in the dirt" she replied with a comforting smile. I have been weeding my garden beds ever since, feeling the sandy Florida soil and claiming it as my own. Truthfully I do feel less anxious, even as the world falls apart around me. 

Turning 65

I turned 65 recently. Over the past few months I have drawn up a will, signed up for Medicare, re-balanced my retirement investments, and bought dental insurance (finally). I worked long and hard building a reasonable life for myself and my family. The building part of my life is over and it seems like the external part of my life is as "in place" as it is going to get. Now that I am 65 I want to change my focus. I want to take care of my internal self. I have the time, that's for sure. I believe I have the energy, too. I just need to change my attitude. Where there is fear, I need to cultivate strength. Call me naive, but I think it might be as simple as that.

The Time

Oh gee, where DOES the time go? And where does it come FROM, for that matter? These are the thoughts I have in retirement.

It is a helluva thing, Time. Closing in on 65, I figure I've had a lot of it. I hope to have more, of course. However, if something happened to end my time I would go out knowing that I have had a long and eventful life. I would have very few regrets.

But would I change anything? Would I go back, knowing what I know now and do things differently to avoid pain or hardship? Sure.

Then I wonder if I would have had as many adventures, victories, or just plain "Yes!" moments to remember. Who would I be if I had been able to avoid pain or struggle? Just how does this work, living a life?  

Afterthought/added after original post:  
And what of disease, trauma, and violence? These do no one any good.  I would change those things if I could.  

My footprint in the sand at St. Augustine Beach, August 2016.

Cool Jazz and Buddhist Chants

Last night T and I went to hear Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock play jazz. In the context of jazz music I am merely trying to be a supportive wife. Imagine my surprise when I found I liked it.

Truthfully, I have always enjoyed listening to contemporary jazz more when it is live versus when it is blasting from our CD player. There is something about our small house being bombarded by disembodied dissonant chords that sets my teeth on edge.

All the music was improvised last night. I was amazed they could sustain a creative dynamic nonstop for almost 90 minutes. In front of an audience of strangers, no less. It made me think they had discipline, confidence, and faith.

Herbie Hancock worked his magic on a grand piano and a synthesizer. It was crazy, the musical noise he made. I lack a musical nomenclature, but I could almost follow what he did because there is something seemingly linear about piano. There is at least the appearance of a beginning and and end with whatever they play. Please don't assume I know what I'm talking about. I am just writing this trying to figure out what I think.

The musician who knocked my socks off was Wayne Shorter. Jazz sax players do NOT seem linear to me. They are explosively expressive and endlessly, belligerently creative. It was nuts how he played around the piano music, how he filled up space with bursts and bleeps. Like I said, I do not have the language to describe it. I certainly don't "understand" what they were playing. I only know these two guys are in touch with some deep creative groove and I enjoyed watching and hearing them settle in to it.

T reminded me that we saw Wayne Shorter perform a million years ago, when he was in the band Weather Report. I have no memory of that performance. It was the early 1970's and believe me, at that time I was way more interested in David Bowie than jazz. I am still more interested in David Bowie than jazz.

Wayne Shorter is a jazz saxophonist, one of the best. He has been referred to as jazz's greatest living composer. He is also a Buddhist, as is Herbie Hancock. They both practice Nichiren Buddhism through an organization called Soka Gakkai International. I knew nothing about this religious discipline before starting this post, so I am absolutely not writing this to promote SGI. I just reference it so I can try to understand what motivates these two guys. Pretty much all I know is what I found on one of the SGI website pages:

"The core Buddhist practice of SGI members is chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo and reciting portions of the Lotus Sutra (referred to as gongyo), and sharing the teachings of Buddhism with others in order to help them overcome their problems."

Okay...

When I heard these guys playing I knew they were plugged in to something heady. It must be nice to have a spirituality that encourages you to lose yourself in abstraction and beauty. I kind of envy them that.

Mucky stuff in the lake