Sunday, November 25, 2007

Byron Katie

I confess: I like days off. For the most part, Saturdays are not days off, because the accumulated and regular tasks tend to take a largish bite out of the available time. The laundry, the dishes, vacuum cleaning and generally picking up are just the beginning. Sometimes the housecleaning extends to carpet shampooing, since the Law of Baby Feeding Gravity is in resurgence. And then there are the special efforts required on days when a cooking and baking frenzy has left the sink invisible under the overburden of assorted tools, pans, beaters, whisks, measuring devices and platters. Needless to say, I am not the original user of this type of gear: as they say in baseball, I follow in the cleanup spot.

It's not as if I'm the only one engaged in these activities: we have a shared schedule that works fairly well for the most part. Before we put this in place by consensus, there was a sense of resentment which would rise to considerable heights when a string of days went by with little evidence of cooperative effort. It's amazing how formalizing a schedule can lead to better habits while reducing excuses.

Sundays, however, are more like it. Once having freed myself from the family-based historical guilt feelings associated with failure to attend a place of worship, I found out how beautiful the seventh (or first) day of the week really can be. What a gift to be able to sit around in pyjamas (rather than office duds) and explore new worlds of sound and sight on the internet, at my own pace, without any particular objective except to find worthwhile things that have been unknown to me until that moment.

I've always felt uncomfortable using the phrase "I found ... on the internet." That's claiming too much credit. What I "found" is not a discovery so much as an uncovering of what has been there for some time.

Example: TheWork.com. Many thousands of people know of Byron Katie and her simple, four-question method that results in turning around the direction of lives.

I came upon this amazing woman and her story while watching an unrelated video on YouTube.com. There are dozens of videos of interviews and sessions that she has done over the course of 20 years or more, but the essence of her presentations is always the same. It involves identifying the issue (say, resentment over dirty dishes being left in the sink, or toys on the floor), examining how I feel about and react to that issue, and then questioning what life would be like if I did not have that feeling. The objective is to see whether or not what I am thinking is true. Katie believes that we are so attached to the truth of our own thinking and assumptions that we don't think to question them, to see what the truth really is.

The end of this process comes in the turnaround, when I see that the resentment is something that I generate, rather than the people who leave the place messy, and once I free myself of this belief, I can calmly and more appropriately deal with it. Over time, she says, this process of questioning becomes automatic whenever confusion (which is the source of suffering) occurs.

There are many others who have found their own pathways out of their suffering and have shared their experiences and ideas with the rest of us. A day off is a good time to explore them and find out which ones work for you.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Thanksthinking

So here we are, on Thanksgiving eve, thinking about how nice it will be to not have to pay attention to the alarm clock for one extra day this week. And then we remember that we have grown so used to getting up before the clock alarm so as not to disturb the partner that we can't really enjoy the prospect of a late lie-in, even though the alarm will not be set.

And of course, there are the dogs across the street, who seem to be let out into the yard to give voice to their discontent as soon as the sun begins to rise. What annoys them, perhaps, is their electronic collars which respond in some semi-painful fashion when they cross the buried transmitter boundary wire in the front lawn.

So, to calm the wearied and over-active mind, I turn to Shoutcast.com, to Otto's Baroque on 1.FM while the rain begins. The windows remain open just a smidge because the predicted cold front has not yet pushed into the region. But just as I settle back and my eyelids begin to flutter toward total closure, I remember that the laundry has to be moved from the washer to the dryer.

While performing that minor chore, I think of the enormous distance we have come over the past two generations. From the crystal radio to the satellite radio. From the washtub to the washing machine. From the 8 mm black and white silent film camera to the high definition home theater digital video. From the evening newspaper to the web log. I'm thinking here only of the field of communications. All other fields, from astronomy to zoology have made similar discoveries, mainly because of new technologies.

It has taken enormous inventive, creative engineering and manufacturing skills achieve this kind of technical-mechanical progress.

Not only do these manifestations of creativity make life easier, on the whole they make it more enjoyable, interesting, educational, healthier and longer. Outrageous claim? Not really. The potential, at least, is there to stimulate the mind, the body and the spirit. At the most basic, we are vibrating cycles of impossibly small matter and impossibly huge energy, which is probably why I resonate with Otto's Baroque in such an elementally refreshing way.

So this Thanksgiving...

Monday, November 19, 2007

The primary ordeal

Everyone in the house is sick at the moment, except for me and the cats. What is it about cats that seems to let them mosey along through life without succumbing to the general unhealthiness of humans? Of course, when you look this up on Google, you find that the difference is whether the disease is contagious (from one to another in the same species), or zoonotic (from one species to another). And if you look farther, you can get fairly worried, not about the lifespan of the cat so much as that of yourself, from just the latin names of the things they can give you: Leptospirosis, Echinococcosis, Ebola fever...

The problem with most things that don't go down well with human beings is that of being "too soon old, too late smart". Things that we should discover early enough to do something about end up killing us. The newly discovered adenovirus 14 seems to offer a case in point.

It's generally true, too, that it's not the big things, like the nuclear bomb, that are going to kill us. There's too much at stake for any country to start a nuclear war. Back in 1945, that wouldn't have been true, but with the sophistication of weaponry today, the deterrent effects are pretty obvious given the "assurance of mutual destruction" that nuclear weaponry guarantees. Self-interest is keeping us from launching the war to end all humanity, at least so far.

But it's the small stuff, and anyone who tells you "don't sweat the small stuff" is a maxim-izing meathead. Viruses and bacteria and decomposition have always waged war for supremacy on this earth, and the viruses are getting smarter while we...

A study I heard about today on NPR says that Americans average two hours of TV a day and only 7 minutes of reading. What a difference. TV, generally speaking, stimulates somnolence and passive acceptance, while reading triggers thought and imagination and creativity.

So dumbing down is not a myth. It's as real as global warming. And, should the trend continue, and by the law of inertia it seems likely to continue, the next generation will be stupider than we are, and so on down the line. At some point the viruses and bacteria will be well positioned to take over and become the dominant species. Just as they were in the primordial soup. Welcome back, Rotter.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Cats have (ring)masters?

There is actually a Moscow Cat Circus with one Russian ringmaster and 120 cats. He says that the secret of his protégés' performance is that he watches them, gets to know what they do, and builds their acts around that. He also acknowledges that you can't make cats do what they don't want to do.

He has discovered two simple principles, both of which could be the basis of a whole new approach to a better world for all.

Consider. The first point is observation. Quietly watching other beings as they go about doing what they do, without interfering or trying to spread democracy on them. Refraining from intervening to achieve one's own ends. Withholding criticism of their way of life, their beliefs, their preferences and their way of doing things. Admiring them for being who and what they are, and seeking to understand them better without criticism or complaint. Offering encouragement and applause for a job well done.

The second point is acceptance. Realizing that cats have staff, not owners. Understanding that cats dictate the terms on which you shall live with them. Knowing that cats will respond to open hands and arms and laps: that an occasional can of tuna will restore their faith in human kindness and you in particular.

Ah yes, but is the Moscow Cat Theatre exploiting the very nature of cat life for monetary gain? If the cats are as happy and cooperative as they seem to be, who can argue that anything cruel or untoward is happening? It must cost a fair amount of money to maintain 120 cats. They earn their keep, and the entire enterprise probably never has to deal with mice.

Our cat, Kaboodle, has always greeted me at the door after work. Lately, she has added a couple of tricks to her repertoire of attention-getters. In addition to meowing in response to my verbal affirmations, she sits back and raises her right paw. I take this to be her offer to shake hands, but if I'm not very quick, the paw is replaced on the floor.

The circus-worthy moment, however, comes when she stands on her back feet, even for only a few seconds, and extends her front feet into the air. So far as I can see, she does this in response to my bending down slightly, reaching out, and offering to scratch her ears.

One of these days, Kaboodle, you'll be ready for the Big Top. But please, don't run away to join the circus. We'd rather you be a barn cat than a Barnum cat.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

The Evil Eye and the Susceptible Ewe

Whenever Dusky, the senior male cat in the household, decides that he wants a particular place or seat, he simply jumps into it. Usually, the place he lands is on J's lap. But whenever the place has an incumbent, he takes a different, much more subtle approach: he gives the occupant the Evil Eye.

Invariably, staring at the opposition with an unbroken gaze is sufficient to force the abandonment of such a prized location. The loser, usually Kaboodle, slinks away, scarcely daring to glance backwards, but clearly mortified and somewhat angry at having to relinquish the venue. The more comfortable the resting place the more resented the victory.

What is most intriguing to me is that more often than not, he will stay in his new-found eyrie just long enough to establish his seniority. Then he will jump down again and wander off in search of new conquests. It is not that he particularly wanted the spot in the first place. It is more likely that he needed to boost his sense of self by maintaining his rights as he sees them.

His method, however, does not transport easily. I have tried it once or twice on the grandchild, but the fact that I have eyes of slightly different colors tends to fascinate rather than intimidate. It does not work on the cats, because they either do not know what I'm trying to do, or they are such excellent practitioners themselves that they are immune to its effects, or they get bored and look away.

According to Wikipedia, the origin of the evil eye is in the envy that one feels when others have good fortune. You may be casting it unintentionally on the person whose good luck you envy. But there is a defense: paint a blue bullseye on yourself or your house, and the Evil Eye will be rendered powerless. But you may feel a bit sheepish when people ask you about your decorative tastes.

Saturday, November 3, 2007

It's about time.

OK, so now we're goin' down Route 66. Today's birthday boy is your obedient scribe.

What's it like being 66? Well, for one thing, it's like being twice as old as you were at 33, and three times as old as you were at 22, and six times as old as you were at 11.

Before we try to figure out what it feels like to be sixty-six times as old as you were at age one, let's just stop and think for a moment. Do you remember what it was like to be one year old? If you do you must be a phenomenon.

Actually, it's not too bad. Speaking for myself, I'm more settled now than I was at any of those other milestones. Different things annoy me now from those that annoyed me then. When I was six, I wasn't particularly easily annoyed by children. Well, mostly I was afraid of them. But at 66, interacting with kids has become one of my least sought after activities. I think this is partly the result of attenuation of hearing. As I lose the range of upper frequency response, I am less able to make out what kids are trying to say, particularly at the early stages of child development. And what I can understand, in most cases, is not something that offers much in the way of subject interest. Perhaps as I grow older, they will too, and some moments of effective communication are to be anticipated whenever that may happen. But it is likely to be a brief window indeed, given that I'll be nearly 80 when the granddaughter is a mere 16-year old, assuming we both survive.

What, then, you ask, are the joys of being on Route 66?
They are, at a minimum, three in number.

1) To have survived for another year is a fine thing. Much preferable to the alternative.
2) Some people seem to take note of my age and appearance and show a certain, perhaps undeserved, deference. I no longer have to do all the dishes and all the cleaning. Which is a good thing because
3) Time has become a valued commodity. It's amazing how much there is to do each day, and how little of it actually gets accomplished. When I was twice as young as I now am, I could remember to do things very easily. It didn't mean that I did them, but at least I was aware that I needed to do them. Now, my best friend is a to-do list at Google Calendar.

And so, as life progresses toward unavoidable eventuality, knowing that it's highly unlikely that we'll someday be twice as old as we are today, let alone three times as old, we take the time to reflect on our turning off the freeway to follow Route 66 for a year. May this be the road less traveled by, making all the difference.