Here and now...

The present is where we are, where life takes place. Here and Now is where we create our world, you from your side, and me, from mine. Yesterday, the demented master points, is gone. Tomorrow, Tomorrow, well, that one never comes. It is always now and here.

In Hermann Hesse's novel, Siddhartha, a gray-haired character wisely explains how like the river we should always be in the present. The river is everywhere, at its source, at the ocean, on the mountain and the valley, in its beginning and in its end. The river is always present in its entirety.

Like the river, we are born, grow, experience, feel, change, physically, mentally, emotionally, withering along the way, until one day, it is time to depart. Like the river we have a beginning and end. We go through highs and lows. We are all of that at once, but our relation with time makes it seem otherwise. Our senses introduce us to shades of what is, giving us a limited perception of our realities, a glimpse of the iceberg. We see ourselves as water molecules, disconnected from the whole, helplessly caught in something frighteningly large and uncontrollable.

Yet, and here is our dilemma, we suspect, feel that there is more, that we ought to be more than the droplet, more than what we see, hear, feel, more than the senses. We suspect that we are the river, but as a thought it is too big to manage, too big to swallow. So we live in doubt, torn between our limited perceptions and the physically impossible richness of our potentiality. We are disappointed by what we were yesterday, fearful of remaining as we are when tomorrow comes, unable to see, hear, feel, know, experience our Truth.

Our vision is too narrow. Our yesterdays are a burdensome load, a false treasure, a casket of shame, too heavy to carry; yet we refuse to let go. Tomorrow, is an imaginary friend we've learned to rely on. Tomorrow is a black hole of doubts, fears, hopes, desires and wishes that have gone unchecked. It is what we feed it. Our present is what we do to satisfy both past and present. It's rarely about us... that is until we awaken, until we choose to awaken. And even then, there is a chance of relapse, for every now and here is a new beginning, where again and again, we can choose to either be awake, or to forget.

For days now, I've been contemplating this image. This morning, I felt like sharing... so, here you have it. By the way, there is also the movie, under the same title, Siddhartha.

Be well and remember to be like the river.

At times a drop, at times a river

Dear reader...

Dear, Dear reader,

I would like to share with you a few thoughts on my present situation, as an almost-unemployed citizen of the glorious and God-Blessed US of A. The use of the term almost-unemployed stems here from a couple of hours of yoga instruction at you know where, and if you don't and want to know, just let me know. As to that passing reference relating to geopolitical positioning, well we’ll just have to leave it for another time. The above mentioned couple of hours, however, represent the extent of my current contribution to society‘s immediate well-being. Of course, there is the writing, but I‘ll get to that later, and in due time.

Meanwhile, let us stick to palpable matters, i.e., the fact that my bank account is suffering from a condition where its content is flowing one way and one way only -that way being rather out than in. One would think that such a trifle issue wouldn’t be worth an inveterate dreamer’s attention, but as it happens, in this case, this case being no different from any other, the dreamer’s world, has the frustrating habit of switching to mainstream reality -the nerve.

Thus, and although this might sound awfully unbelievable, your once carefree -carefree as you might be inclined to deduce is used loosely- servant, here, has began suffering of an unpleasant condition known in layman’s terminology, layman's terminology is used at this juncture, and from now on, for the sake of clarity, as stress. Yes, dear friends, stress -notice the ominous presence of three ss in the referred-to condition. “Stressed, I am,” might just be my new motto, or as I prefer describing it, ‘cri de guerre‘.

Suspecting that some of you might try to interject their wisdom at this very point, by coolly remarking, “Not all stress is bad”, I will go ahead and nod, thus creating the false impression that I am in agreement with this nobly-empowering (or whatever attributes you might want to associate to such a remark) yet completely inadequate statement. Of course, you are not to blame your naivete, or should I say lack of insight, my dear, dear by-now-wondering-where-is-he-going-with-this-one reader. For how could you know the extent of my ‘angoisse’? And in passing, notice the use of French words for the purpose of creating an air of philosophical depth -have I fooled any one? Well I hope so.

I mean let us look at the facts, and just the facts. Here we are, with, not one, not two, but three ss in one word. I mean… how could I not feel threatened? And as the wise man cried, “Leave it to God, leave it to God, but don’t you stop rowing away from those rocks!“ Let me add that no one knows if the wise man made it or not. At any rate, and as a student of life and of wise men who seem to have a clue, I can proudly boast that this teacher’s cry didn’t land on deaf ears. Absolutely not. Not only did I hear, but I was also paying attention.

This is why, precious reader, (assuming you’re still there, which I will not use against you, although I could), this storyteller has to declare that steps are being taken. Yes, steps that can only lead to a win-lose situation, as the ss are smitten and obliterated beyond repair -if you know what I mean. “And what steps are these?” might you ask. Well, all I have to say is that these steps are too complicated to try and elaborate on them, so I won‘t, doing us both a favor. Suffice it to say that I’ve been strategizing to come up with an infallible and quantifiably applicable plan that would secure me a position within an organization of the type that tends to remunerate the members of its order for their time. In layman’s terms, once again for the sake of clarity, I am looking for work.

Yes, my either worried, or now gone, reader, Karim is looking to get a job very soon. “But why? Oh why? Oh why?” and believe me, I hear and feel your outcry -or maybe it is just my ears reacting to the café‘s expresso machine. Whatever the case, I say, “I understand, and that is why I would like you to know that this is the only possible course of action, and please go ahead and discard the idea of hobos, no matter how enticing it appears, for that is a line of work for which I am definitely under-qualified, and… where was I again?

Oh yes! My esteemed companeros e companeras, I would like you to know, and here is my argument, and it is quite a simple one, a beautifully incounterable argument based on mostly altruistic and honorable motives, this distantly-gazing-into-who-knows-what writer of yours, needs to start working and presto, because, when he is not working he goes on driving aimlessly, moving undecidedly between points A, B, C and D, as if lost in a deep haze, a menace to this already tried and battered environment of ours -that is if we are gullible enough to take in those clearly unfunded rumors that have been spreading about this so called environment by evil scientists from the left of the political spectrum, and before you start rolling your eyes, let me add that this last statement is based on strong scientific research supported by Fox News, so don‘t you even go there.

But I digress, aimlessly as if I were driving -do you see my point? Picture me on the road, moving at the mind blowing speed of thirty miles an hours, and you, you my mesmerized, or maybe you’ve moved to distant pasture -and I understand, Facebook fan (are you? If not, what are you waiting for? Time is of the essence), you, behind me, sinews tensing like the tight rope of an expertly crafted noose, squeezing the wheel of your car with both hands, knuckles turning translucent -which is a shade beyond white, gritting your teeth -knowing that it won't help your TMJ, blind to your dentist's future disappointed gaze -and you know that's coming, ready to scream, wondering, why, oh why, and, what the… and let us drop it here.

I could say, my all too patient amigos, take a chill-pill, relax, or as I heard it in some undisclosed location, chill-ax -here, I have to stop and salute the genius of the English language. Yes, I could indulge and reply, "Chillax," for it would bring me great pleasure. But, I don’t. Instead, I say, “I know. I know. And I’m looking. So hang in there. And don’t you forget to take a deep breath. As it happens you don’t look too good. Oh, and finally, sorry, sorry, I never took sign language, so your gesture doesn’t ring a bell…” This is what I say, or something within these general lines of open-minded parlance.

As you can see, as I am sure to have proven the gravity of the moment, and for the sake of not throwing combustibles at an already raging fire, so as not to be as those who are in charge of our all-so-so perfect economic systems, those who throw more of the good stuff, the real stuff, into the furnace of speculation, a furnace that we happen to be uncomfortably sitting on, confused by our situation, what with the media and all that goes with it, yes, why not take more from the people, give more to the problem, way to think, way to go, or maybe not. Anyway, what’s important is that I am looking, so despair not. Hang in there. What else can I say?

Otherwise, Be well, hang in there, and way to go.
Constantly awed by the blatant lunacy of those in power

As it happens...

I've been feeling a bit weary lately, about the BP situation mostly -not that I can do much about it. I feel helpless, caught in the messy affairs of bigger cats in the block. Cats who take advantage of the ignorance of others, others being us -the people, as opposed to profit-seeking corporate machines. Us, the people is what it come to. Leaders come and go, and anyway, power is tricky and corrupting. The closer one gets to it, the blinder one becomes. Us, nationalities and religious affiliations set aside, is what it comes to. That is why I'm feeling weary. That is why I'm feeling helpless.

Sadly, this 'Us' looks rather fragmented right now, and maybe, it has always been so, and will always be so. Some optimistic historians say that things have gotten better -imagine. I look at the Middle East and wonder when that affair will get better. The Isrealo-Palestinian debacle started before I born -so how long before it gets better. Will the blindness of men ever be cured?

What is it that makes us so fearful that we have to draw blood? What is it that makes us behave the way flesh eating ants do? Why is it that every prophet, every spiritual teacher was a recluse? Why is that every message of love is turned into a rigid doctrine, into books of rules and laws? I wonder. I wonder...

Looking at our past, considering our present, it would be easy to say that our prospects as a species look rather grim. But I am an optimist. So, I know that weariness will pass. I know that there is always room for improvement. The past can never define the choices we are about to make today. The past is gone, and there isn't much we can do about it. The present however is a whole different story. The present is always a blank page. Today is always the first day of the rest of our lives, as the line goes in some film I can't place right now. Yes, we can always choose to turn the page, start afresh, be smart, be wise, be caring, or we can go on messing around, not giving a nickel, or is it a dime, to what it is we are doing.

Closer home, there is a family of farmers who's been running a dairy sort of cooperative, and they are getting heat from the Man -not sure if its the state, or the county. But, whomever the Man is, he is trying to close this family's business. Because you see, there seems to be a bogus expired license issue, or maybe, just maybe, it has something to do with the fact that this family happens to sell raw milk products, in a state where selling raw milk is considered illegal. Grazing acres is the name of this cooperative which has been operating through a legal loophole -and I'll leave it to that. What's important is that Grazing acres has been making a lot of raw milk lovers happy.

Personally, I don't like milk and don't even mention butter -I know, what's wrong with me. But let's stick to the issue at hand, which is: these people need help, need the 'Us' factor. And although, I can't really relate to raw milk loving folks -I have no doubt that they're nice people- I, surely, do appreciate freedom of choice, and alternative ways of thinking. So this morning, I called this number: 608-266-1212 to complain about the Man's actions, and about the lawsuit that has been thrown at this family of rebels. After all, we have to support our local rebels, otherwise who will?

Meanwhile, I met Michael today at Harbor. Good guy Michael. Wise and sharp, then again he grew up in Brooklyn. He always makes me laugh, or at least grin. This weekend, I just found out, Michael turns sixty. So I say, "Keep up the good work and congratulations."

Finally, if you see me at the Borders cafe, with eyes glued to my tiny laptop, wearing a cool and wet towel around the cranium, it's probably because I am working on something super important -as you can see.

Be well, and do remember that we are One -no matter how hard it is to believe.

Felt like sharing, hoping you don't mind