Calvin Hates God

Given a recent past repeat strip and then this repeat strip, I'm starting to think Calvin's a developing little Atheist:

The Descent

My descent into becoming Mr. Spiritual New-Age Guy continues. Last night I actually passed on a Rumi poem to a friend.

The Limits of Talky-Talk

Years ago now, when I was living through a fairly serious depression, I realized that all of the blogging and journaling and thinking about what I was going through wasn't going to do enough to help me navigate through being depressed to a place of more peace, if not happiness. Following mostly an intuition, and being sort of fed up with thinking about myself, I launched into an exercise regimen that kept my mind busy for at least an hour or two a day, and also helped me live in the rest of my body, and not just my brain. Exercise was a distraction from the crap I kept thinking about, endlessly, for sure. It was also just good for me...moderate exercise day-to-day is a good way to distract oneself, because there are generally just benefits all around. (I'm torn sometimes about distractions--I sometimes feel they are necessary, and the best thing I can do for myself; but I can cross into living in a distracted world the whole time so easily that I sometimes veer away from doing them at all.)

In some ways I keep moving away from my 'life of the mind'. Sure, I still spend the majority of my day in my head, wandering and wondering, agonizing about the past and future--heck, even agonizing about the present--worrying and hoping, all that good stuff. But now there are times in the day that I specifically set aside to not be about the past or future, to not be about thinking. These times are about just being alive. So, I do resistance training 3 or 4 times a week in the gym. I listen to music then, but I try to keep it motivating and background-y, not pensive. (This is not easy, given that my music collection is very singer-songwriter-folky heavy, with lots of pensiveness.) After weights, I do 35 minutes of 'hills' on the stationary bike. I oftentimes bring a book to this part of my workout, but since I've been focusing on the fartlek aspect of it (which makes me feel great), I read only going 'downhill', focusing on my breathing and everything while going 'uphill'. So, where for a while I was watching movies while exercising, or youtube videos, or reading a lot, I'm starting to just be in my body a bit more, to just experience it, feel my breath, my heartbeat, and turn off the brain for a while. It's nice.

And now I've started to do just a bit of yoga in the mornings. I'm not sure how long I will keep it up, but it is becoming a standard way to start my day. I get up, take a shower, put on the ol' boxers and a t-shirt, and then do a little yoga routine that I vary a bit from day to day. At the end of the routine, I do some supine poses that allow me to meditate as well. It's very not-thinking-about-my-coming day, just being thankful for the day I have and the like.

I still enjoy thinking about my 'stuff', puzzling out some problems and joys, talking about the whys of my motivations, figuring out causes and trying to 'fix' things. I think there's a place for that in my life, if for no other reason than I get some fairly deep needs satisfied in doing so, at least right now. But more and more I'm seeing that talking and thinking about stuff only goes so far, and can sometimes be a trap. And avoiding that trap involves being more in my body sometimes. I have a wealth of new tools for the trap-avoiding toolbox (yoga, sitting meditation, resistance training); it's not a bad place to be, in the midst of all of this uncertainty.

Men's Project

Spread the word. Deadline extended to May 30th:

Call for submissions:
Men's Story Project


Men of all ages and backgrounds are invited to participate in the Men's Story Project! This project will bring together a diverse group of men's real stories to create a local performance about men's life experiences. We're looking for stories from men of a variety of race/ethnicities, sexual orientations, social/cultural backgrounds, life histories, etc.

The pieces can be poems, monologues, prose, raps, just a few powerful sentences, a dance piece, music, etc. - on subjects such as lessons you were taught about what it means to be a man, social/cultural expectations, learning on your own what it is to be a man, experiences of violence, experiences of promoting peace/healing, relationship with your body, sexuality, gender, power, transformation, taboos, etc. Pieces should last a max of 5 minutes. It may also be possible to exhibit visual art in the space.

Contributions of all kinds are welcome -- funny, serious, vulnerable, risk-taking, triumphant, etc - the main theme is REAL. We will present them to an audience in a Bay Area venue TBD in June or July, with the lofty goal of helping move society forward in conceptions of what it can mean to be a man.

If you want to create a piece but would prefer to have someone else read it, that's fine - authorship can be anonymous. If you have a story in mind but want some coaching to get it on paper, we have folks who can help you.

This is a progressive event and will be a safe space.

*Submission deadline: May 22 May 30th*

Participants will be paid $50.

This is an independent project getting off the ground, and is not affiliated with any organization.

Please send submissions + a short bio and any q's to Josie Lehrer at jlehrer1@gmail.com

Summer Has Arrived

"Summer In The City"

Summer in the city means cleavage cleavage cleavage
And I start to miss you, baby, sometimes
I've been staying up and drinking in a late night establishment
Telling strangers personal things

Summer in the city, I'm so lonely lonely lonely
So I went to a protest just to rub up against strangers
And I did feel like coming but I also felt like crying
It doesn't seem so worth it right now

And the castrated ones stand in the corner smoking
They want to feel the bulges in their pants start to rise
At the site of a beautiful woman they feel nothing but
Anger, her skin makes them sick in the night nauseaous, nauseaous, nauseaous

Summer in the city, I'm so lonely lonely lonely
I've been hallucinating you, babe, at the backs of other women
And I tap on their shoulder and they turn around smiling
But there's no recognition in their eyes

Oh summer in the city means cleavage cleavage cleavage
And don't get me wrong, dear, in general I'm doing quite fine
It's just when it's summer in the city, and you're so long gone from the city
I start to miss you, baby, sometimes

When it's summer in the city
And you're so long gone from the city
I start to miss you, baby, sometimes
I start to miss you, baby, sometimes
I start to miss you, baby, sometimes

You Are Here

From Bizzarro:
Sweet Jesus Malone, if there is a God, I hope he has a better sense of humor than that.

California Is So Gay

So Gay.

Letters to the Future

Years ago, I flew back to Iowa for my uncle's funeral. Lots of stuff happened during those few days that sticks with me now. My uncle Mark lived in Iowa his whole life, was the only one of 5 kids who stuck around near his parents, and had the steadiest of steady jobs working for the state of Iowa, building bridges and overpasses. When I spent summers in Iowa as a kid, Mark would take me on one or two canoe trips during the summer. This trips usually amounted to spending the day together, buying lots of beer(for him) and soda(for me), filling up the cooler with it, packing the cooler into a canoe, and paddling downstream for some hours, jumping in the river from time to time. Sometimes we 'fished', though I can't remember either of us ever catching any fish. I think I was afraid that I would.

Sometimes we would go camping with his friend and his friend's son, who was a couple of years younger than me. The other kid and I would get to hang out in our tent, like big kids, while my uncle and his friend would stay in the camper. Only later did I recognize that they were most likely smoking a lot of pot after I went to sleep. If it weren't for Mark, I wouldn't have any memories of camping, or of being on a river.

After Mark died sort of suddenly, when he was only in his early 50s, my mom and I went back to Iowa for the funeral. My poor grandfather had already lived through the death of my grandmother, and Mark's death was pretty devastating for him, I think. And it was scary and devastating for us all, really, because he wasn't obviously sick or decrepit. (Historical note: He had an aneurism in his brain while he was sitting on the toilet. He died quickly (they say), which is an odd kind of consolation. I can't help but think this is a tragically comic way to die. I think Mark might agree, if he could agree or disagree with anything at this point. I think about it pretty much every time I sit down on a toilet.)

After the funeral we went to Mark's favorite bar, where he had apparently hung out pretty much every night. The place was packed with people who knew Mark from the bar, mostly, and the outpouring of affection for him was pretty touching. There were several burly, grown men crying that night, mostly into their beers. It warmed my heart to know that Mark had this sort of extended friendship circle.

But, then, there is an underbelly to that sort of thing, and it was soon revealed. Mark had lived most of his life in the same house, as a renter (could be in the genes of my family...?). I had been there a few times as a kid, but not in a few decades. His sisters and brothers went to the house to clean out Mark's stuff, and, as it turns out, he was something of a recluse. The too-many-cats and newspapers-stacked-to-the-waist kind of recluse. My mother still shudders when she talks about it, and is thankful that I didn't go with them to help. I'm sort of thankful for that as well; just hearing about what it was like was enough of an object lesson for me. Those stories help motivate me to throw crap out even today.

It's not too surprising to find out that Mark was probably depressed a good deal of his life. I talk about it here because people don't talk about this shit enough--just like people don't tell you that people tend to die on the toilet. I mean, the guy spent most of his evenings drinking at a bar--and, while you could be healthy and happy doing so, probably, chances are there's some not-healthiness to it.

My mom brought back a box of Mark's things--pictures and letters and a few objects. I kept his class ring as a reminder of him, though I don't remember ever seeing him wear it. I also looked through some letters, which I wish I had kept. One of them was from an on-and-off again lover of many years, a woman I had met as a kid, explaining to him that she loved him but that his drinking kept her from being with him. If he'd get some help, things could change. Things never changed.

Out of all of my mom's siblings, only she and her sister had sustained, happy-ish romantic relationships. I'm well aware that biology isn't fate, and I've already had some wonderfully loving romantic relationships in my lifetime--which is more than some people ever get. But I do wonder about how much of the ins-and-outs of my romantic life are informed by the underlying genetics that I share with my uncles. I have some good role models in my life, male friends who are in long-term relationships--but I also feel very, very different from them along the lines of romance-building. I feel less together. I feel less desired. I feel less desirous of romance, though I long for it and feel the loneliness of lacking it just as strongly (or more strongly) than the next person. Intimacy doesn't work as a goal for me, though it's something I want. I wonder if Mark felt some similar things, even though the fog of depression and beer.

And that makes me wonder if somebody will uncover emails from my ex-lovers explaining how they just aren't attracted to me anymore, or how my lack of desire to get married has driven them away, or how my desire to not have kids is fundamentally incompatible with their desires, or...whatever. Doesn't matter a whole lot, since I won't have any kids (or siblings) to sort through them all anyway. And there won't even be a bar for them to go to where all of my acquaintances raise a glass to me, even though they've never been to my home to see my stacked-newspapers, and they never really knew me.

Moocifer

From Atrox.

God Wouldn't Play Dice, If He Existed, Is What I Meant To Say

Einstein letter shows disdain for religion

The great scientist's views on religion have long been debated, with many seizing upon phrases such as "He [God] does not throw dice" as evidence that he believed in a creator. But the newly-unveiled letter, a response to the philosopher Eric Gutkind, has cast doubt on the theory that Einstein had any belief in God at all towards to the end of his life. In the letter, dated January 3 1954, he wrote: "The word god is for me nothing more than the expression and product of human weakness, the Bible a collection of honourable, but still primitive legends which are nevertheless pretty childish. Article continues advertisement "No interpretation no matter how subtle can (for me) change this."

A quibble: Honorable? I wonder which part he had in mind. The part about stoning your daughter to death? Or the part where we need somebody to tell us it's wrong to murder?

Opening

Had my second-of-four introduction to meditation class last night at the East Bay Meditation Center. I'm really enjoying it and already look forward to it each week. It's nice that I have a buddy to go with, but there are also just a bunch of nice people there. I find myself sort of in awe of the fact that there are so many people who are looking for some peacefulness, for various reasons. It's a nice space to be in. I think it helps me feel less alone in my lack-of-peaceful times to know that, not only are other people going through similar things, but to know that they, too, are searching for other ways of going through life.

And the sitting in the same room with 'em is helpful; it helps to bring some of my abstract knowledge back into my body, makes the knowledge more visceral, somehow.

On the other hand, for whatever reasons, I didn't feel the sense of community that I felt last week. Most likely just a change in mood...I was definitely more out of it last night, more overwhelmed by life, less included to listen in the ways that I'd like to. I think there was also some excitement from the first class that is for the First Class. Now we're getting into the nitty gritty a bit more.

I am also over-thinking it, to be sure.

One other thing that struck me last night, during the class, was how not into this sort of thing I would have been 20 years ago, or even 10. I still feel resistance even today, as I talked about before in my other first post about meditation, and I'll likely talk about it again, but feeling resistance isn't the same as not being into it at all. I should take care to remember that, closed-minded as I can be sometimes, I am growing, and finding some ways of opening up my heart and mind, even in the face of laughing my ass off at all of us sitting around in a room with lots of cushions, listening to soft music and eating raisins (we did an 'eating' meditation).

Discovering and Building Community: Baby Steps

Note: Originally written May 7th, but I forgot to post.
So I'm taking an introductory meditation class at the East Bay Meditation Center this month, every Tuesday for a couple of hours, and last night was my first class. I really enjoyed it. My reasons for doing it aren't so much because I think meditation is something I'm going to fall in love with--I just don't know. Mostly, right now, when I'm faced with the choice of learning more meditation or doing more yoga (and sometimes I will be faced with that choice), yoga is much, much more appealing to me. But then, there isn't a hard and fast line (at least not yet) for me between the two. After all, one thing that made me think of trying some meditation again was the meditative-ness of corpse pose at the end of my yoga classes. And there are times where some simple meditation will be possible even when doing a little bit of yoga isn't (BART, anyone?).

Still, the thing that I'm going to the class for, more than learning-to-meditate, is the participating in a community aspect of it all, and boy did I pick the right class for that. The teacher is very into people communicating in this class, and we did some group work (which used to freak me out, but which I'm liking more and more the older I get (or, the lonelier I get? ack). Plus, the place is located in downtown Oakland, and full of (I think) Oaklandites. (The one negative is that the teacher mentioned that the EBMC will be expanding sometime soon, and I wonder if that means moving somewhere less accessible to me. Embrace change, embrace change.) Also, the people were just really very nice, and, put in the position where we were encouraged to talk amongst ourselves, very interesting to talk with. Lots of different people with lots of different reasons for being there, and yet a burgeoning sense of community anyway, simply because we were all (also) there to learn to meditate.

The meditating went fine. It is something that will simply take practice (no pun intended), and I think I'm more of a morning meditator than an evening one, actually, because I was pretty sleepy (and she talked a lot about the fact that it happens). There is something very pleasant and encouraging about a room full of people sitting quietly, focusing on their posture and breath, and trying to find some peacefulness, especially in downtown Oakland, for some reason.

Spring (the teacher) gave us homework: 5 minutes of meditation a day. I like that goal, and I did it this morning. As I was doing it, some of the thoughts that strayed into my head is how granola-Northern-California I've become. I go to therapy. I do yoga. I work out. I am learning to meditate. Can growing my own veggies be far behind? Or (shudder) burning man? Which leads me down some interesting roads, mentally and emotionally: I'm not going to stop doing these things which seem to bring me some happy and some peace in my life just because I do shudder at some of the more 'spiritual' aspects of them. But I do react negatively to the spirituality of it at times, oftentimes. When I'm reading some Buddhist tome and somebody starts talking about my True Self, it's hard to shut off the philospher in me who understands that such a notion is generally only put forward as a vague construct, so as to be unanalyzable and, as 'spiritual' things often are, therefore Very, Very Important. But I don't believe that something has to be mystical in order to be valuable, and I think we can understand how all of this may create some peacefulness without it taking away from the fact that it can.

For instance: One of the things Spring talked about last night was things that can get in your way when meditating, and one of those things is doubt--including doubt about whether meditation is good for you or not. And this is a classical way that religions perpetuate themselves: Doubting the religion is itself a sin within the religion. Now, of course, Spring was mostly talking about doubting-while-meditating. Meditation doesn't seem to entail that we don't think about meditation. And yet, there is some of that religious flavor there that just turns me off. So I'll do my best to find my way though all of that, because there are some lovely things to be had with meditation, I think. Last night, during our 15 minute meditation (we're starting off slowly), Spring noted in her calming voice, that if you get caught up in your thoughts, or have been distracted by whatever, no matter: Just begin again with the next breath. And in the middle of a small meditation, that seemed very much like an Important Truth, an important factor in becoming more compassionate towards myself (which is another granola thing I'm working on), because messing up confounds me at times, when really I should laugh at myself for messing up, take the next breath, and begin again.

The Person I Never Thought I'd Be

I woke up this morning, after having not gone to bed until way too late, with the following thought in my head: Wow, I really need to get up and do some stretching. I'm sure I'll feel better after my workout at lunch."

This is not the person that I ever envisioned as I was growing up or, well, ever, really. Not even when I started exercising more regularly. Not even after I took a month off of gym-type exercise (though I still biked) and found myself getting back into it fairly easily. Not even when I was craving it a bit--to wake up and to think of getting some exercise in order to wake up my body, in order to recover a bit, is still a bit foreign to me, like a new taste/texture, like eating Salt and Vinegar chips for the first time. It's weird. I like it, but it's weird.

In other news, I'm thinking of taking a break from therapy. Going to talk with my therapist about it next week. I've learned a lot there, and it helps me a lot. But I think I need a break. I think I need to get out of my head a bit more. I struggle with the decision, because I also know my psyche could be doing some self-sabotage, because I am still working on some tough stuff in therapy. And if I take a break, I may not get to go back to the same therapist, which would be a loss. Gonna think on it, but I've felt this way for a bit now.

Suspended my netflix memebership the other day, for three months. I just haven't been using it. I think I'll take a break from that sort of media for a while, since I seem to be ready for a break from it. Do some more reading. Do some more yoga. Do some more writing. And I can still watch stuff on hulu if I get desperate for media. But summer is here (finally). I think I will spend more time outside.