Paying Attention

In our group discussion of Thich Nhat Hahn's book, we talked about how paying non-judgmental attention to something—anything—always warms your heart to the object of your attention.

For example, if you begin to pay close attention to one baseball team, sooner or later you will become a fan of that team. (Years ago, my son did this with the Detroit Tigers when they were the worst team in baseball.)

But this heart-warming effect of clear-eyed attention works with even the most mundane object. A crumpled piece of paper will do.

One way to really pay attention to something is to draw a good picture of it.

Watch this video, and see how paying attention warms the heart, even to a crumpled up scrap of paper.



Now, imagine how you might benefit from paying attention to someone you love.

Say Something Nice

Just got back from New York City, to visit my daughter.

Here's something that went on not far from where she lives.

Yellow Bird, for a Beluga

Something to lift your spirits today. In kindergarten I sing "Yellow Bird" as well as Raffi's "Baby Beluga" because they, well, make people feel good including me.

Here they are Yellow Bird, the song, and a little white whale together.  And join me in wishing whales well today.

Paddling Sausalito

Off Sausalito

A motor yacht's bright topsides

Reflect paddler.

30 Songs in 30 Days

Regular Mindful Heart readers already know that I am fond of home made music—especially singing accompanied by ukuleles. Most of the music that you'll hear at my house or in my classroom is exactly that.

This afternoon I discovered a young woman who goes by the name Miss Sophie Madeleine. She has undertaken the task of recording 30 songs in 30 days and posting them on YouTube. As of today, July 23, she's nearing the end of her project.

She's got good pipes. Her ukulele skills are up to the task, nothing extraordinary, but ordinariness adds to her charm. I get that feeling, "If she can do it, so can I."

Here are two of the YouTube videos she put up, "Dream a Little Dream of Me."



Here is the first, "One Fine Day." Through the magic of technology, she plays ukulele, a kid's xylophone, tambourine, kazoo, not to mention singing two harmonies behind the melody. A production like that would take some time, believe me. Very impressive, Sophie Madeleine.

I must say it's a whole lot of fun to make music with friends. And a whole lot easier, too.





This link will take you to her page where you can see more videos in this series:


http://sophiemadeleine.com/30days.html

Pedestrian Mindfulness

Mindfulness is a state of mind of being aware of what is, just as it is and returning to that moment instead of being carried away by our thoughts.

Thoughts WILL come by, like traffic on a busy street. They seem to demand our attention, but we don't need to do anything more than to note them and let them go by.

If our intention is to stay mindful of the present moment, we need only be aware of the passing thoughts and proceed across the street without being taken away.

This guy crossing a boulevard in Vietnam gives a graphic lesson in this metaphor for mindfulness:

Joyful Movie

Want to see a movie that'll make you feel good and probably stay with you the rest of your life?

This one may be it. It's got natural drama and some suspense, too.

Maybe it will fill you with some hope.

This movie, less than 9 minutes long, ought to do the trick. It did more for me than lots of feature length films.



Enjoy!

Eldergarten for Alzheimer's Patients

Bill Tapia is 103 years young, and still plays the ukulele.

Late this morning I packed my ukulele and harmonicas into my car and drove into town to sing for the Catholic Charities’ Alzheimer's group. 

I found a room filled with a group of about twenty people, a mixture of Alzheimer’s patients and volunteer caregivers, seated in chairs arranged in a "U."  

One lonely-looking empty chair—my stage—stood by itself in the middle of the open part of the U. 

It looked, at first, as if it would be a tough audience. The patients' eyes were, how shall I say this, vacant?  Many of them sat staring into their laps; I couldn't even see their eyes. Some of the volunteers avoided eye contact with me. The person who invited me to come warned them not to expect too much—I'm a kindergarten teacher, not a musician/performer.

I've learned to fight fire with fire. Go straight at the fear. “No, problem,” I told myself. “I’m a kindergarten teacher." There aren't many audiences tougher than the one I usually sing for. I unpacked my gear, introduced myself, and launched off into about 45 minutes of singing, playing ukulele, and howlin’ out tunes on the harmonica. Kids songs, spirituals, Tin Pan Alley songs, and, of course, a Hank Williams tune or two.

It turned out that songs that work for short-attention-span kindergartners are perfect, perfect! for Alzheimer’s patients. Songs aimed at the heart with simple words, great melodies, and lots of repetition. 

Before long the patients and their caregivers came to life, like droopy houseplants given the water they need to stop slouching. They joined in singing, clapping and stomping their feet. 

We had a great time. Some patients danced! By the time we got to “If You’re Happy and You Know It” my failing voice was almost lost in the crowd. In the third verse the audience is supposed to shout “Hooray!” and throw a fist into the air. They did better than I ever thought they would. They were shouting, "HOORAY!!" as loudly as any roomful of five year olds. 

Music works magic. You would not have guessed that anyone in this room was touched by senility. Too many smiles. Too much music. Too much magic.

I’m coming back in two weeks for an encore performance.

Vulnerability

“The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.”

—Lao Tzu

Because the deepest truths are paradoxical, they cannot be fully stated in words. Well-chosen words can at best capture just about half of the truth, but, sadly, not much more than half. The unsaid truth provides the silent background for the said truth to appear.

I love “writing” poetry. The reason for the quotation marks around the word writing is that my experience of putting poetry on paper (actually on a computer screen) does NOT feel personal, as if some "Dan Gurney" is writing the poetry. My experience feels—by contrast—much more like channeling some higher voice, and that voice, almost always for me appears to emanate from above, from some heavenly realm. 

My role as poet feels more like a scribe, a note-taker.

Of course I would not be fully truthful if I did not mention that I try to write poetry in the ordinary sense of the word, sans channeling, as if I could write poetry alone, without help from a Muse. 

When I try to write poetry solo, the results are sadly pathetic, flaccid, and without verve.

Thank goodness for Muses!

The other day Ruth over at Synch-ro-ni-zing posted a poem—a Nouvelle 55 poem—about vulnerability titled, appropriately enough, “Vulnerability.” Her poem spoke to me—deeply. In a few minutes a response came through my fingertips and on to her comment page. My response arose from my study of Buddhism and impermanence. 

I wanted to share her poem and my responding poem here on A Mindful Heart. I asked Ruth, and, graciously, she has encouraged me to share both poems here. The illustration of the clouds for my responding poem is from steven of the golden fish, a poet and teacher who consistently produces work that inspires me to jump outside ordinary consciousness. To both of these bloggers, I feel a strong sense of connection and gratitude. If you're a Mindful Heart reader and you've never jumped over to Ruth's or steven's blogs, well, I encourage you to indulge yourselves in some wonderful musings.

Vulnerability

The world is not delicate

on the whole. I feel it here

in my sternum, my ribs,

lying on my back under you,

stars distant, tree immense.

The world is not delicate

and the plum leaf is strong,

even when the beetle nibbles

her into lace, making room

for more stars to be 

strung between her veins.

Here is my responding Nouvelle 55:

photo by steven leak

Invulnerability

Even the most solid things
we think we know
are almost pure space,
not there except in imagination.
Hard headed me—
I am fooled
by my skull bones,
not yet dust.
I will not see how my skull
resembles a fist,
or a penis, only
hard a few moments.
Black holes, even,
are delicate, changeable.

—Dan Gurney


and... a further collaboration. (Thank you, Sabio.)

Involuntary Ability

My eroded soft skull pretends solidity
as the promising sky shines through
the lacey scaffolding made by the busy crowd
pretending to be me.

A refreshing wind caresses my moth-eaten brain.
A tickle of vulnerability but finally all threat disappears.
And as I leave, the playground fills with raucous laughter.
A tree sprouts and leaf buds blossom. 


—Sabio Lantz

Sabio's Interview

Sabio Lantz from Triangulations wrote a somewhat lengthy and thoughtful comment to a recent post called Experiment. I decided to respond to his questions in a stand-alone post. Here find his comment and my responses to the questions he posed, formatted as if it were an interview. I hope you enjoy reading this faux "interview."

Sabio:  I love your open posts. Thank you. But as always, I am going to comment in a way that is not patting-on-the-back, feel-good, kisses-and-hugs, comforting -- it is not my nature. So, If you don't mind, I will do some free-association while reading your post:

Dan:  You’re welcome. I don’t mind—it’s my wife’s job, the kisses and hugs. I am glad you are among the small handful of people who read this blog. While my ego is sufficiently needy to enjoy comforting comments, I welcome also comments like yours that push me to think harder about my world view. It makes blogging more worthwhile.

Sabio: Naughty Dan, you are not supposed to talk about the *benefits* of meditation. 

Dan: I had thought I was discussing the consequences of suspending meditation practice. Maybe I’m making too fine a point. Implicit in my post is an argument for meditation’s benefits. I avoid talking about meditation practice too much because when I discuss it, crappy meditation periods are the result. The less I say about meditation the better.

Sabio: But wait, I guess that depends on the sect you belong to.

Dan: I don’t belong to any sect.

Sabio: BTW, what type is yours again?

Dan: I am an unaffiliated practitioner. Once in a long while I go on retreat at Spirit Rock Meditation Center in Marin County nearby. It is, loosely, a Theravadin center, but pretty loosely I would say. Jack Kornfield is an important leader there. He trained in Thailand with Theravadin teachers. Spirit Rock is eclectic. It tries to weave strands of mostly Buddhist and some non-Buddhist religious traditions together with western psychology, science, and philosophy. 

For eight years I participated in “Sutra Salon” a group that discussed the major texts of Buddhism: the Nikayas, the Flower Garland Sutra,  the Diamond Sutra, the Lotus Sutra, etc. This reading/discussion provided a foundation in essential Buddhist texts.

I now lead a group—it amounts to a Buddhist book club—called “The Society of Friends of the Buddha” that meets at my house twice a month. We employ elements of Quaker’s “Friends Meeting.” I invite you to come. We have atheists and deep thinkers like you. You could live in California instead of New Jersey?

Sabio: But on a serious note, isn't one of the benefits of focused sitting time that you can more often practice different awareness states more readily during everyday life? [By the way, I know the religiously-correct way to say that, but I refuse].

Dan: Yes. If meditation didn’t generalize to daily life, I’d stop meditating. What is the religiously correct way to say that?

Sabio: If meditation is merely relaxation, I could see how you could start missing it the daily hits, but if it is practice for daily shifts, I would think those would remain. 

Dan: I don’t think of meditation as merely relaxation. I work mostly at increasing my pathetic inability to concentrate. I am making slow progress, as I become more and more aware of just how far I have yet to go.

Sabio: Was your paddle board desire stronger than your I-pad desire and others you have written about. Serious? Your iPad and ukulele obsessions sounded pretty strong too -- I bet there are lots more.

Dan: Oh yes, lots more, and some not for public consumption! The paddle board desire never hit me at all; it was canoe lust—and the desire for the new canoe ran much stronger than feelings for iPads or ukuleles. I was losing sleep over the canoe. What got me wasn’t lust for a new canoe—the curvaceous plastic skins that form the canoe. Social connection was the hook. I was smitten with lust for the fun with friends that I imagined having a second canoe would make possible. Two canoes: one for me and one for a friend to paddle. Escape from loneliness. 

I am particularly vulnerable to longing/desire for social engagement at the beginning of each summer vacation from school. In June, especially, as I adjust to summer's spaciousness, I miss teaching and it’s difficult for me. Non teachers sometimes have trouble understanding this. We teachers like to suffer, I guess!

The iPad-wanting was tame by comparison. I don’t sucker for Apple’s fantasy about how connected we’ll all become when we buy their latest gewgaw gadget. They promise so much more than they can deliver. I suspect that computer technology alienates us from—more than it connects us with—our communities and our natural world. Computer and communication technology is strongly addicting. I would guess that’s probably because we’re all so damn lonely in America.

The ukulele doesn’t cost me any sleep and it’s not an obsession. Just pure pleasure. But strong pleasure, yes, for sure. And it does connect us with each other.

Sabio: Maybe you have a compulsive side that is indeed calmed for that day by a hit of neurotransmitters with a half-life of 24 hours after meditating -- not that this is the most meditation offers, but what the hell? We drink coffee and exercise (paddle) for similar hits of happiness.

Dan: Yep. I confess. I have a compulsive side. Gee, maybe I have more than one compulsive side. Meditation does calm down my compulsiveness. I'd like to say that the half life might be something like 48 hours, but who knows? maybe it's 48 nanoseconds.

Sabio: Maybe there are many benefits from sitting: (a) daily hit of neurotransmitters, (b) practice of awareness, (c) facing inner boredom and other individual mental habits. I am curious if you saw this level of complexity in your time off -- with some traits more stable than others? That is my serious question in this rambling note.

Dan: As I indicated above, I am reluctant to discuss the benefits of meditation, lest my ramblings send the benefits running out the door.  But to answer your questions: (a) Do I get a daily hit of neurotransmitters? Yes, I think so. I missed those hits after just two days off. A second cup of coffee in the morning helped compensate. (b) Does sitting help the practice of awareness? Yes, during my hiatus, my awareness went way down. I started feeling greedy and angry and was not aware of any connection to the hiatus in meditation. You’d think that connection would’ve been obvious, but it wasn’t. (c) Does sitting help face inner boredom? Yes. But so does singing, Sudoku puzzles, board games, and paddling. I was on vacation, so I don’t really know how the hiatus affected me because it was such an uncontrolled experiment.  

There are two benefits to meditation that you didn’t mention: (d) increasing the ability to concentrate; and (e) providing the opportunity to intentionally cultivate wholesome mental states like simple happiness, compassion, joy, and  equanimity.  I hasten to point out that there is nothing magical or mystical about cultivating wholesome states the way Buddhists do it. It’s hard work, more like weeding a garden than strolling through Eden.

Sabio: But let me risk wandering into a more personal zone -- I hope you realize it is coming from someone who likes you and who feels not an ounce of self-righteousness. And forgive me if I don't cushion it too much -- I don't have much time to polish (and lord knows polishing is something I always need to do). But here goes: 

You wrote, 

My problem is that I have too many possessions! To release my belongings, to pare down, down and down some more—this is the way to approach fulfillment. 

This is a repeating theme on your blog. This renunciation meme is common to most forms of Buddhism, but not all -- Tantric versions approach this issue differently. And to tell you the truth, the suppressive, belongings-adverse, struggling-discipline version of Buddhism may not be the best choice for all people. IMHO.

Dan: I trust your good will. While, for myself, I cannot claim to be without an ounce of self-righteousness, I’m with you on this. I have met renunciants who seem to go to such extremes in renunciation as to seem seriously unbalanced to me. I don’t think renunciation is the end-all-and-be-all answer for all people. We all know and enjoy our comforts and pleasures. Lord knows I do! 

Still, it is my observation that we live in a relentlessly materialistic advertising world, a world of incessant messages that encourage us to believe that consumerism is the end-all-and-be-all answer to all our problems. These messages lead us to believe that we just need to work harder, longer, and smarter so we can make more dough so we can consume more stuff. The more we consume, the happier we’ll be. This message is repeated day in and day out in every way imaginable, both blatantly and subtly. 

It’s part of my effort at Mindful Heart to point out that happiness isn’t found at the end of the shopping trip. You’d think we’d all know that by now, know it in our bones right down to the marrow. Perhaps more people are waking up to the limitations of consumerism. As for me, I’m still wiping the sleep out of my own eyes!

Sabio: You get a new toy, feel appropriately guilty for a while, meditate more, talk to nature more until you get enough relief. After building up enough comfort, you move on to the next acquisition and worry about not helping the poor while you live the good life in California once again.

Dan: I don’t know about helping the poor. We are poor in spirit in America. I’m a teacher, and have lived a life of service, so in some sense I think I’ve checked that box. Still, what you say here does sound familiar. I admit it. Life in California’s wine country is about as close to heaven as I could ever hope to live. Here I have found work I love, a wonderful, wonderful family, a large circle of friends, a community in which I’m a figure (and my wife even more of a figure, as the town Mayor/Councilmember), ukulele clubs to sing with, paddling clubs to canoe with, and on and on. I’m up to my eyeballs in grace. And I am grateful for it, grateful as I can be. I don't think I deserve it. And I cannot explain it, even to myself. But there it is. I have all the toys I want, more toys than I want. It is silly to worry about possessions, isn’t it? It is odd. Sabio: It seems a bit odd. Not having acquisitions or pleasure, of course. The part I love about you is your epicurean aspects, the indulgences. Can awareness be had with that and indulgent pleasures? 

Dan: Can awareness be had with indulgent pleasures? I hope so! The more awareness we can muster, the greater the pleasure. The trick is not letting attachment, clinging get so strong as to interfere with our awareness of what is. We strongly tend to desire more, more, and still more. These desires interfere with our awareness of what is. For me pleasure is impermanent, unstable, and limited. But pleasure, still. Pure pleasure, untainted with wishing it were other than it is.

Sabio: Do all Buddhisms require guilt?

Dan: I don’t know. I sure don’t know about all Buddhisms. I’m not even sure I know much about my own Buddhism. But let me explore this a little bit. 

Your question hints at something worth talking about: the many different forms of Buddhism. Buddhism is not one thing. (I know you already know this, Sabio.) When someone calls me a Buddhist he or she might imagine that I believe and practice things I don’t believe in and I don’t practice. For example, I don't think that I’m what Chapman might call a “wind chime” Buddhist. (Though I do have wind chimes outside my house.)

For me, Buddhism is closer to a school of philosophy than a religion. For me, the heart of Buddhism is learning to see the world just as it is. Through Buddhist eyes it’s easier to notice three essential qualities that seem to be almost universal, but are often hidden from view. In some sense, noticing these three essential qualities is what—for me, and not necessarily for anyone else—makes a Buddhist a Buddhist, regardless of what affiliation someone claims to have. And if you deny any these three qualities, then even if you say you’re a Buddhist, well, then, maybe you’re  a wind chime Buddhist.

What are these three essential qualities?

They are:

Impermanence (Everything changes; nothing remains quite the same.)

Non-self (There’s no independently existing, permanent soul or self.)

Suffering/Nirvana (Everything exhibits a non-dual nature of unsatisfactoriness/bliss.)

Not seeing these three essential qualities, and wishing it were possible to have a permanent soul that will someday be eternally happy in heaven is childish and can lead to a lot of needless trouble and suffering. 

Buddhism feels a little bit like growing up and having to accept reality just as it is. Growing up is compensated by the ability and freedom to indulge in adult pleasures. And it can be okay at times for adults to pretend there’s a God, a soul, and eternal bliss. I do it sometimes, too. (Yikes! I hope I'm not offending anyone here! Apologies if this my saying this makes you mad.)

I think Buddhism can undo guilt— mostly preemptively through observing the five basic precepts of non-harming, wise speech, not taking what’s not given, refraining from extra-marital sex, and refraining from intoxicants. Intoxicants, in my view, include toxic media and entertainment. Christians would call these "Christian" values, I suppose, Jewish people "Human" values. It's basic moral behavior, nothing fancy or particularly Buddhist. Or Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or Hindu.

I’m not sure I understand guilt and how it works beneath the level of conscious thought, so I cannot fully answer that part of your question. And, anyway, I’ve rambled on long enough. Thinking this hard is, well, hard!

Sabio: BTW, Chapman just did a great (and unfortunately controversial) post on the evolution of Zen -- called "Zen vs. The US Navy". And in his post before that he talks about how protestant ideas formed what Americans today call "Buddhism" -- with all its guilt and romanticism. He calls this "Consensus Buddhism". You might enjoy reading it and recognize stuff better than I can.

Dan: Thank you for continually bringing up Chapman. I spent almost two hours on his site today getting a feel for his work. I am impressed. I enjoyed the post on Zen and the Navy. I haven’t gotten to the “Consensus Buddhism” post yet, but I look forward to reading it.

As you may remember, I visited Japan to experience Buddhism there firsthand. I became aware of how much I had romanticized Zen and Buddhism. Up close and personal, it’s so much more human. It smells of more than incense. I’m sure you’ve heard of the “stink of Zen.”

I think I’ve pointed out to you before that Buddha’s Enlightenment Day is traditionally observed on December 8 each year. The attack on Pearl Harbor occurred in Hawaii on December 7 as far as Americans are concerned. In Japan, on the other side of the International Dateline, that event happened on December 8, 1941, Buddha’s Enlightenment Day! I guess they wanted Shakyamuni to smile on their enterprise. Religion. It’s enough to make you cry. 

This Pearl Harbor day business is difficult for most Buddhists I know to assimilate. I don’t think you or Chapman would have any trouble getting it. And by pointing this out I don't mean to make any Buddhists mad. If people ask, I tell them I'm a Buddhist. 

Again, Sabio, thanks for your thoughtful comments.

Link to the original post Experiment.

West County Ukulele Club

Last Friday my ukulele club sang a set of songs at our town's monthly sing along night at the Sebastopol Community Center. The night's theme was Country Music.

This was the occasion of my first lead vocal, not counting singing in kindergarten class for five year olds.

My wife was there to videotape it so I might share it here. With apologies for my harmonica "work" in the instrumental break. I just started playing harmonica a little bit ago. No worries. With time, I'll improve.

Experiment

While recently on vacation at Lake Tahoe I tried dispensing with my usual morning meditation practice. 

I began meditating in the mid seventies. For twenty years I meditated on and off. Mostly on: I know its benefits. But since 1996, the year my mother died, I’ve devotedly practiced every day, with very rare exceptions usually due to illness.

Fifteen years is a long time to do anything continuously. I had become so accustomed to it that I began to wonder whether the beneficial effects might accrue without actually having to sit. 

There, in the mountains with my family, I had little to do beyond enjoying the scenery with the people I love most deeply. Further, being away on vacation, far from my home alter and zafu I found myself in a suite of rooms that didn’t have a quiet place to easily accommodate my devotions. 

After a few days of ducking into the bedroom in the mornings to meditate after my wife got up, I convinced myself that I had found the ideal situation to discover what life without a meditation practice might be like. I was willing to undergo an experiment.

For the first few days I was delighted to find out that I seemed to do just fine. I could discern no obvious changes to my mood, my outlook, my temperament, or my discernment. In fact, I told myself that I was doing everyone a favor by not disappearing every morning. Instead I could join the family for coffee and conversation in the dining room.

In the middle of the vacation we rented stand up paddle boards. As we returned the boards to the shop, I saw a canoe on special sale. I really, really wanted to buy it. In retrospect, I can see now that the force of this desire was stronger than any desire I had endured in fifteen years—a desire strong enough to intrude on my thoughts even when engaging in other activities. At the time, though, my mind was so wrapped up in the object of desire that I was not aware of my rapture.

This desiring grew each day. It became almost an obsession. Then, near the end of our vacation, when we returned to our home near the coast, I found myself having to cope with something new: anger. 

I was getting peeved over small events that normally don’t even raise a ripple in the waters of my mind. I usually take in stride little things like being cut off on the freeway by an inattentive driver. Now it was enough to tick me off. I found myself taking offense  and even colorfully expressing my displeasure loudly enough for my daughter to hear. This is quite unlike me.

In the last hours of our family vacation, I began to get peeved even at members of my family!

Finally, I suspected that my heightening greed and anger might be the result of this experiment with meditation-free living. I was amazed that my discernment had been so severely impaired. 

My experiment was done. The day after my daughter flew home I resumed my practice. I got up early and sat. After a good long sit, I decided to listen to non-human wisdom, the kind you find on rivers. 

I went out paddling alone to listen to the trees, to the birds and to the murmuring waters. Their sagacity seeped slowly in. Afflictive mental factors unwound backwards, like a skein of yarn stretching out into space. Anger cooled and mellowed back towards equanimity. Family, of all people, are to be loved. 

Greedy mind loosened its tight bind on my mind. I knew I was satisfied with what I already have. My problem is that I have too many possessions! To release my belongings, to pare down, down and down some more—this is the way to approach fulfillment.

I could breathe again.  

Refreshed by my breath, my mind could relax and broaden. I could feel the truest truth: inhalations and exhalations—the simplest, deepest, and most vital of all pleasures between being born and dying. 

I came back to my breath, to my senses, to my contentment, and to the degree of equanimity to which I've grown accustomed.

Paddling to Freedom

Later on I plan to write a bit about paddling and how it can serve as a metaphor for the Buddhist (or any spiritual) way of being.

For now, though, I offer you this inspiring 5-minute video. It's captivating, arresting.

If you get 50 seconds into it, I'll bet you'll watch the whole thing to the end.


BIRTHRIGHT from Sean Mullens on Vimeo.

Lightning Eclipse from the Planet of the Goats

From NASA's website:

Click to zoom in. Don't miss the eclipsed moon up in the sky!

Copyright information:




Lightning Eclipse from the Planet of the Goats 
Credit & Copyright: Chris Kotsiopoulos (GreekSky)Explanation: Thunderstorms almost spoiled this view of the spectacular June 15 total lunar eclipse. Instead, storm clouds parted for 10 minutes during the total eclipse phase and lightning bolts contributed to the dramatic sky. Captured with a 30 second exposure the scene also inspired what, in the 16 year history of Astronomy Picture of the Day, the editor considers may be the best title yet for a picture (title credit to Chris K.). Of course, the lightning reference clearly makes sense, and the shadow play of the dark lunar eclipse was widely viewed across planet Earth in Europe, Africa, Asia, and Australia. The picture itself, however, was shot from the Greek island of Ikaria at Pezi. That area is known as "the planet of the goats" because of the rough terrain and strange looking rocks.

Biking and Hiking at Lake Tahoe

Spooner Lake

I was going to write a post about how much I've changed with regard to my views about heaven. The summary point would have been that after decades of disbelief (if heaven existed, why don't even the best space-based telescopes see it?) I now am thoroughly agnostic and interested to learn more. This is the effect of reading Brian Greene's book about the eleven kinds of multiverses that might be out there.

But I'm not going to write that post because in a way I AM in heaven right now, on vacation in the mountains with my family.

When your daughter is a resident doctor who works 80 hours a week, vacation time is extraordinarily precious. We're doing our best to make Elizabeth's vacation as relaxing and refreshing as we know how.

Today Elizabeth and I rented bicycles at Tahoe City along the western shore of Lake Tahoe and rode on bicycle paths north, west, and south of the city.

We rode west along the Truckee River to Squaw Valley, site of the 1960 Winter Olympics, an event I remember watching on television with keen interest as a boy.

Turning back up river, we returned to Tahoe City and headed south, as far as Sugar Pine Point. We found a market in Tahoma called PDQ famous for its huge sandwiches. We split one and could barely get back on our bikes we were so full.

Right after lunch by the lake

What Lake Tahoe looks like from our lunch spot

We rode something more than 30 miles (50 Km) in all. This was more riding than I thought we'd manage since Elizabeth quite literally had not ridden a bicycle since she discovered horses 17 years ago. She added credibility to the saying, "Once you know how to ride a bike you'll never forget how." Muscle memory endures.

We've been hiking, too. The picture at the top is of Spooner Lake which we circumambulated yesterday.

What's SUP

Ted with Incline Village in the background

On vacation, whole family together in the mountains. 


This morning Ted and I rented Stand Up Paddleboards. People use the acronym, SUP, as either a noun and verb. It's a good thing when your item for sale makes it into English like that.


SUP is a way to go out on the water. It's as relaxing and as mellow as it looks. Sort of like walking on water.


The water is really really cold still, but if you're careful—I was careful—you won't go in.


We had a really good time.

Boundless Greed

"When it comes to dealing with greed, one thing which is quite characteristic is that although it arises from the desire to obtain something, it is not satisfied by obtaining it. Therefore it becomes limitless or boundless, and that leads to trouble."

—the Dalai Lama

In comments to my last post, Robert and Teresa Evangeline both pointed out the disappearing nature of any satisfaction that comes from buying stuff. 


Things age. Newness fades. Cars get their first scratches, or a tiny parking lot dent, then sooner or later, they'll need maintenance or repair. The insurance I had to buy pays for none of these. Computers and other electronic contraptions (Teresa E.— I love that word, con-trap-tion!) become obsolete as newer, faster, smaller, better updates appear. 


Greed for objects is boundless, as DL points out, because acquiring things won't bring satisfaction.


When I'm about to spring for something new and shiny, I try to recall the fact that my satisfaction won't last. It'll fade as the object ages. I picture the whatever gewgaw I am about to buy sitting in the trash can or thrown in the van with other items on their way to the recycling center. 


Then l I can slip the Visa card back into my wallet and turn my attention to activities much more likely to bring contentment.

Summer Affluenza

“If an individual has a sufficient spiritual base, he won’t let himself be overwhelmed by the lure of technology and the madness of possession. He or she will know how to find the right balance, without asking for too much, and know how to say, I have a camera, that’s enough, I don’t want another. The constant danger is to open the door to greed, one of our most relentless enemies. It is here that the real work of the mind is put into practice.”  the Dalai Lama

Eleven months of the year I am content with the things I have. Mostly I think about paring down my possessions.

But each June, the fires of greed flare up. I’ve noticed this for almost as long as I’ve been teaching. For 30 Junes I’ve ventured into the marketplace to buy bikes, canoes, kayaks, computers, sailboats, camping gear, even cars! It’s always something. I would tell myself that I was only equipping myself for summer vacation.

I know better now: summer provisioning does not really explain my June bouts with affluenza. 

Underneath my greed I see churning feelings of sadness and loneliness. A lot of it comes from having to suspend my teaching. Teaching rewards me deeply, and I miss it during the summer. Retail therapy also distracts me from facing long lonely hours that can be difficult to fill when living on a budget. (And it sure doesn’t help to have blown the budget as the summer gets underway!) 

Apple computer company understands and exploits the links between loneliness and greed. They don’t market their products so much; they market a promise that their newest tech-toy will make their customers feel more connected, entertained, or creative. 


I've fallen for this false promise so many times!!

These gadgets actually—let’s be honest—have exactly the opposite effect: these devises separate us from the people who join us in our actual here and now.

So, how did I do this summer? Well, the gap between knowing this and putting what I know into practice is still huge. 


Sure, I didn’t buy the car I was researching on the Internet. 


I did buy something I did not need—an iPad—as did other teachers on my staff.