First Person Imperfect

Sometimes my friends really bug me.  Now that isn't a very nice thing to say about my friends, is it?  But I thought I'd get it out there and get your attention.  Now that I have, I will add that I know full well that I am quite irritating at times as well.  But all of that doesn't mean I don't care for my friends very much, and I am blessed with more than a few.  True friends still care for each other despite their imperfections.  Nobody is perfect.  If there were such a person, they wouldn't be human or of this world.
I've been thinking about human frailty a lot recently, and was dwelling on that very subject when I bumped into my dear friend Margaret on the street the other day.  Margaret is a highly intelligent, aware person of high ethical and moral standards whom I deeply respect and admire.  (She'd also be the first person to say she's not perfect.)  When I met Margaret she was with her loyal partner of many years, Patrick.  Margaret and I spoke very briefly about a local hot issue regarding the cutting down of ancient oaks in the

neighbourhood, which led very quickly to the mention of Gandhi on my part.  (I can't remember the context, but it was something to do with Margaret's activism.)  Patrick, who is a history buff and well-informed on many subjects, made a point of mentioning that Gandhi was a deeply flawed person.  I knew that already, and said so.  In fact, I'm accustomed to highly politicised, well-informed people responding in that manner to my high regard for Gandhi.  Patrick is by no means the first person I've heard say that.  (I've also noticed that people who are quick to point out that human heroes often have clay feet tend not to have heroes, although I don't know Patrick well enough to say that's true about him.)  Nonetheless, his comment set me to thinking  yet again about hero-worship, saints, and all the good and great people who are flawed because they're not descended from the gods.
Someone like Gandhi, whose achievements are monumental, is indeed well known for his failings.  (I won't go into them here because that's not what this blurb is about, but some careful reading and googling will reveal the good and the bad.)  I've also noticed that individuals who achieve greatness after overcoming enormous obstacles and opposition tend to have flaws that are decidedly deeper and certainly more scrutinised, which is probably a good thing.
Many years ago, when I was in graduate school I directed a production of Murder in the Cathedral.  I had to keep reminding the talented young actor playing the principal role of Thomas Beckett not to look as if he were Jesus walking on water - careful, slow, and not quite in touch with solid earth.  But I understood why the young actor chose to portray Beckett in that manner.  After all, he was a saint.  He was a martyr.  Saints and martyrs who die for or because of their beliefs aren't mere and lowly humans, right?  Wrong.  They eat, belch and shit just like the rest of us.  And they make mistakes - usually much bigger mistakes than ordinary humans do.  In fact, it's often their mistakes that make them martyrs.  So I had to keep reminding my leading actor to portray Beckett as a real human being, subject to all the feelings and faults the rest of us are.
My late brother Norman, who died very young a long time ago now, was Hare Krishna.  (Hare Krishna is a sect of Hinduism introduced to the west by Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada in the sixties.)  Whenever I mentioned my brother to his fellow devotees while he was alive and for a long time after his death, the response was always the same; he was highly regarded and considered to be a deeply pious and virtuous person.  But Norman's deep virtue wasn't unblemished.  Although his zealousness softened considerably by the time he died, I was troubled to see a gentle soul become so rigid in his beliefs, which for all intents and purposes were the same as Gandhi's - Hindu.
I remember Norman's attitude towards our sweet, galumphing dog, Oberon, who my brother had trained and loved, changed completely after he joined the movement.  After the first two isolating years at the temple, Norman began to have contact with our family again, but it was obvious he regarded Oberon as a

lesser being and refused to touch him, even though Oberon was overjoyed at seeing his beloved master again.  Despite his strict vegetarian diet and austere life, all in the name of not harming fellow creatures, Norman's beliefs weren't entirely inclusive and accepting.  Even before his conversion, Norman was placid and moderate, but his frailties became even more pronounced as he became more devoted to his path.  In a sense, Norman was a martyr to his beliefs, too.  If he'd had the melanoma that killed him diagnosed early enough, he could have saved his own life.  The early symptoms were clearly there, but Norman didn't recognise them because his beliefs blinded him from so much of the real world.
Norman may not have been a great man in the true sense of the word, but he was certainly a very good one.  His flaws and mistakes were proportionate to his goodness.  And he's still a hero to me.
I like to think my hero-worship is reasonable and objective.  So yes, I have friends who sometimes annoy me, as I do them.  I also admire and respect some people who others consider to be freaks and weirdos.  (Norman was one of those.)  It's a lot harder to love and revere real people, warts and all, than it is a goddess or god.  I once met a living goddess (see "Oh My Goddess, " 12/12/12) and the reason I venerate her as I do is not just because of her divinity, but because of her very real, imperfect, and deeply passionate humanity.  May we all wear our failings so well.
Namaste.
- G.P.

Spring Robins Rock

It's a grey spring day, my kitty is sick, I couldn't sleep last night, and the news of the Boston Marathon bombings does nothing to lift me out of the doldrums.  But Mother Nature comes to the rescue.  Thank goddess I saw my first robin of spring this morning.  I spotted him on the roof of the house next door

as I stared out onto the back yard from my study window.  Within moments of seeing him he was joined by his partner.  They were clearly scouting the territory for a place to build a nest.  As I watched them another robin flew by with a long, thin twig.  That sweet, uplifting scene was just the spring tonic I needed.  Life is renewing itself all the time, despite all the shit that humans do to end it.
This is not the happiest of blurbs, but it's honest.  To make amends I've included a lovely, joyous picture.
Long live Pachamama.
- G. P.  

Not for the Magically Challenged

It's happened again.  Just now, as I was keeping a lid on my extreme agitation while powering up my computer, it acted up and refused to work - this time in a way I've never seen before.  It basically wouldn't allow me to log on.  And I couldn't reboot or shut down because absolutely no icons appeared on my desktop.  I had to hit the power button instead.  Wrong way out, but that's all that was available to me.
Being the technopeasant that I am, my only solution was to calm down and breathe deeply.  It worked, which is why I'm able to sit here and write this now.

I know what most of you are thinking... Yeah, right.  It has nothing to do with the fact that you know squat about computers.  Maybe it's because you're a computer idiot!  Okay.  I understand your point of view.  But it doesn't explain why this never fails to happen when I'm  hyper-tense and twitchy.  And now your'e probably thinking But don't you think that your distraction might be causing you to make mistakes or hit a wrong key?  Well, actually, no, I don't.  Because I'm not capable of doing anything more sophisticated on a computer than turn off and on, point and click.  The problem this morning started after I turned the computer on.  And I've got the "turn on" function down pat.  Really I do.
I know I'm right about this when-I'm-twitchy-so-is-my-computer thing.  More accurately, I feel I'm right.  I feel it in my body.  Maybe it's a chemical thing.  Or some crazy kind of wiring in my brain.  I don't know and I don't get it.  But as soon as I returned to normal heart rate, deep breathing and cleared my brain of excess anger - as opposed to the normal level of irritation involved when I'm dealing with computer glitches - things went back to normal.  And this wasn't the first time, either.
So what have I learned from all this?  Well, now I know not to use a computer when I'm keeping a lot of stuff in my head that's messing me up.  I'll clear it away by breathing, meditating or taking a brisk walk before I sit down at my laptop, or any other computer for that matter - because it's happened at work, too.  (see "Tuned In and Turned On," 3/3/12)
The body is a bio-chemical machine run by a sophisticated computer called the brain.  If the chemistry or wiring gets messed up, why shouldn't it effect other systems it might be interfacing with, or at least in close proximity to?  (sorry for ending two clauses with prepositions)  My mother once told me that when she was going to meet up with an old flame of hers after 35 years, her watch didn't work for the entire three days she was in the city where he lived.  Once she left town, her watch started to work again.  I can't explain it.  But there is an explanation.  I'm not smart enough to come up with it, and most of the people who are, i.e. scientists, are afraid to try.  Kudos to those brave, exiled, scientific souls who do.
All I know for sure is that my body is smarter than my brain.  And it's not giving away its secrets - for now.  That's the mysterious part of this whole technological, scientific conundrum.  And that's the one and only thing, but it's a BIG thing, that I've enjoyed about all this fuss.  And until somebody gives me a better explanation for it, I'll call it magic.
- G. P.

Flaky

Today I'm 22,422 days old.  There are 224 days left until my next birthday.  2 and 22 are my favourite numbers. 2 + 2 = 4, and 2 X 2  = 4.  I like the symmetry and synchronicity of this day, numerically speaking.
Have a great day.  I know I will.
- G.P.

April Aargh

Whew.  I survived yesterday.  And just as I said I would be, I'm healed today.  My sister-the-minister left voice mail for me saying that my Easter Sunday blurb was rather cryptic.  I didn't mean it to be, but when I'm feeling dazed and confused and still want to say something meaningful about bad hair days that could be of some help to others and not just me, I don't like to get too personal.  This little web of mine is supposed to have broader appeal than that.  I want it to resonate with every one of my legion of followers on some level.
So let me elaborate ...
I was calling upon the wisdom of the Zen koan that advises us to make medicine from suffering.  It means that we shouldn't avoid pain or suffering because it's an opportunity to awaken spiritually, and reminds us of our common humanity.  In perfect physical and psychological health there is greed and want.
That's what I meant to say.  Koans can be tricky. 
But I pushed through a really crappy day by facing it head on.  And let me tell you, it went from bad to worse after I posted my blurb.  But just as I'd predicted, I'm recovering nicely today and things are back in order.
I guess the real April Fool's day was yesterday.  That's a good thing, because I like the first day of every month, or year, to be a fresh start.  Posting a bit of wisdom from ancient Zen masters on April 1st is a good way to begin.  If there are any hidden messages in this one, it's the koan, not me.
Namaste.
- G.P.