First paddle of the year

I finally got my kayak out for the first time yesterday. I've been neglecting it terribly since last year. Getting the new bike last year got me all excited about cycling, not to mention that it's vastly easier to throw the bike on top of the car than it is the kayak. I think I had the boat out about a half dozen times last year, compared to close to 50 bike rides (which is a pittance to the serious cyclists out there). It's been so long since I last paddled that I had to stop and actually remember how to tie the boat on the car.

It felt great once I was out on the water, though. I launched late afternoon on the Monocacy River at the aquaduct, near where it joins the Potomac, and paddled upstream to the Rte 28 bridge. The little rapid there was too rough to paddle through upstream and I didn't feel like dragging the boat, so that was my turnaround point. Heading back downstream, I practiced some low brace turns (a very elegant turn that's fun to do), then headed out onto the Potomac. Ended up anchoring myself against a log sticking above the surface midstream, releasing the seatback, and lying back to chill out for a while. Late day, watching rays break around the edges of cloud that had passed in front of the sun while listening to the water trickle along under the hull of my boat... All in all, a damned nice way to spend a couple of hours.

My intro to singletrack riding

This past Sunday, my cyclocross bike and I took the plunge and I had to change my mind about mountain biking.

For years, I've been conflicted about mountain biking. Having seen a lot of the trails I hike turn into sidewalk-wide mud pits due to being plowed up by knobby tires, having been disturbed on peaceful rambles by the shouted conversations of mtb riders whizzing by on the trail, and having almost been run down once or twice, I've generally felt that bikes should not share trails with hikers and equestrians. There's one park in my area (Schaeffer Farms) that was developed by local mtb associations and that's primarily, unofficially reserved for bikes. That's fine. I've been happy to keep my feet off their trail if they keep their tires off mine. But, at the same time, being a biker in addition to a hiker, I could kind of understand the appeal of mountain biking. I've ridden for years along the C&O Canal towpath and loved every dusty, muddy, rocky, gorgeous mile through the trees along the Potomac River.

I did give mountain biking a try once about a dozen or so years ago. My ex-boyfriend, whose total experience with bikes really revolved around a (probably stolen) bmx, decided one day that we should try out the trails at Schaeffer Farms. All I really remember of the ride is being so busy looking at the scenery that I kept running into things. That ride pretty much convinced me that the whole mtb thing probably wasn't my cup of tea.

Since buying a cyclocross bike (Specialized Tri-Cross) last year that can supposedly handle a variety of terrain, I've been wanting to test it's abilities. It's excellent on the towpath. It's capable on the road (can't keep up with most of the other women I ride with, but that's partly the bike's limitations and partly mine). The only thing left was singletrack. Finally, this past weekend, some of my riding buddies dragged me around the DC Beltway to Rosaryville State Park for a spin on 10 miles of fairly simple trail.

It was a blast. We took it easy, averaging about 7mph and taking lots of breaks to re-group &/or catch our breath. I found, though, that it was really surprisingly easy. Granted, it's rated as a beginner/intermediate trail and I avoided log obstacles and walked one stream crossing, but I was able to keep up most of the time with the more experienced, stronger rider who was leading us. The bike's gearing handled the rollercoaster hills just perfectly (though my forearms cramped up from squeezing the hell out of the brakes on downhills). By the time we hit the halfway point, I had figured out the rythm of the trail, using the little humps like a slingshot to propel the bike up larger rollers, and guiding it around tree roots and curves with my shoulders and hips instead of the handlebars. And, of course, the woods and meadows the trail passed through were beautiful, albeit a tad blurred. I also had a moment of validation. At one point, a couple of young guys pulled up on the side of the trail to let us pass. As I approached them, I heard one of them say "A 'cross bike. Cool!"

So now I'm hooked. I don't see myself ever bombing down a hill or across a stream, and I definitely don't see myself climbing over logs, but I can see me and the Tri-Cross flowing along a swoopy, smooth trail like Rosaryville pretty frequently. Which makes planning where to ride on my day off just that much more difficult. Toooo many options

Spring fever

"Though I may not believe in the order of the universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves as they open in spring."
(Ivan Karamazov to his brother Alyosha in The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Doestoevsky)

Every year at this time, I have to pull out that big fat Russian soap-opera of a novel and read that line (which Doestoevsky apparently cribbed from a Pushkin poem).

If you haven't been getting out and experiencing the opening of the sticky little leaves lately, then shame on you.

Interesting encounters: Chris Cornell and a fox

Last night, I headed up to B'more to experience Chris Cornell performing live at Ram's Head. I passed up a couple of Audioslave shows over the last few years because I'm just not interested in experiencing music in an arena setting anymore. The one time I saw Soundgarden was at a Lollapalooza event (with The Ramones and Metallica, woo-hoo!!), and that was definitely a cool experience. My memories of SG's performance are hazy at best, since I spent most of their set in the mosh-pit (where I learned that I'm armpit height to the average male), but the entire day was an experience. And a few years ago, I saw a few shows on T00l's tour for Lateralus. One was general admission at an outdoor pavillion, the other two were in arenas. The pavillion show is the only one of the three that is firmly planted in my memory. There's just something about the energy of a general admission crowd that adds to a show, and it's even better in an intimate club setting. So, when Cornell seemingly threw this club tour together at a moment's notice, I was glad that I heard about it in time to snag a ticket the day they went on sale. If his new solo career follows the course begun with Audioslave, it may be the last chance to see him in an intimate venue.

I did hesitate a bit, I admit. Chris' voice has definitely shown signs of wear over the last several years. Something happened to his throat between Euphoria Morning and the first 'Slave album. While the new huskiness evident on tunes like "Cochise" and "What You Need" was definitely sexy, it concerned me. Then I started hearing live recordings in which it was obvious he was straining. Worst of all was a live performance after the second album, Out of Exile, was released. It was some VH1 award show or something, and Chris' voice cracked all over the place while singing "Doesn't Remind Me". I cringed watching it. Somehow, between Out of Exile and Revelations, though, he managed to gain some control over the situation. He sounded better on the new album, and live performances on the 'net had a smoothness to them I was afraid he'd lost. He's held onto that whiskeyed huskiness, but seems better able to hit those high notes he was once notorious for. So, I had a hard time keeping my expectations in check on the drive to B'more last night.

In a nutshell, the show was awesome. The fact that there were too many tall people between me and the stage, and that the sound mix was frustratingly muddy, couldn't detract from the fact that the man who's music has entranced me for 16 years was bouncing and prowling around the stage mere feet in front of me. I missed not hearing "Like Suicide", "Call Me a Dog" or "Zero Chance" (which I've heard he's performed at other shows this tour), but Chris put together a great selection of tunes nonetheless. A handful of SG Badmotorfinger classics, a couple of Temple of the Dog gems, his movie soundtrack treasures "Seasons" and "Sunshower", and a few tunes from his soon-to-be released 2nd solo album. It was hard to catch the emotion of his voice, between his mic being buried in the sound mix and everyone (myself included) singing along with every song, but it was obvious that he was having no issues hitting every note with intensity. I have to admit to being so caught up in the experience that I actually sang along with "No Such Thing" (from the new album, not impressive) and "Black Hole Sun" (the song for which SG is doomed to be remembered, not one of their best). And the more up-tempo, dramatic version of his "Billie Jean" cover was fantastic, much better than the slow, actually dull (my opinion, sorry) acoustic version I'd heard on the 'net.

I've got mixed expectations for Carry On, the new album coming out in June. Of the four tunes I've heard so far ("You Know My Name", "Billie Jean", "No Such Thing" & "Arms Around Your Love"), two of them are pretty weak lyrically, continuing a trend that concerned me on the 2nd & 3rd 'Slave albums. As much as I hate to say this, my impression is that sobriety has tempered Chris' poetic ability. The incredible imagery and metaphors of his past tunes have been repaced by a clear-eyed straightforwardness that just doesn't have the same impact. And he's picked up a disturbing habit of sophomoric rhyming. After last night's show, though, I'm more than willing to give the new album a chance to grow on me. I'll follow Chris' new direction for as far as I possibly can.

Today's encounter was much more sedate and quiet. I hit the woods for a hike, since last night left me too wiped out for a bike ride. So, I'm heading up a slight hill and I see something standing in the middle of the trail up ahead. At first I thought it was a dog, since most people who hike with their dogs aren't smart enough to keep them leashed, but then I realized it was a fox. It was just standing smack in the middle of the trail as calm as could be, watching me approach. At first, I froze, thinking it would be startled and take off. When it continued to just stand there, I slowly moved along the trail till I was a couple dozen feet from it, at which point we both stood there looking at each other. Then, the fox sat down. That floored me. It didn't appear to be injured or rabid or otherwise wacked out, it just wasn't concerned that I was there. I took a few tentative steps closer and it didn't budge. That is, until it decided to lie down. After a while, it even put it's head down and appeared to be napping. I had no choice but to stand there. Several minutes later, a squeak next to a nearby tree had the fox on it's feet. Had to be a mouse or a chipmunk. The fox, with no care for the fact that it was coming closer to me, trotted down the trail to stand next to the tree looking for the source of the squeak. It apparently didn't find it, because it soon plopped itself down on trail again, put it's head on it's paws, and re-commenced it's nap. It raised it's head once as I moved a few steps to sit on a rock near my section of the trail, but then closed it's eyes again.

About half an hour after our little party began, a full bladder convinced me that it was time to disturb the fox and continue on to the parking area and the porta-johns. I stood up and took a few steps forward. The fox raised it's head and looked at me, but didn't move. I took a few more steps and it realized the situation. It stood up and headed back up to where it was when I first saw it, where it turned and waited to see what I was going to do. I began slowly walking toward it, and it finally decided to move off into the mountain laurels bordering the trail. It didn't go far, though, and watched me as I passed. After a dozen or so feet, I turned back and saw it step back out onto the trail and down towards the tree where the mysterious squeak was sounded. I would have loved to have hung out and watched it for a while longer, but I had a 5:30pm chiro appointment and the urgings of my bladder to deal with. So, I hiked on.

That was somewhat dull in the telling, but it really was a very cool occurrence. On the heels of last night's Chris Cornell experience, it made for a pair of incidents I had to write about to preserve them in my memory.

You tell me I'm low 'cause I've slept on the floor,
And out in the woods with the badgers & wolves...
(Chris Cornell, "Call Me a Dog", Temple of the Dog)

Time to ride

Over thinking, over analyzing separates the body from the mind.
Withering my intuition, missing opportunities and I must
Feed my will to feel my moment drawing way outside the lines.
("Lateralus", T00l, Lateralus)

I've been over-analyzing the crap out of things for the last handful of months, and it's left me a borderline basket-case. One of my MySpace "friends" recently said something about how he enjoys cycling because he "loves to reduce life to a series of actions." Good plan. I'm gonna go ride my bike, too. I may be gone for a while, so... See ya!

Locomotion as a form of meditation

I don't consume alcohol, "illegal" substances, or cigarettes. I do get a kick out of the ocassional hit of nitrous oxide at the dentist's office, I like my teas caffeinated, and I enjoy a daily piece or two of fine dark chocolate, but otherwise I'm fairly abstinent. Past experience indicates that I could probably develop an addiction to sex, but current lifestyle choices have caused me to abstain from that, too. The one and only craving I fully indulge is an addiction to fast driving.

I'm fortunate to live in a region with some pretty good roads for driving at speed, somewhat close to areas of transition between suburban and rural. That, combined with the rolling hills of the piedmont region, means that curvy, relatively low-traffic country roads are in easy access. When I first moved to this locale back in my mid-20's, I began to explore just to familiarize myself with the area. As I started to discover the back-country roads nearby, I quickly realized how much fun they could be. I also learned that driving fast gave me an unexpected respite from the cyclothymic depression I had been sunk in for a handful of years. When I found myself sitting agitated and restless in my apartment in the evening, I'd grab my keys and head out for a drive. To this day, nothing calms my nerves and relaxes me like pushing the speedometer on an open road.

The thing about driving is the focus it requires. When you drive fast on country roads, you quickly learn that you have to maintain awareness and a constant anticipation that something (an animal, a pedestrian, another car) could be in the middle of the road as you crest that next hill or swing around that upcoming curve. The focus required pushes all other thoughts out of your head and leaves you in a very Zen-like state. I've intentionally described this state as "focused" and not "concentrated". Concentration implies a tunnel-visioned rigidity and that's sure to lead to a crash. What's necessary to drive fast is a relaxed, wide-spread, yet focused, awareness. Peripheral vision is key, as is being relaxed enough to respond instead of react. Chris Cornell is apparently also a speed-freak and describes it similarly:

"Speed is true escapism. When you're going really fast you have no opportunity to think about anything else in your life. Stuff that might bug you gets forced out of your brain. When I want to clear out my mind, I'll usually go driving late at night on roads where I know there are no police..."
My chiropractor (Dr. Joe) and I have discussed this. Dr. Joe is a motorcycle afficionado, specifically racing bikes. He and his buddies frequent many of the same roads I do, and several of my chiro appointments have ended with us comparing notes on current road conditions, favorite curves, etc. In one of these conversations, Dr. Joe described the exhilaration of of entering a curve and feeling that point when it's time to accelerate to sling your vehicle around the apex and out the other side. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Whether it's a car or a motorcycle, there's a thrill in feeling that no-mind, totally instinctual one-ness with vehicle and pavement.

Another great description of driving fast that mirror my sentiments is from a January 1999 National Geographic article about T.E. Lawrence ("Lawrence of Arabia"). Lawrence was apparently a motorcycle buff and spent the years of his retirement tearing around the English country-side on a pretty cool-looking Brough Superior SS1000, before an unfortunately fatal crash on that same bike. The Nat'l Geo writer had the opportunity of driving the Brough:

"...blasting down the narrow roads of Dorset that day, I did get a taste of what Lawrence found on this bike at the end. It was a kind of surrender, I think-- a speed-induced state of bliss in which things go empty and white, as they sometimes do in the desert, and where... struggle might be briefly forgotten, or somehow resolved, and penance seems no longer necessary."
To a lesser degree, my bicycle induces this same bliss. As I mentioned in another recent post, I'm no speed-demon on the bike. I just don't have the watts for it (yet...?). I've gone as fast as 30mph downhill, but I slow down like a granny going into turns. And I'm just not powerful enough for sustained speed on a straightaway. But there's a similar relaxed focus required in cycling. To maintain a steady cadence on flats or rolling hills demands attention to breathing, gearing, pedal stroke, and any upcoming obstacles that will affect that ideal combination of rpm/mph. Obviously, there's a necessary amount of knowledge of these various elements required, but at a certain point that knowledge becomes muscle-memory and thought exits the equation. Again, it's body, machine and surface congealing into a harmonious state of mindful-yet-mindless freedom from care.

Getting back to the car: Most people would probably not consider me to be a "good" driver, but I'd like to think of myself as at least a skillful one. Yes, I'm aggressive behind the wheel, but I honestly believe that I might be a tad more aware and attentive than the average cell-phone afflicted motorist. I try to be realistic, though. I tend to attribute my lack of accidents (beyond a handful of weather-related incidents in my early 20's) to a smidgen of skill in handling the car, a teensy bit to my awareness of what's going on and what could happen at any moment around me, and a whole lot to just plain dumb luck. Of course, now that I've written those words, I'll probably go out tomorrow and have a tremendous wreck. Unless it leaves me maimed or dead, though, it probably wouldn't be enough to curb my addiction.

Anyone know of a local chapter of Speed-Demon's Anonymous...?

Time to talk about my bike

No self-serving philosophical ramblings today, sorry. Just some self-serving rambling about cycling.

According to my 2006 log at BikeJournal.com, by this time last year I had already been out for one ride. I'm not necessarily a "serious" rider (my bike log also shows that I only got in a bit more than 1,000 miles last year), but I am seriously passionate about my bike. It's not an expensive one (2006 Specialized Tri-Cross Sport) and though I've customized the components a tad, it's not been with anything top-of-the-line. The bike is, as I recently described it on a cycling forum, my partner in exploration and adventure. I'm not the greatest rider (again, my BikeJournal log attests to this), but I'm hooked on the endorphin-high I get from pedaling.

Last year, thanks to a winter that began more mildly than it ended, I rode until mid-December. By that time, it finally started to get too cold and I was beginning to miss getting out in the woods for hiking, so I figured I'd stable the pony until winter ended. As things turned out, I didn't do much hiking, either. I think I wrote back in January or so that I was spending time in tea and coffee shops instead, going through an "introspective, analytic period". Who the heck was I kidding? I've just been a freaking lazy bum ths winter. I was doing pretty well until Christmas, managing to keep a regular routine of indoor exercise going after the riding stopped. Then the holidays hit. Then we had inventory at work in January, which turned out to be stressful enough to cause a muscle spasm in my right trapezius muscle (where the shoulder meets the base of the neck). The spasm led me to finding a great chiropractor (Dr. Joe. I'll have to write about him some time. He likes to ride motorcycles fast ), but also made it difficult to exercise for several weeks. No raising my arms above my shoulders, no lifting weights, no supporting my own weight on my arms. Translated: No Yoga, no Pilates, no weight lifting. If I were creative, I could certainly have figured out an asana routine or calisthenic exercises to work around those limitations. Instead I allowed myself to get caught up in Spike TV's 5-night-a-week double episodes of CSI and descended into full sloth mode.

And just as the shoulder was getting back to normal at the beginning of this month, I got sick (see last week's scatological post). I was so sick that the doctor advised me not to fly to Florida for a business trip/family visit. He literally said "If you subject yourself to the cabin pressure in a plane while you have gastroenteritis, it could cause your colon to expand and rupture and there is a chance you could die." I chose to take his advice. At this point my stomach's back to normal, but the mild dizzy spells are sticking with me. And, on top of that, the east coast was slapped with one last snow storm, just two days after we had 75° and sunny skies. The day it was 75° was my first day back at work from being sick and I walked around the store whining that "If only I weren't sick, I could be out riding my bike!" My boss was quick to remind me that if I weren't sick then I'd have been in Florida on the business trip that he paid for. What he doesn't understand, though, is that if I were well and in Florida, I'd still be walking around whining "If only I were at home, I could be out riding my bike!"

I broke out of the sloth slump for a short hike today through the snow at Yankauer Nature Preserve, which is located near the town of Scrabble, WV, about 15 minutes from Shep'town. Nice little nature preserve with an overlook along a cliff over the Potomac, across the river from the Big Slackwater area of the C&O Canal. When I've ridden my bike along the C&O towpath up to Big Slackwater in the summer, the parking lot has always been packed. It was strange to see it baldly empty on such a gorgeously sunny day. Gazing across the river at the towpath, I couldn't help but think "If only it were warmer, I could be out riding my bike!"

A new MySpace "friend" who's also into biking has inspired me to try again to read some Ralph Waldo Emerson. Good choice for this time of year. This coming Wednesday, March 21, is the vernal equinox and the first day of spring. Here are a few appropriate words from Ralph:

"In the presence of nature a wild delight runs through man, in spite of real sorrows. Nature says, --he is my creature, and maugre all his impertinent griefs, he shall be glad with me."

Yeah, I'll save you the trouble...

Maugre:
prep.
Archaic.
Notwithstanding; in spite of.

Unwholesome states of stomach and mind

Warning: This post will include a somewhat graphic discussion of my bodily discharge. If you're not into scatological humor, you won't want to read beyond a certain point.
 
I recently wrote on anger and how ineffectively I handle my own. As I said in that post, I know of methods, mostly Buddhist, to deal with negative emotions, but I don't yet have the discipline to catch myself before those emotions get blown out of proportion (notice the hopeful quality of the word "yet" in that sentence). I've tried once or twice to begin a sitting meditation practice, but I can't seem to commit to it. Instead, I read Buddhist writings and hope that the teachings will sink in that way. So, in the latest issue of Tricycle magazine (Winter 2006), I found an article titled "Changing Your Mind: Six steps for transforming unwholesome mind states." I've read about unwholesome mind states before. I understand how they work, and that they are, ultimately, delusions constructed by our own grasping and aversion. When I'm able to stop myself and think before I react, I'm able to shake loose those delusions. What I need is to find that space between stimulus and habitual response.

Anyway, the article made me think of one of the women I work with. This particular person is someone I click with, with whom I have a similar background and some vaguely similar interests. We talk at length about situations at work and how to deal with them. I've loaned her the Dalai Lama's Ethics for the New Millenium and we've discussed human interaction from the Buddhist perspective. We trade rants over things that piss us off. In addition to the occasional rant, though, she has a tendency to feed the things that annoy her, looking for examples and not letting go of things. When I rant to her, I usually catch myself at some point and comment that I'm being unskillful and need to let go of the situation. Her response is, invariably, that it's ok, that we need to rant instead of letting things build up inside. As much for my own benefit as hers, I usually reply by explaining the difference between ranting as a form of release, and just plain letting go. I think I need to suggest that she read this article from Tricycle. I'm going to quote at length (bolding is mine for emphasis):

The historical Buddha Shakyamuni made a big deal of the distinction between wholesome and unwholesome states of mind. Most religious and philosophical traditions probably share this point of view to some extent, but the Buddha was unique in offering a detailed way of understanding how and why the mind manifests as it does in any given moment. There are patterns of cause and effect that can be seen in experience and traced over time to explain the dynamics at work shaping each moment of consciousness. The word for this is karma, and it does not mean "fate."

Moreover, the Buddha offered a simple and universal method for transforming mind stated from unwholesome to wholesome. This is important because, as the very first verse of the Dhammapada says, we become what we think. Every thought, emotion, intention, attitude, and aspiration shapes how ensuing experience will unfold. This means that every single moment of consciousness is a moment of practice, whether we like it or not. We are practicing to become ourselves. The critical question, really, is just how much we want to participate in the process.

As I understand his teachings, the Buddha was expounding what we might call a post-Copernican revolution. The world really does revolve around us, insofar as our mind is the instrument for the local construction of meaning. Left unattended, the mind will tend to organize around greed, hatred, and delusion, and will create unwholesome states that "obstruct wisdom and lead away from awakening" (Majjhima Nikaya 19). The solution to the problem, at least according to the earliest strata of Buddhist tradition, is to learn the healthy skill of transforming such mind states.

The author of the article, Andrew Olendzki, then goes on to outline the six steps of transformation as laid out in the Anumana Sutta. Again, these steps are concepts I've read about before, and that I attempt (poorly) to practice. But the points Mr. Olendzki makes leading up to them sum up very well what I've been trying to get across to my work compatriot. What we choose to think, what we choose to brood over, shapes the state of our mind. As the cliché goes, attitude is everything, and our thoughts are what create our attitude. So when I get annoyed repeatedly over those silly, uncaring salespeople downstairs who can't process their sales transactions correctly, leaving me stuck fixing their mistakes, I need to be very careful to not let those thoughts coalesce into an attitude towards those salespeople. Unfortunately, it's too late. I've spent the past several months brooding and building up seriously unwholesome thoughts towards our sales staff. Yes, I do believe that they take us, the administrative staff, for granted. But that doesn't mean I have to respond with seething resentment that spills out and poisons the attitudes of everyone else in the office. And, according to Mr. Olendzki, ranting about it with my office mates is how that poison is spread: "Accepting what is unwholesome out of attachment, or acting it out in an attempt to purge it, will just strengthen that quality of mind… Abandoning involves seeing it for what it is, recognizing the conditions that contribute to clinging to it, and gently releasing one's hold on the unwholesome quality, one moment at a time." Seems easy, huh? I need to tape that onto the wall over my desk. And then, of course, I'd need to read it, too...

So, now we come to the scatological portion of today's musings. Fun word, isn't it? Scatological. I love it when big words are used to describe something incredibly mundane, even gross. So, anyway, if you're easily grossed out, stop reading right now and hope that I don't make a habit of this.

I'm not sure why I feel the need to talk about this, except that, as with everything else, I've tried to find a lesson in it. I got sick last week. Dizzy spells, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea. No fever, though, so I wasn't sure what was going on. When it got to the point that I was having trouble walking across the room, I called the doctor. They said it sounded as if I was dehydrated and they recommended a trip to the ER for intravenous fluids. So, as there was no way I was gonna drive in that state, I called a cab and went. The diagnosis ended up being gastroenteritis, which is what contributed to the severe dehydration. I'm still partially on a fluid diet (broth, Jell-O, etc), though I am cheating a bit. I want solid food, dammit. I'm not going to regain strength on broth alone, no matter how my gut rebels. The really fun part of this, though, has been that my doctor wants stool samples so he can determine whether the condition is viral or bacterial.

You haven't truly lived until you've had to collect your own stool samples. They don't do it at the lab. No, the lab gives you however many little vials the doctor has requested, partially filled with various liquid chemicals. You then get to go home and poop into a clean, dry container. Using the teeny-tiny little scoop included with the vial, you then must fill the vial to a certain level with your poop, stir it a bit, then (tightly!) close the lid and shake to mix your poop with the liquid chemical. It's a perverse little science experiment that would have your average 7-year-old howling with laughter. I kept feeling like I was in one of T00l's early videos, except that my bathroom is too brightly lit to have the right atmosphere. And I feel sorry for the poor lab tech who has to analyze my concoction.

And the lesson? Well, scooping your own poop is a great way to shed delusions. It's humbling, and the absurdity of it really helps to put other things into perspective. And the next time I'm accused of thinking my shit don't stink, I can reply, "Well, as a matter of fact, I happen to know very well that my shit stinks somethin' awful!"

Time to go have tea.


 

Tea and impermanence

My Sunday’s have become fairly predictable this winter. To break the routine, I took the bold step of ordering a tea at Sharazade’s that I’ve never tried before: Smokey Russian Caravan, a blend of China black and Lapsang Souchong teas. When the pot was set in front of me, I poured a cup and let it sit to cool a bit while I waited for my food. Just before my fritatta was served, I became aware of an unusual odor and wondered if they were burning a pig in the kitchen (nothing on the menu would indicate this as a possibility, though). Then I picked up my cup and took a few sips of the tea. The taste was a fairly typical tea flavor, mellow and smooth but with, as the name suggests, a definite smoky element. And then I realized it… The smoky odor I had noticed was coming from my tea. I sat there trying to think of it as the smoky aroma of burning wood, but just kept coming back to that first impression of burning pig flesh, kind of sweet & smoky at the same time. It made for a very weird tea experience, to munch on an English muffin with jam and a sage-sausage fritatta, while occasionally getting whiffs of that perfectly acceptable-tasting tea that smelled vaguely of a charnel ground. Was it perhaps highly appropriate to be drinking and smelling this tea while reading a Buddhist magazine? Didn’t Siddharta Gautama, on his way to Buddha-hood, practice with monks who, inspired by the Hindu god Shiva, meditated in charnel grounds in order to fully grasp the concept of impermanence? Don’t Hindu monks still smear their bodies with cremation ashes as a reminder of the impermanence of all things? (And yes, I realize that I’m blurring the lines between Buddhism and Hinduism. For me, interest in the latter led to studying the former, so they’re inextricably linked in my mind.) I don’t know that I could ever acquire enough of a taste for Smoky Russian Caravan to make it a regular part of my tea repertoire, but it might be a good one to drink every now and again as an alternative to smearing my body with cremation ashes in a charnel ground…

Noticed an ad in the magazine for a book titled The Cosmos in a Carrot: A Zen Guide to Eating Well. The pairing of the words "carrot" and "eating" caused me to grin, seeing as how I’d just the other day been listening to T00l’s "Disgustipated":

And the angel of the lord came unto me, snatching me up from my place of slumber. And took me on high, and higher still until we moved to the spaces betwixt the air itself. And he brought me into a vast farmland of our own Midwest. And as we descended, cries of impending doom rose from the soil. One thousand, nay a million voices full of fear. And terror possessed me then. And I begged, "Angel of the Lord, what are these tortured screams?" And the angel said unto me, "These are the cries of the carrots, the cries of the carrots! You see, Reverend Maynard, tomorrow is harvest day and to them it is the holocaust." And I sprang from my slumber drenched in sweat like the tears of one million terrified brothers and roared, "Hear me now, I have seen the light! They have a consciousness, they have a life, they have a soul! Damn you! Let the rabbits wear glasses! Save our brothers!" Can I get an amen? Can I get a hallelujah? Thank you, Jesus.

You really have to hear the perfect mid-western preacher twang with which Maynard delivers these lines to get the full impact of "Disgustipated." The above is followed by a minute or so of Maynard chanting "This is necessary… Life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on…", etc, etc.

I’ve decided that I want a t-shirt that reads "Let the rabbits wear glasses!!"

After breakfast, I headed back across the Potomac River for a hike around The Cornfield at Antietam National Battlefield Park. I’ve been coming to this battlefield for years. Surrounding the town of Sharpsburg, MD, it’s a beautiful area of rolling hills between South Mountain and the Potomac River. The driving tour is excellent for bicycling and the hiking trails, while short and easy, make for some great meandering. This history of the place is not nearly so pleasant. The battle of Antietam began at dawn of September 17th, 1862, north of Miller’s cornfield. Over the course of the morning, 15,000 Federal soldiers converged on the cornfield. As they filed through the 6 or so foot tall stalks, they met the Confederate army, approximately 9,200 men, on the other side. Within four hours, roughly 10,000 of all those men were no longer standing. Union General Joseph Hooker later wrote in his official report, "In the time I am writing, every stalk of corn in the northern and greater part of the field was cut as closely as could have been done with a knife, and the slain lay in rows precisely as they had stood in their ranks a few moments before." There were two more phases to the fighting at Antietam that day in other areas of the battlefield. By the end of the day, more than 23,000 men had died as a result of the battle. The official website for the battlefield puts it in perspective:

Not only was this the first major Civil War engagement on Northern soil, it was also the bloodiest single day battle in American history.
To view the magnitude of the losses, consider that Antietam resulted in nine times as many Americans killed or wounded (23,000 soldiers) as took place on June 6, 1944--D-day, the so-called "longest day" of World War II. Also consider that more soldiers were killed and wounded at the Battle of Antietam than the deaths of all Americans in the Revolutionary War, War of 1812, Mexican War, and Spanish-American War combined.

And that’s not even taking into account the toll this battle took on the citizens of Sharpsburg. Apparently, before, during and after the battle, there were almost 1,000 soldiers in the area per each resident of the town. The day after the battle, Lee’s troops packed up and headed back across the Potomac into Virginia. McClellan’s troops, though, remained in and around the town for two months, in order to "rest the army’s horses", as McClellan put it in a communication to President Lincoln. First, the battle ravages and destroys the majority of the farms in the area, then the town and local homes become a great big field hospital, then 80,000 soldiers take over for two months. It had to be a harrowing experience that left many citizens in ruin and poverty.

I followed up my hike by heading back to Shep’town. I had noticed as I was heading to Sharazade’s that the local movie theater (and we’re talking a real theater here, not any behemoth multi-plex) was showing Pan’s Labyrinth, a movie that I’d been hearing a lot about. If you have the chance to see this film while it’s still in theaters (or multi-plexes, if that’s all you’ve got access to), do so. It’s engrossing and beautiful and gory and disturbing and moving, and it deserves to be seen on a big screen. I’ll probably end up buying the dvd anyway, though, when it comes out, ‘cause it’ll still be good on a small screen. And it was a fitting way to end the afternoon, considering it was yet another exploration of impermanence (though the ending really goes both ways, with impermanence contrasted to everlasting life…).

And now it’s time to once again celebrate impermanence, by ending this post.

I'm jealous of Maynard

As part of the MJK kick I've been on lately, I recently sat and read the entire journal section at the website for his winery, Caduceus. Every page left me more and more wistful and envious. First of all, the website itself is freaking gorgeous. Second, (and I really hate to sound so teeny-bopperish) if I didn't have the impression that he'd totally drive me 'round the bend, I could probably really fall for a guy like MJK. His sense of humor, his thoughtfulness (as in, he thinks), his talent, the way he expresses himself... But, as is always the case when one pines after a celebrity, all of that is mere daydream. All I know of the guy, as he himself puts it in "Hooker With a Penis", is what he's sold me. So, any impression I do have of him is probably 90% projection.

What really got to me in reading the journal at Caduceus, though, is how fucking lucky he is to have found not just one passion in life (his music), but two. The way he describes working in the vineyard and developing his wines left me misty-eyed. Working the land, learning the patterns of the weather, watching the vines grow and the grapes mature... It just sounds so pure. He's found something rare in life, something many of us can only dream of because we don't have the opportunity, or the resources, or the balls to obtain it. Or, because we still just plain don't know what it is.

And the joy he seems to derive from life is evident in every word of that journal. The dude's had his share of pain in life (fans who've heard the story behind APC's "Judith" and T00l's "10,000 Days" have a vague idea of what his family's apparently been through), but he sounds like a little kid describing his experiences of the past few years. I especially got a kick out of the 12/20/06 entry (which he also posted at his MySpace Puscifer blog). It's so easy to assume that rock stars are rich, spoiled and blase', but Maynard's excitement over visiting the Great Pyramids of Egypt is touchingly refreshing.

MJK, man, if you ever read this... GIVE ME A JOB PICKING GRAPES!!!!