The Haiku of Life

I love haiku.

Ok, there, I said it. But, really, who's surprised? I'm into Zen, I'm into language, and haiku is the Zen of language. Sincere, to the point, and brief, haiku embodies the simple directness of Zen quite well. Brevity is a great thing. I've been struggling with it lately. Every entry I write here ends up way longer than I want it; I want my ideas in a concise, dense form, where each sentence is packed and really carries it's weight... yet I end up going on and on with explanations, since often what I'm writing comes from an unfamiliar or a weird perspective (mine). All the caffeine probably isn't helping. Consider this, though: a picture is worth a thousand words, but one good haiku can paint it. I love the concept of a phrase, a sentence, that in itself speaks volumes. Depth in brevity, yes.

I apply the concept of brevity and simplicity to all parts of my life. It's the ideal I hope to attain to. I'm always editing out words that don't really add anything. The eraser, the backspace, these are my friends. I always seek to reduce my possessions, believing that in all realms of my life only what is necessary should remain. Yet I admit I sometimes really enjoy reading writers like Thoreau, who wrote so beautifully in that old Victorian manner, very flowery, well padded sentences. Sentences that could be cut down severly, as Hemingway did; but I'm no great fan of his.

Goethe said "everything is a metaphor" and I feel that is true, for reasons that would take at least one lengthy post to explain. Though I don't believe in the whole "think positive and all will be well" philosophy, I do agree that one must first dream a thing before he can do it, must concieve in some manner of the opportunities and blessings lest he miss them altogether.

So I wonder if this simplicity thing is percolating into my life and actually limiting the wealth of my experience. If I'm always looking for what to cut, what to get rid of, what's not necessary, am I missing an abundance that could otherwise be mine if I had room for it in my conceptions?

printing haiku

with an empty ink cartridge...

true Zen?

...Life is but a Dream

Dream Sailor by Alex Grey

 I recently watched Inception, a very well done movie about a new technology that allows people to get inside other people's dreams and steal information; or in this case, to try and plant an idea. Anyone interested in dreams and consciousness and such ideas will find it enjoyable. It is visually very beautiful as well, with great effects.

For myself, as I watched the movie I couldn't help but to keep thinking of the story of Chuang Tzu, the ancient Chinese sage:

Once upon a time, I, Chuang Tzu, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of following my fancies as a butterfly, and was unconscious of my individuality as a man. Suddenly I awaked, and there I lay, myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man. Between a man and a butterfly there is necessarily a barrier. This is called the transformation of all things.

For you see, the movie's real interest stems from the complication of dreams-within-dreams; similar to the animated film Waking Life, also about lucid dreaming. This multi-leveled nature of the dreams leads to confusion among the characters about what is actually reality. And I thought, how much like real life. 


 

Chuang Tzu's dream

 I mean, the metaphor of life being a dream has long been used by philosophers and sages, and not always as a metaphor. Heaven in many ways resembles awakening to a life clarified by the Truth of God, after the falseness of life on Earth where Satan "walks to and fro" and maintains his kingdom. One could see Hindu and Buddhist reincarnation as endlessly waking from dream after dream, trapped, until one finally realizes the truth of the situation and breaks the chain, either waking up or becoming lucid. Even modern science tells us that the mind knows absolutely no difference between waking and dreaming. The only difference is the source of the input: the senses while awake and the brain while asleep. But to the mind, an experience in a dream is real.

So who's to say whether this whole life is a giant fantasy, and when we die we wake up into the real? This isn't idle wondering, this is a serious, ancient philosophical and spiritual question. Many sages and wise men have used exactly that analogy, saying that enlightenment is like awakening from the dream; like lucid dreaming, you could say.

It comes down to this: how do you tell the real from the dream? And the answer is, we cannot. Dreams are as real to the mind as waking life, it does not consider it fantasy until we wake up. The experiences had in dreams are 100% real, as are the emotions; the brain makes no distinction. This is why a dream that can seem so very deeply real can trouble us for a long time, it can ruin a whole day, or longer, can change our behavior or our life.


Who says gremlins are imaginary?


But, you argue, in dreams people fly, or there are monsters, dead people come back to life, and so on. Yet let's be honest about things-- we cannot say if this our "normal" world is actually normal. Have you actually looked at some of the animals we share the planet with? Or the fantastic technology we now have access to? We can cross the continent in a few hours, moving at crazy speeds as we fly through the very sky, but all we do is bitch about the cramped seating or the ten minute wait to board. Humans can get used to anything.


(That in itself is an old philosophical question, I believe it was Hume who talked about it. Who's more impressed by magic, adults or young children? Who would be amazed if the law of gravity took a break? In both cases, it's adults; kids haven't lived in this world long enough to build expectations on such things. Dreams return us to that same sort of credulity.)

Implications? I'm not sure. It's just fun to think about. And yes, I realize I could have written the same blog post about the Matrix. Same set of questions, generally, and the Matrix consciously drew on spiritual and philosophical questions and motifs. Both movies play with the question of whether a world is the real one or an illusion, and whether it's better to be in the illusion than to face the true reality of things. Things to ponder.

More posts to follow on this theme.

Journaling

Plaque on Mt. Greylock

Currently I'm writing a book about my Appalachian Trail hike; this is what's gotten me into writing of late; it got the juices flowing. As I proceed, I find I'm really appreciating my journal from the trail. Over the years, I've learned things about journaling, good tips for creating a better record. For me, I mostly only journal when I'm out on the trails or involved in some sort of adventure, otherwise life seems too boring to bother writing about regularly. They say journaling is a lost art these days of email and text messaging and especially facebook, and it may be so, but I still love and advocate it.

First, I recommend doing it the old fashioned way, pen and paper. I like the personal nature of it; sometimes the quality of the penmanship can help show how tired I was or what state of mind I was in. Also, there's the freedom to draw a sketch or diagram in the margins if you want, which can be a good memory booster, and is more personal than using a camera. But even journaling on an electronic device is better than nothing.

Here's an interesting insight: I have learned that I really slighted myself by only journaling in the evening, at the end of the day; many details were omitted thanks to this. Laying in the sleeping bag, tired from the day's exertions, I typically only wrote about what seemed relevant at the moment there in camp. I'd list some details from the day, but would often only write about what was on my mind as I wrote. Any thoughts or insights I'd had during the day were often forgotten by this point, and often I'd write about things that weren't really important or memorable.

It's important to keep that in mind. I berate myself now, wondering if it was really appropriate to fill up the entire day's entry with complaints about my pulled Achilles, day after day. Or it'd be the reverse: sometimes I'd write nothing about the physical day, only elaborating on what I was thinking about, so I don't have a record of those places.

I improved as the miles went by; entries from Georgia were very poor in content and detail compared to those from Maine. In my subsequent travels, especially this last summer in New Jersey and Vermont, I'd bring the journal out during the day and start the entry then; this way things are fresher and I'm less tired so I'm more willing to take the time to be specific. Even so, in many cases it's but a bare skeleton of places and events.

Thank God I have an excellent memory, almost photographic in some ways. When I'm writing, it's almost like a trance, and the memories come alive before me, things I thought I'd forgotten bubble up, and most of it I remember well already. I'm able to piece most days together, even the more mundane moments from the trail, the hours spent walking through random woods. It's all very clear to me, full of detail; using the journal helps me put it in order and remember a few other things, but quite often I just write for pages based on memory alone.

Anyways. Another technique for good journaling I found is to mention the weather, which for the AT I only did at random, but of which I have since learned to keep a daily record. This helps "set the lighting" so to speak, which can go very far towards jogging the memory of a time and place. These are things that are often subconscious, and making a note of them can have a strong effect. Kind of like how when you're taking a test, remembering the room you were studying in can help the information come back to you.

I like to journal chronologically. I start the entry with things about how I slept, what time we left camp, things like that, then proceed through the events of the day. This became a useful tool for me in the evenings at remembering what happened during the day. It sounds untrue, but out there the days seem so packed with occurrences and events that it is hard to remember them all sometimes.

One thing I wish I'd written more about is the people I met and interacted with. I would often give a brief synopsis of the day's hike, for example, the difficulty of this or that mountain and how I felt overall with the hiking, but often didn't go into much detail about the people I was sharing these experiences with, aside from naming the few key characters and any truly notable events. This is still an issue that needs work; I'm great at writing about ideas and landscapes, but with people, it sometimes seems so complicated or tedious that I don't do it enough, even though the people are the best thing about the AT, and probably life in general.

Another great thing about the journal is that it can help you learn about yourself. For example, I was often sick on the AT, including vomiting relatively often. It was due to having zero body fat left and being in a perpetual state of physical exhaustion. That much was obvious. But many days I would feel superb, full of energy and spirit. So, by looking back I can see a pattern of events: poor sleep for a few nights in a row often preceded the sick feelings. So would heavy exertion without eating enough, like pushing ten miles without a break for even a granola bar. I'd have terrible dreams and wake the next morning feeling bad. I often noted the quality of my sleep and the character (good, bad, weird, twisted, etc) of my dreams, which is an indicator. But this "body knowledge" was not obvious at the time, and only by looking back at a record do I see the patterns. I can no benefit from this knowledge.

The most important thing, though, it to pay attention. Obviously, readers of this blog know I'm into Zen, Taoism, meditation and all that. I strive to be present in the moment, awake to what is around me. This, I believe, makes the memories sharper and more conscious. I'm not out there sleepwalking through my days, at least not completely. If you are present in your moments, interactions, and experiences, not only will your journal entries be more full of useful notes, but the memories themselves will be clearer.

Merry Christmas!

Well, no rant today. Sure, I could go on about the commercialization of holidays, or get all philosophical as is my wont, maybe about the Tao of Christmas or the psychological benefits of family time.

But nah. Just a very Merry Christmas to my few readers, and a poem (see previous message) for the day. I hope the day finds you all well, and that you spend it how you want.

Brain Storm

Not exactly a Christmas theme, but hey, I'm not a Christian, so sue me. Still, it's sort of in line with the "time of newness and change" archetype.

Brain Storm

No insurance exists against a world's collapse,
nor for a mind's explosion.

Inspiration strikes from afar like lightning
yet it's her thunder that roars its way up the valley
dropping rocks and shaking foundations,

and always there is a desire
to shudder with it, to feel that release.

Erosion is the way of this universe--
          so long sprung
          from its tiny, broken seed--
that sigh of relief as things crack and crash down:

stars reduce to dusty worlds and life,
the cities to rubble and regrowth.
Left alone, everything hollows itself out
and becomes hallowed.

Yet still, trapped in these ancient
trajectories of accepted limits
and humbled dreams, encircled by the mind
and its passed down patterns,
          there remains an empty clench of ideas,
white-knuckled disbelief and depravity,

while eternities spin behind the sky
and mythic roots dig deep below, swelling in darkness,
crawling unseen among sleeping foundations,
the tendrils of a bygone hope extending
as they always have, and waiting.

It's but a question of being foolish enough
to fall from these sterile crags of deserted life,
to abandon all hope of soaring
with the vultures long awaited,

instead to tremble and fail and find with fresh sight
that the one spark that sets to fire whole worlds
happens here, in the striking together
of hidden thoughts in the darkness of a mind.

Urban Despair and the Need for Nature

Why is it so hard in the city to be content and happy? Why does it seem like no one wakes up in the morning, looks out the window, and says, "Ah, life is good, the world is good!"? Well, I'm gonna tell ya why (you knew that was coming, right?). It's because the city landscape is a soul sucking enemy of life.

Okay, hyperbole alert. There might be happy people in cities, who really knows. But look, the human species lived close to the natural world and its rhythms for 99.999% of our history, over two hundred thousand years. These rhythms are in our blood, our cells, our DNA. If you careto consider that all of life has always lived at one with the natural world, we can say it's been 4 billion years.

Urbanization is new. We've had cities for five or six thousand years, sure, but they were very small, and only in a few regions for much of that time (Mesopotamia, China, Egypt, Mexico, yadda yadda yadda). Rome was pretty urbanized, and look how fucked up they became. Then we returned to normality for the Dark Ages, back to the land. But cities began to grow again in the Middle Ages and into the Rennaisance. Still, it took the industrial revolution to really kick into the urban life, starting less than 200 years ago. Before that, only about 3% of the humans lived in cities. Now we're over 50%



Vista on he Appalachian Trail in Virginia



Okay, history lesson over. The point is, our minds are not able to take in this way of life. It is profoundly unnatural. I know I'm a nature nut so I'm biased, but I when I was on the Appalachian Trail, or doing conservation work in Utah, or stuck on a cold, wet mountain in Vermont last fall, I'd still just have this feeling of well being about me. It's a sort of ocean of peace lifting beneath the boat of your daily life and its specific issues. You get up at dawn, look out at the trees, and you might be cold and your feet might be wet, the work might be hard and your cabin might have mice, but out there things are as they should be: the trees reach for light, the mosses creep, the leaves drop and decay. Deep down, your spirit is relaxed.

In an urban environment, you look out the window and see hard, agressive lines and forms, hordes of people all rather drawn into themselves against the surging masses, the noise, the bad air. Our schedules have nothing to do with daylight. Our work has nothing to do with the land. Artifice rules every interaction and activity.

A lot of people say they don't like nature. I accept that on one level, but in the end believe it's just that they're accustomed to comfort and ease, to climate control and screens to keep the bugs away. That's fine, I don't demand that everyone immediately start working on a farm or go live in some cabin in the woods. But I know that on a biological level, they don't hate nature. They ARE nature. And their nature is deeply missing the greater nature, and resists the artificial world that has been built in its place.



Surveying the Porcupine Mountains
in Michigan's Upper Peninsula



This goes on below the level of awareness, of course. I don't think anyone really understands this great discontent and where it comes from; most are hardly even aware of it, though they struggle constantly to placate it with consumerism, drugs, alcohol, bad relationships, and of course, the electronic hallucinations of cell phones, video games, and the TV. The upshot is that this conflict happening in our inner natures bubbles up as the negetivity and complaining that is the constant song of our urban civilization.



I know life will always be complex and tricky, and living in nature isn't a cure-all. But I know that for myself, being in a natural landscape, working with my hands, outside in the sunshine and open air, is something that at least eases a part of my spirit, such that I can tackle life's issues with a positive mindset. I know it is possible to be happy anywhere, but it is easier out there.

A Rant about Meditation

Another thing on meditation. Know what I hate? Every time you see a magazine or some web article about meditation, the picture is always of some woman in a tanktop and baggy pants sitting on a beach or something. Or else it's some old Tibetan monk in flowing robes sitting in some temple balanced precariously on a Himalayan crag.

News flash-- men meditate too, and not just Central Asian men. Also, you can meditate on the subway, or sitting in the gutter on skid row, or in the bedroom while the TV blares in the front room. It has nothing to do with flowing clothes, sunsets on the beach, or windy mountaintop temples.

We Americans reduce everything to image. If you wear the right clothes, and sit in these postures in peaceful places, and adopt a serene expression, you're doing it. You're wrong.

And no, I'm not really sure why this bothers me. It just does.