Yesterday: In the Bookstore, and the Book that Found me

                                   

Yesterday, at the end of my workday, I wasn't ready to go home yet. I had been meaning to go to Barnes and Noble and browse around, so that's where I headed. I miss the independent bookstores that have closed one by one. And one day, I imagine, we will only have the option of buying books online. 

Once inside the bookstore, I took a look at the new books; many I have seen at online review sites or heard mention of. I wasn't feeling especially pulled by any. I wandered over to where the notecards, notebooks, and art supplies are kept, just past the business section and the bargain books. I skipped the business section and went to the bargain shelves and tables. I saw a visual book that teaches you how to learn the keys of the piano. I thumbed through it, slightly wishing that I knew how to read music, to understand and enter music at its language gate. 

I saw another book on introversion that caught my fancy. There was a Baudelaire quote inside that I saw when I flipped through the pages–it spoke to me. I took a photo of the book, so that I can see if the library has a copy. My favorite place to get books these days is the library and second hand stores. I have a stack checked out right now and recently took back a few stacks. They come home with me, and of course, they don't all get my attention, but they are what I'm interested in at that moment that I bring them home; some hold my attention all the way until the end, while others serve as inspiration in the small spurts of time I'm able to give them. It seems the library books are the ones that get read all the way through; my own books stay in their shelves or stacks looking back at me, patient, waiting for me to pull them out. They have a home, and I would say it's permanent, but that would be a lie–nothing is permanent–an ancient truism, one that I try to remember.

While I was down in this section, my eyes were drawn to the "Buddha Board Mini" sitting on the shelf. I picked it up and saw that it was a small drawing board. You use only the brush, the board, and water to create your image and then poof, it disappears after some time. It actually evaporates. On the box it says: "Master the art of letting go." Another reinforcement of the impermanence of life. I kept turning it in my hands, wanting to buy it; instead, I made a note. Maybe later.

Part of me only wanted to browse. I wanted to refrain from buying anything; and I always feel guilty when I buy new books and "stuff".  

I looked at my watch. I had just a little more time to browse before I should leave, pick up dinner, and head home.

Upstairs, there was more new fiction and the rest of the fiction. I browsed. I was starting to feel like I wasn't going to find anything that I wanted. I don't know if I was looking for something in particular or just trying to relax, allowing my mind to lose itself. I don't know what I was expecting. Was I expecting something? I wasn't feeling energized. I was beginning to feel tired. I was only in the B's. I saw a book that I jotted down for later, then I went to see if there were any astrology books I might not have. There were only a handful, nothing new or interesting to feed whatever mood led me around the store, as if searching for something, yet not searching for anything at all. Since I was in the spirituality section, I quickly scanned the other titles. I saw the Four Agreements, which I have stowed away in a box somewhere. I might have to dig it up. Then I saw a book of meditations by Don Miguel Ruiz's son. I noted the book in my notebook.

I made my way back toward the escalator, but stopped quickly at a shelf with a reference book that stood out to me for its size and title. Noted.

Down I went, back on the main floor I was about to exit, when I went over to where I thought the writing section was. I didn't see it; instead, I was standing in front of the self-help section. I did a wide scan with my eyes, not really feeling in the mood for a self-help book. My eyes were drawn to a book that was facing forward, like someone had pulled it from the shelf and not put it back, leaving it there to be seen. I looked away, continued scanning, then I looked back and picked up the book. The cover was black, a photo of two small red flowers at the bottom right corner growing out toward wet stones. I felt calm looking at that cover. "Wabi sabi" written in white lettering somewhat in the middle of the page. The words were familiar in an unfamiliar way. Where have I heard or seen those words before, or have I? 

The full title: Wabi sabi: Timeless Wisdom for a Stress-Free Life. I flip this beautiful book open, read the inside flaps, and learn about the author. I'm intrigued. In reading her forward and looking through the book, it seems this is her meditation on her experience and practice with the concept of Wabi sabi, a Japanese concept.

While I was flipping through the book, I landed on a quote by Robert Frost at the top of page 31: "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on."  I smiled, my internal voice agreeing, 'yes, that's right. So simple, and yet...'

As silly as it may sound, I think the quote sealed it for me. It made me take that book and keep flipping through it and re-reading the table of contents–my curiosity, the beauty of the book itself, and my love of wisdom...it was the book that found me that day.

Film: After Life ~ Reflection

I've had this film on my mind for the past few weeks. When I first watched it, at least 10 years ago, the question it posed made an impression on me: If when I Die, I can select one memory to take with me to the beyond and relive that memory for eternity, what would I choose?

The film was stored in my mental river. I'm not sure what has drawn me back to this movie recently, possibly it was recharged by watching another Japanese film dealing with death and reading a handful of Japanese literature lately that brought me back. 

The film is told, for the most part, through a series of interviews with the dead who have arrived at a way station. They have one week to decide on just one memory that the counselors will do their best to recreate on film for the dead to view one last time before they depart to heaven and live this memory for eternity. The counselors gather as much information as possible from each person in order to bring their one memory to life. In some cases, when a person cannot think of any memories, their tapes are ordered: one for each year of their life. They then sit down, watch and search.

As I began giving thought to the memories in my own memory bank–if this were real and I were in their shoes, what would I do? At first, a memory came to me easily enough. Then I thought of how much depends of what stage of life we're at and whose in it at the time. But if I'm already dead, that changes. 

Then after watching the movie again, I had a change of heart. I realized that it would be too difficult to select just one memory, and to be honest, after I started thinking about what one of the characters said, he reminded me that it might actually be a little sad to relive the same memory forever.

I identified most with an elderly woman in her eighties who reminded me of my grandmother. She had nice round cheeks that were lifted into a smile. While she was sitting for her interview, as soon as she heard birds chirping, she looked to where she heard the sound coming from, and all her attention shifted. She didn't say much. She had a bag in her lap that she was taking leaves out of and setting on the table, one by one. She asked if there were any flowers in the garden. In the spring they told her. 

After asking her a series of questions: Was she married? Did she have children? and being met with nods of her head to say no, the counselors realized that this woman had actually already chosen her memory. She had sort-of locked into her childhood when she died, so instead of the 80-year old woman we saw, she was actually a young girl inside. They show a scene toward the end where she is sitting on the bench swinging her legs with the happiest, most carefree expression on her face. That is one of my favorite moments in the movie.

There aren't any special effects in this film; instead what you'll find is a touching, sometimes funny, sometimes sad expression of the afterlife and an exploration of the memories these characters hang on to, the power of all of our senses; and in turn, how these expressions encourage us to reflect upon our own treasured memories.

**

After Life (known in Japan as Wonderful Life) - 1998

Directed and written by Hirokazu Koreeda

One Slender Book

I heard my name through the intercom. I left the bookshelf and walked to the back counter to see what the offer was. I wasn't expecting much, maybe three dollars for three small bags of books. I set my expectations low, knowing anything more would be a bonus. 

Twenty-two dollars–not bad.

I saw my stacks of books there. I felt a slight pang and wanted to reach for them and take them back. No, I reasoned, it was time to let them go. And there would be more in due time because there are books for keeping and books for giving up. The buyer looked at the one nearest me.

"Did you read this one?"

I placed my hand on top of the slender book.

"This one? Yes–in parts. I probably didn't give it the attention it deserved."

Where did this come from. I had read it, but it was so long ago. 

"It reminds me of–" He rattled off a few unknown names, more independents. She wanted to reach for her notebook, so she could jot them down and look them up later. Instead, she nodded, listened, saw the excitement in his face.

He turned back to his register to complete the transaction.

"I really like the cover art," she said.

"Yeah. It's beautiful. Reminds me of a friend's book. He was in an MFA program and this cover reminds me of one of his."

"Ah, I actually found this one at the Berkeley Museum of Art's bookstore. They had a small section of books that were on sale. 

"Oh, yeah–really?"

I signed my name and took the receipt to the middle of the store and cashed in on the books I sold.

Those hummingbirds–that book–that I did read: one poem contained within its slender, white casing–a rumination that I read so long ago remembering the beautiful jacket cover more than the words inside; though, from flipping through the first few pages, just before saying goodbye, just before placing it inside the bag, just before placing it back out into the world–the words were ethereal, they beat like the wings of a butterfly and shimmered like the coat of a hummingbird, now out of my hands, but in memory–as a bitter sweet parting.

 

A Sense of an Ending ~ Book Reflection: Letter to the Muse, Know today as Vincent

How did I come upon this book I ask myself?  It turns out Julian Barnes was awarded the 2011 Man Booker prize for this small but quietly potent book. But I think by now that is old news. That didn’t matter to me and in fact it did not seem to stir upon my consciousness. Now that I know, I imagine how ecstatic the author must feel. So congratulations to him.

I first saw mention of this book in an email newsletter I subscribe to. I then saw it in another email. I knew that I would like to read it at some point, but I didn’t pursue it at that time. I had finished up the previous audio book I was reading and I was in search of a new one. Since I have a monthly membership for a flat fee, each month I receive one credit toward any audio book and then other audios are discounted. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to listen to. Something I’ve read before? Something new? Hmm. Nothing was speaking to me. And then I looked and there I saw that familiar title: A Sense of an Ending. The story sounded interesting.  The story of youth and how the suicide of a friend from a distant past is revealed, bringing the protagonist back to his schooldays—memory unfolds. It’s not a large book. Four hours and 40 minutes by audio.

I enjoyed listening to the writing. I have a hold request at the library so I can read the book myself. I’m number 164 in the queue. The good news is there are 24 holdable copies across libraries in my county. It will be a little while, not too long though. In the meantime, I downloaded a sample for Kindle with the intention of only reading up until the sample stops. I love seeing the words on the page. How he opened the story and how he recounts a memory, and then continues:

“We live in time—it holds us and moulds us—but I’ve never felt I understood it very well. And I’m not referring to theories about how it bends and doubles back, or may exist elsewhere in parallel version.”

And of course there is more. Then he continues his story where it begins for him during his schooldays.

I found myself lulled softly into the story, entering the school, the classroom, and this band of friends.

I listened to this audio slowly, though it could have been listened to in one sitting. I enjoyed the banter between the friends as the protagonist pulled from his memory bank. When I finally reached the end, I felt a small sense of that’s it. That’s how it ends. I don’t often like endings. There was a subtlety to this one. Despite my initial feeling toward the ending, I enjoyed the story so much that a couple of days ago—I finished the book last week—I decided to begin listening to the story again before the book from the library is available. I don’t like recommending books because I know that we all have different tastes, different moods, etc. I can only say that I’m glad I found this book. It’s the journey of past recollections meeting present and it becomes a meditation on memory—death, life, time, choices, regrets—the ordinary and the extraordinary.

Written with acuity and a sense of grace, I appreciate the quiet, loudness of this book.

Joan Brown Posthumous Retrospective ~ Inspiration and Self-Reflection

I’m not any one thing: I’m not just a teacher, I’m not just a mother, I’m not just a painter, I’m all these things plus, and the more areas I can tap, the richer each one of the others will be.

— Joan Brown (1938-1990)

**

This past weekend included a trip to the San Jose art museum. I was browsing through the entertainment section of the local online paper and was pulled into the title, "This Kind of Bird Flies Backward." I continued reading about the artist, Joan Brown, a bay area resident and professor at the University of Berkeley, California. She died in 1990 when a falling “concrete turret” crashed down and killed her while installing her art work in a museum in India. 

Joan Brown's self-reflective qualities and strong spirit caught my soul’s attention. Not seeming to want to make bold verbal statements about issues, she maintained her own voice and authenticity by tackling issues of the time in her own space, but without the need to flaunt nor speak of them directly.

As I wound myself through her exhibit, reading the informational placards along the way, I found myself knowing Joan Brown, both admiring her evolution as an artist, and feeling deeply inspired. 

I haven't sketched or attempted to paint a self-portrait in at least 10 to 15 years but seeing her own self-portraits reminded me how much I enjoyed trying to render myself, even though the result was not flattering in my eyes and often very rough but nevertheless— revealing.

 

Joan Brown's early paintings are painted thick. I too enjoy the textures and visceralness that thick paint invites—working thick and loose, free and maybe even sloppy in a non-sloppy way. As she evolves, she loses the thickness and her paintings become large and smooth with vibrant colors.

There is much of  Joan Brown to soak up in this exhibit. One of my favorites is a huge canvas with a fish that takes up practically the whole space. We connected from that great distance, periwinkle blue, other pretty pinks and vibrant Easter type colors sent my mouth slightly agape —like seeing a long lost relation—the painting itself connected with me from a distance—and then I walked up to it—and there she was, amongst happy colors standing in the mouth of the fish—Joan smiling back at us. 

**

Part of what brought me to the page this morning was that I attempted to sketch a self-portrait of myself last night. I was in the store and went to the stationery section, and over to the far right crayons and sketch books beckoned me. So this photo is a self-portrait sketch. It began with me, holding the sketch pad up with one hand, pencil in the other, and my own reflection looking back. When I was done, there was a certain familiarity both in self and also in style to past attempts. I then added the puck ears which is also familiar; the moon, butterfly, and other squiggles. 

**

San Jose Museum of Art

http://www.sanjosemuseumofart.org/

This Kind of Bird Flies Backward: Paintings by Joan Brown.  Those of you who are interested in exploring her art and learning about the artist, can explore here. You won’t see all of the paintings, but you will get a glimmer.

http://www.sanjosemuseumofart.org/joan-brown/index.html

You can learn a little bit more about the title of the exhibition at the above website. Here is Diane Di Prima’s poem, “The Window” from her collection of poetry, This Kind of Bird Flies Backward, that line also from this poem.

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/242640

Article that was the reason I was fortunate to know of and see her exhibit. It goes through March 11, 2012, for any of you bay area residents that would like to visit.

http://www.mercurynews.com/museums-galleries/ci_19097389

Skipping Stones

What is it about rocks and sticks and boys?

Skipping stones along the top of the calm lake.

Big rocks.

“Flat rocks work best,” he said.

I was curious so I found a flat rock and threw it at a slant.

Plunk. It didn’t skip.

Instead, I passed the time gazing

at the surrounding pine trees, the lake, the sky.

I passed the time finger painting in the visible patch of sand and small stones.

I finger painted shapes and swirls and found joy in the moment. When I was done, I was going to take a photo and then decided not to. A few moments later, a small current caused the water to erase my sand painting. I smiled, knowing, it was best that way. 

Morning Swirl

Morning Swirl.

I remember being a young girl; the time was shortly after my mother passed away. My introverted, quiet little self found solace in computer magazines. I have a dim memory of how that interest began. My stepfather and brother didn’t have a lot of money—a great debt was left to us. I wanted the Commodore 64 computer so bad. I remember practically being brought to tears when they said we couldn’t afford it. A little girl doesn’t think of these things, at least I didn’t. I had other concerns. My stepfather and brother must have talked amongst themselves and scraped up enough money to buy me that computer.

The memories that still flicker are of a little girl entering code into the computer from one of the magazines so that some picture would show up on the screen. I also remember that my cousin’s husband at the time whom was at least 40 years older than her with white hair, was to offer me comfort during this period of loss. I remember seeing him in person a few times—a kind man; I only remember communicating with him a few times on the computer. He was helpful, and to tell the truth, I don’t remember how it all worked. I also don’t remember if it was visiting my cousin’s home that I first discovered the computer and then wanted one of my own.

Many of these memories and feelings have come up since buying an iPod Touch—that I technically cannot afford—oh, the irony! I charged it to the credit card and sometimes feel guilty for having purchased it. But it brings me back to a time; it reminds me of difficult times and good times. It offers a bit of distraction, entertainment, education and allows me continue to appreciate the positive aspects of technology. I enjoy searching through and downloading the many different apps. And even if I don’t fully use them, there they are.

**

It’s perplexing how relaxing it can be to run one’s finger across a touch screen to finger paint! An app that I came across is Meritum Paint. I only have so much control but because of the way the app is designed, I feel relaxed created abstract images by running my finger across the screen. This image here is one I made this morning. Now I can finger paint without the clean up. A few shakes of the iPod Touch and the image is saved to my camera roll.

Have a happy day creating and writing!

Meritum Paint iTunes Preview

http://itunes.apple.com/us/app/meritum-paint/id349099488?mt=8

Kindled ~ Reflections

So far I am enjoying my Kindle. I'm trying to think about what a morning is like with it. In the beginning I was worried about whether I should power off completely or just put it to sleep. Little silly things. I decided after reading up about it that putting it to sleep is a little bit better than just completely powering it off, but that powering it off at least weekly is good for Kindle.

At first I thought I would use Kindle a lot to read the newspaper. Then I realized that it was hard to keep up, just like with the regular paper. I didn't want to spend too much money on new Kindle books, so I tried to find some freebies, and that was exciting. It's always nice to be able to get something for free.

What took me so long?

Not exactly sure what took me so long. I had a deep resistance to buying the Kindle. I think I was afraid that I would ignore my books but that's not the case. I tried to think of excuses to not buy the Kindle, even when I looked at the store model at Target, I tried to convince myself: “Oh, the screen is not really that great to look at, and look the screen is ghostly and the words don’t even look real.” But really in Target those florescent lights make anything difficult to see. At the same time that I was taken aback at the whiteness of the page, I was also in awe—to look at this page that looks so much like a page—this e-ink technology was something special. Of all the e-readers that I’d heard about, by far, the ease on the eyes of the Kindle, and that I love Amazon so much sealed it for me.

Kindle is yet another book on my shelves, a book within books, neatly stored. Here I sit with Kindle, and I still have a few books checked out from the library and I continue to check them out and read them alongside Kindle.

Highlights

Some of the highlights for me are of being able to sample books before you buy them. A big bonus for me is that little did I know that I would start using my Kindle as a sort of CD player. I had previously downloaded audio books from the audible site which is also part of Amazon, and I haven't actually listened to them much because I don't own an MP3 player and I don't have a portable CD player, nor one in my car. Now with Kindle I can easily download or transfer my audios to the Kindle. I’ve been listening to an audio book on my morning drive to work on Kindle. It’s a short drive, yet I manage to chip away at the audio, whereas before it just sat there on the computer or a CD, untouched. The speakers aren't that loud so it's difficult to hear with the noise of the car and the traffic outside, so I tried it with my headphones and now it works much better.

I've always enjoyed reading out loud and being read to. And a book that has come up again is called Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder. I own the book and it sits on my shelves. I came across this book many years ago at a bookstore in Berkeley and the idea of it grabbed me right away. I began reading it, and I loved the story and how the author weaved a philosophy course into a story that could easily be read by adults and young adults alike. This is one of the books that I have revisited in audio. The narrator brings it alive in such a way that I wasn't able to get when I read it myself; even though I enjoyed it when I read it, now it’s so much more. There are certain books that I would not choose to listen to in audio, certain books where I choose to be the voice of the book, even if inside of my own head. But with this book there is something about it that beckons to be read aloud, and it could be because to some degree it follows the way a conversation would have gone if you are sitting down with Socrates. So that has been a real treat. It's amazing how much you can read, even in those little moments when you're sitting at the stop light.

Here is the audible.com website if you’d like to have a listen to the sample of this book.

http://www.audible.com/pd/ref=sr_1_1?asin=B002V5A2WS&qid=1301589428&sr=1-1

One new item that I learned about through a blog called, “A Kindle World Blog” that I subscribe to via the Kindle is an application for the Kindle called Notepad by 7 Dragons. It’s a somewhat raw App. that allows you to tap down notes through your Kindle pad. Many people have Smart phones and other gadgets, but I do not, so it’s an attractive feature for me—to take my Kindle one step further. I can then hook Kindle up to my computer and transfer the note to computer, edit and voila!

http://www.amazon.com/Notepad/dp/B004LSLN0I

The other cool thing about the Kindle is that you can actually e-mail documents or pictures to your Kindle e-mail address and then it arrives on your Kindle, so the you can read it on your Kindle. It does cost a small fee which I learned by surprise, but I didn't go crazy so it wasn't a big deal. And you cannot e-mail from your Kindle so you can only e-mail documents to it.

I like that there is a web browser in the experimental section. It's not perfect, but it’s nice to know it’s there. It works well if you need to look something up, and of course it functions better if there are not a lot of images on the page.

I have not transferred any MP3 music to the Kindle because I don't usually like to listen to music while reading, but that is also a nice feature.

Text to speech is a great option when publishers enable this feature. It would be great if in future generations of the Kindle they were able to improve upon the voice and not make it sound so electronic.

All in all Kindle works well for the ways that I read which is to dip in and out of books. On the other hand, I become stuck because there is such a variety to choose from that I've downloaded that it's almost hard to really keep up. I'm glad that I bought a Kindle and as I said, and as I'm sure most people feel, Kindle does seem to act more as a supplement, not a replacement, to regular books and reading.

Happy Reading!

Eugene O'Neill: Tao House ~ Reflection

Fitting that I should struggle with where to begin, how to go about capturing my visit to Eugene O’Neill’s Tao House. Fitting that this page would be the house itself: Which room to visit first, how do I feel, what impressions am I experiencing?

A year ago or so, I hadn’t heard of the American playwright, Eugene O’Neill. I first was introduced to him by a co-worker and second by an acquaintance who knew my love of writing. She said I would probably appreciate a visit to the home, and so a seed was planted—two seeds—a third, and then, I found myself there.

When my co-worker pal mentioned O’Neill and his autobiographical play, “Long Day’s Journey into Night,” way back then, I decided that before I visited the Tao House, I wanted to first read that play, which was written in that very house. The play flowed easily and the descriptions were visual, so that I could see and hear everything. I was right there. It is really a sad autobiographic picture of O’Neill’s life injected, sometimes, with black humor. Though at its core, it is pure pain turned to art. I found myself laughing and crying. “Long Day’s Journey into Night” held my attention and pulled me along into O’Neill’s subterranean world, into the characters—the real people there on those pages. And though it was autobiographical, it was also relatable and it reemphasized for me how the best material does come from deep inside of us—it comes from our pains, our truths—as we know them—then shaped into a so called fiction; and at other times, laid out there in all their truth.

It’s been about two month’s now since my visit to Eugene O’Neill National Historic Site, The Tao House, located in Danville, California.

There were many surprises because I didn’t know much other than what I read on the visitor’s website. By the very name of the house, one can conjure an image of what may be encountered, but I went with no vision.

The shuttle wound through the neighborhood up to the home of Eugene O’Neill. He lived here with his third wife, Carlotta. She found the property and worked with the architects to build this house, to bring East and West together into this abode where O’Neill, The Master, as they called him would write several plays. All understood, under no circumstances, was The Master to be disturbed when he was busy at work writing.

Nestled away in the wilderness, The Tao House, is but a short drive to town, yet one feels a sense of personal wilderness, of being tucked far away. The exterior of the home is of a Spanish style, white brick and some terracotta, met with Chinese elements seen in the tiling of the roof and pieces set around the exterior of the home and throughout the interior.

Upon entering the home, one is greeted with Asian masks of Chinese and Japanese origins. Much of the house has been arranged with Feng Shui principles. The Park Ranger Educator points out the mirrors of different shades, the Chinese Fu Lions that adorn each side of the stairs to the second floor of the home, and blue ceilings and brown tiled floors for the water and earth elements.

The room that made the most lasting impression upon me was O’Neill’s bedroom. Several  rooms had tinted inset mirrors of yellow, blue, or green , but his room was the only one that had a black mirror set into the wall. I couldn’t really see my reflection very well. It beckoned me to come closer though, to keep looking, and I felt as though I was looking into nothingness, into the dark, as though, I could slip right through. It made me feel a slight shutter, at seeing a black mirror that almost made me forget the rest of the room. Something about this mirror made me think and made me feel that each viewer, especially with this particular mirror, would most definitely feel something very different or maybe the same?

O’Neill loved the sea and his writing room was a reflection of that love, as well as a stark contrast to the feel of his bedroom. Besides the kitchen, his writing room was one room in the home that did not seem to have a heavy Chinese element to it. He also loved his beloved Dalmatian, Blemie. Of all the photos displayed in the home, only one shows O’Neill with a beaming smile on his face, and that is the one with his beloved Blemie by his side in a side embrace.

I am glad that I finally entered Eugene O’Neill and Carlotta’s Tao House—glad to have visited their world reflected in their home, and experience their sacred space, where O’Neill wrote for the last time.

**

Eugene O’Neill (1889-1953)

American Playwright

“Father of American Drama”

**

Information on how to visit the Tao House.

http://www.nps.gov/euon/

Eugene O’Neill Foundation ~ Learn and see about O’Neill’s time at the Tao House.

http://www.eoneill.com/eof/tao_house/tour.htm

An Electronic Eugene O’Neill Archive

http://www.eoneill.com/index.htm

Eugene O'Neill quote from:

http://www.corsinet.com/braincandy/dying.html

**

I wanted to share some photos that I took, to show you what I saw through my lens on that day.

Views from around the house

Exterior views of Tao House

Entryway

 Can you tell which Fu Lion is female and which is male?

Upstairs

Carlotta's bedroom

 O'Neill's study - Carlotta typed all of his work from this most tiniest of writing. I couldn't even read it with that magnifying glass.

This is a closet in the hallway. I was struck by the efficient use of space done in an aesthetically appealing way. Those white drawers are perfect for keeping everything in order and out of site and then, as you can see, the red door closes, so that it all becomes one beautiful concealed piece. There were also many book nooks built into the walls. Books, books, everywhere!

Back downstairs

The living room

Front yard

Blemie's grave site.

O'Neill's beloved dog, Blemie, rests about 100 feet from the front of the house amongst the trees and critters.

Though O'Neill did not pass away at the Tao House, his spirit is very much there, and he did write his last works there. The docent educator shared the famous quote that O'Neill uttered while on his death bed:

"I knew it. I knew it. Born in a hotel room - and God damn it - died in a hotel room."
~~ Eugene O'Neill, writer, d. November 27, 1953

** 



Five Years From Now

I remember dating a particular guy in my early twenties. I believe he was at least ten years older. He had plans. He was planted firmly. He had a good story about how he paved his path to being a self-employed person in his trade. I was just a play thing, and it was quite short lived. What did I know? We went on a hike one day, found a spot to sit and take in our surroundings, to talk. He asked me one of the questions that I dreaded: “Where do you see yourself in five years?” Gulp. Giggles from me. “I don’t know” I said.

I think I pretty much knew at that point, that this relationship was done—if one can even call it a relationship.

It’s about 17 years later—almost, and when this question was posed to me recently, I didn’t feel dread, exactly, but I still didn’t have an answer like most people do. My reply was that I would probably still be taking classes, fueling my passion for learning. I know that I can learn on my own, and I try to do a fare amount of that, but there is something about the structure of a classroom, whether online or face-to-face, that I need, that I desire.

For my next adventure, I will be taking two courses in the Fall. I had enrolled in these courses at the same time I enrolled in the Summer speech course. I was actually going to take a Latin American literature course, but the instructor changed, and I figured I could take that later. My final decision was: Career and Life Planning and Beginning Film and TV Script Writing. I always love taking any type of English or writing courses and it had never occurred to me to take a script writing course at the community college. I said, “What the hell.” It’s an area that I have not explored in detail and one where I feel the structure would be beneficial, and I feel that I sometimes view the world through a lens of sorts.

I emailed the instructor with a concern of whether this was a good fit for me. His reply put me at ease. He provided me with a syllabus and this is how he closed his email to me, “If you like to create characters and get them into trouble and see how they work their problems out you should enjoy the process… At its best it is poetry.” I felt my juices fire up. Also I realized that inspiration came from, some time ago, reading and viewing Red Room author, writer, scriptwriter, and filmmaker, Abdelwahab Hammoudi’s blog. Seeds are everywhere and one never knows when they will circle back or begin sprouting.

I told myself that I will go in with an “empty cup” and I will try not to have expectations, but enjoy the journey of both courses. I have done a fair amount of processing what I want to do with my life and how can I bring my passions together. Apparently, I’m still working on it. I recently started re-reading, “How to Find the Work you Love” by Laurence G. Boldt, just as an appetizer. I feel like where I’m at right now, my mind is more receptive and maybe even a little more prepared to surrender. I know that I love creativity and life and people. I also know that I still need to develop my self-confidence, so with that, the journey continues. I would feel empty without learning, processing, sharing, creating. I feel that I’m in a continuous state of flux and that I am always at the crossroads. I suppose that’s not such a bad place to be.

Reflecting on Reflecting

This is a photo I took on a different day, but I thought I would add it here.


I loved the part of speech class when the instructor had us take an hour, to go find a spot, and sit by ourselves and answer some “big questions:” Who am I, why am I here, etc. By nature I am reflective, but it’s been a while since I’ve sat with and written my responses to these specific questions that he provided to us. I also like that he had us think about and write about our values. He had us think of favorite characters in movies and/or books, and again to see what values we admired in these characters. It really provided a new way to help guide me on “why am I here.” It actually makes a lot of sense to me in a different way. I knew some of the characters I liked from the past, but now I have a better sense of how they represent what I value in a new way.

Two of the eleven questions:

Who am I? On this day, June 30, 2010, I am in a constant state of self-discovery. I am whole, but I am also a sum of my experiences, past, present, future. I find myself in nature and through my words, through sharing and connecting and remembering.

During the past year, what has my life stood for? During the past year, my life has stood for appreciating the fragility and wonder of life. Not a day goes by that I am not in awe of some aspect of nature and my connection to her. I sit now beneath this great tree, on this grass with leaves and twigs and earth; I look up to the sun as it shines light on the leaves and the wind brushes against my whole being. I feel calm, grounded, quieted, humbled. And then…a little bird flies circles around me and I follow him with my eyes and turn my head and follow, round and round and round and round... He makes me dizzy with love and happiness, and I laugh aloud to myself, to the little bird, and the tree.

The beauty is we can come back to these questions at different points in our lives.

**

One note. When the instructor asked a couple of students that arrived back early from reflecting what they thought about the exercise, one girl did not like it at all, and I don’t think she wrote responses to the questions. I felt bad for her because she almost looked terrified. She was clearly not in a space to open up to these questions. As I had noted before, many of the students were younger, anywhere between 19 to 25. For some, this was second nature and for others it was their first time doing something like this.

I took this photo at a park. This is a type of Manzanita.

Final Reflection on Last Speech

Selecting a Topic

It was challenging for me to come up with a final persuasive topic that I felt passionate about. By nature, I don’t know that I’m a persuader, at least not in a direct way. Mindfulness as a practice was at the forefront of my mind and that is what I submitted as my topic. As we spoke more as a class about the elements of persuasion, I started feeling like I needed to change my topic and the instructor said that was fine. I needed a topic that was tangible—accessible to my audience. Stress jumped into my mind, my mom, me, humans. Yes, stress would be my point of entry.

I decided that I would use Monroe’s Motivational Sequence as my organizational structure: I would have an attention step, present my need and evidence, provide a satisfaction step and incorporate the visualization step, and finally an action step. I would persuade my audience that prolonged chronic stress (distress) is detrimental to our health and our lives. I had 6 to 8 minutes to work with, which isn’t a whole lot of time, so I had to really pinpoint what I would say and how I would make it stick. I did use PowerPoint for this presentation (my first time actually using it). My presentation was simple. I included an introductory slide of two very stressed out people; the next slide was a facts slide; followed by a relaxation ~ stress management techniques slide. I followed this slide up with a 2.48 minute animated meditation YouTube video. It felt appropriate for my audience and the video was done very nicely, I thought. I invited the audience to try to just be, but to also be aware of their bodies and their breath. I heard some laughter because it’s the type of video that is light and serious and, I feel, really does a great job of portraying the process. At the end, I said that the great thing about our breath is that it is accessible to us anywhere, while doing anything, as a way to bring us back to center and to calm us down, and I pointed out how many of us had already done this during some of our speeches—and that all the better if we include this as a practice. My final message was really for them to care for themselves and to try to find relaxation techniques that work for them and to incorporate these into their daily lives.

What made my day the following day was when I struck up a conversation with a sort-of shy and reserved classmate. I asked her if she was ready for her presentation. She was nervous. I told her she would do fine. Breathe. She then said, she really appreciated the handout I provided at the end of my presentation on “belly breathing.” Again an accessible way to bring diaphragmatic breathing to the audience because of how it was presented from the book, Stress Free for Good: 10 Scientifically Proven Life Skills for Health and Happiness. She said her whole family experienced a lot of stress and she made copies for all of them and for friends. And then another classmate on the last day said she enjoyed my presentation and did some “belly breathing” before her presentation.

Preparation

I spent a lot of time preparing to ease the nerves that I felt. I felt like quitting. I was practicing my stress management techniques. In order to get into the connection I had with the topic, I knew I had to make a reference to my mother, but not make it too long that I would go over the allotted time. When I read aloud at home, I started crying. Great, I thought, I might not be able to include this part. If I cut it, it would make the topic feel dry, without passion. I cut what I would say down to three sentences, which I penciled onto my note card, so it was a last minute decision that I could choose to present or not, depending on how I felt up there. I practiced aloud so many times, no tears. I could do it. It was going to work out.

Presentation Day

I put my name on the board to be the 5th presenter. We watched several great presentations. While the presenter before me received feedback, I went up to setup my laptop, plugging it into the audio/visual cable. I was all set to go, but then the instructor decided we would take a 15 minutes break.

Ready with my PowerPoint, note cards in hand, I began reading, as I looked out to the audience. When I reached my last sentence before I stated the sentences about my mother, I took a long pause. I was choking up. I began crying without tears. I took a few good deep breaths and continued with a strained voice. I almost thought I would have to sit down, but I pushed on. When I got my last sentence out, my next note card was on facts. I was able to regain my composure somewhat and I pushed my voice. The next note card was my own words, not about my mother, but the emotion came back because I was in those words. I brought my hand to my belly and breathed, so that I could get the last bit out, but again strained. Next slide: Techniques. Ah, relief. A steady voice, a comfortable voice and the image beside the bullet points—calm water and rocks. This led into my video, which was a wonderful pause. For my closing, the emotion flooded back and I couldn’t stretch my voice as loud as I would have liked, and I barely got those last words out. A huge sigh of relief. It was done. I had done the best that I could and had no idea that I would be up there allowing my emotions to take over—but allowing was not even an option. It was beyond my control. Ironically, I didn’t feel embarrassed, like I might have in the past. It felt alright. The instructor pointed out to all of us that it was because off all of them, creating such a safe environment, that I was comfortable enough to share this personal story.

This was one of the most challenging and amazing courses I have taken. I was inspired and touched by the instructor and every single person in that classroom. It was almost sad to see the class come to a close when we all shared so much with each other, but now I know that I am indeed coming out of my shell in bits and pieces, first with my words on the page, and now I’ve proven to myself that I can push myself to go beyond that. This was just a small step. I’m getting more comfortable sharing parts of me in conversation, which is good, since as I’ve written before, most of my life I’ve been a closed book. I’ve heard too many little comments from bosses and teachers, that now I need to listen—that I do have something to share. It’s not easy shedding old ‘scripts.’ It’s not easy developing self-esteem and acknowledging our own strengths, but this is the road I am on—the road of self-esteem and self-acknowledgment, no more negative self-talk. I hope to keep moving forward and keep being brave when it’s comfortable. I feel wonderful and alive.

Thank you again to all of you for your support, encouragement, and good vibes.

Speech ~ So Far

Speech class has felt very much like boot camp. Monday through Thursday from 8:15 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. with two short breaks for three weeks. My boss has been kind enough to support my efforts and so I’m working an afternoon shift for these three weeks. We are already done with week one, and I have given two speeches: A short introduction and a personal narrative. It went much better than I thought. It felt ok, even sweeping around the class, trying to make eye contact with the whole class, which in the past would have thrown me off and brought me to an immediate standstill. The only thing I observed is that my heart started pounding right before I knew I was up, and then it went back to normal, leaving a few butterflies in my tummy.

With only the night to prepare for my personal narrative, I woke up the following morning at 4 a.m. to rework it, I read it aloud over and over with an online stopwatch, so that I stayed within the 3 to 4 minute allotment. I stayed at the computer for three and a half hours tweaking, re-reading, pretending to look around the classroom. How difficult could this be—I was talking about myself, my solo trip to New Orleans. It was very difficult! What I had written out was what I would submit for a written story, but when I read it aloud, it didn’t sound natural. I stumbled and made modifications based on how it would be as a speech that should sound natural, opposed to a piece of written work, made simply for reading quietly or aloud word for word. Such a different animal for me. A very challenging one.

The day of my presentation, I walked up to the front of the classroom of about 27 students that sat in a U shape. The people in the back seemed so far away. I started off fine, looked up from my paper. When I got to my second point, I had to look down at my paper again. I had highlighted certain spots, so that I wouldn’t have to fumble to find a key word to get me back on track. What I realized is that I was changing certain words and phrasing and left out a few details— how I had originally planned on presenting my story. It felt strange. Why did I do that? What happened? I suppose it was nerves. By my closing point, I started feeling that lost feeling. I paused, I looked down, looked back up and was able to give my conclusion, which was to not let anyone discourage you from doing something you want to do, no matter how big or small; and to not be afraid to do something alone because you might be surprised by what you learn about yourself. I had at least kept my conclusion pretty much on par with what I had originally intended and had written. The important thing is I got through it! It felt amazing to actually complete the speech and not feel too nervous.

When each of the speakers finished, the instructor had our fellow students first give feedback to us and then he would give us his feedback. I was surprised that one person said I looked comfortable up there and that I had good eye contact. Another said she liked my “moral.” One student had a very helpful comment. She said that I could speak up a bit and not be afraid and to yell at us is how she put it. “We’re not mean, just let it out” she said. Interesting. Yes, that would be tricky. To get comfortable enough with the audience to be more expressive and change my tone, as I am when I am comfortable. It was a good start to the week and not as scary as I thought it would be. Already, I have accomplished more than I could have asked for.

My next speech is on Tuesday and I have been busily working away on it. This is the most time consuming class I have ever taken, and of course that has a lot to do with the condensed version. I also think it has to do with my need to feel comfortable enough with what I’ve written down to be able to recover if I lose myself up there. I have spent so much time thinking and rewriting this next speech, and for this one, I’m not even writing it as I approached my other speech, which is to write it out in essay format first. This one, I’m writing and tweaking strictly as an outline. I’ve already changed it up and reordered one point based on reading aloud and realizing that I need to try and inform the best I know how in 4 to 6 minutes with visual aids. I still haven’t decided my visual aid delivery: PowerPoint or poster boards. I may have to do both because the instructor said to have a backup plan if the technology isn’t cooperating that day.

The instructor told us to select a topic we’re passionate about, but since it’s an informative speech, our opinion doesn’t matter and shouldn’t really come into play. This is a great exercise for me in presenting objectively about something I am passionate about, which is astrology. I thought it would be a fun topic and something different. It’s also a challenge because I have to narrow my focus down and at the same time try to make it useful in such a short amount of time. Maybe there’s a lesson there: Don’t choose such a broad topic to begin with.

Lastly, one of the assignments to prepare for this speech, which was fun, was to come up with a survey of 6 to 10 questions to gauge our audience’s interest and knowledge level on our topic. We then would take these anonymous surveys and adjust our presentation’s based on this feedback. One of my survey questions was, “What is your overall impression of astrology? Nonsense Useful Fun.” And I asked them to circle all that apply. Another question was to rate their curiosity level on a scale of 1 to 10. Out of the 27 students, most are curious, but there are at least 6 people whose impression of astrology is nonsense with a curiosity level of 2 to 3. And that’s ok. For the curious to very curious, I hope not to bore them and to present something new.

Tufts of Cotton

It’s Wednesday. I like being in the middle of the work week, balancing between Monday and Friday. This last week I felt slightly off balance, though. Before I left home, I crouched down to the lower shelf of the bookcase near the hallway to find a book to take for the BART train ride. I looked, pulled out Celtic Magic by D. J. Conway. I reflected back on when I found this book. I wasn’t looking. It was in a used bookstore and it was only $2, so I decided to buy it. I haven’t read it yet, only peeked inside from time to time. I put the book back on this Wednesday. It wasn’t the right book for the day. The next book I pulled was Thich Nhat Hanh’s Our Appointment with Life: Discourse on Living Happily in the Present Moment. A very slender book. Yes, this was the one I would select. Whenever I feel a little off kilter, I can count on Nhat Hanh to breathe perspective into my life. I looked up and began my walk to the train station, headed for work. As I looked out into the hills and up into the sky, the clouds looked as heavenly as ever. They were splayed out like long strands of love. I had the feeling that God was having a fine day, a light and airy day, filled with grace.

The day felt as though it was off to a good start. I felt calm walking through what to my imagination was the ocean floor, with the brownish red dirt and little weeds and tall weeds with colorful caps, sea creatures, shells and rocks, that were my path. I looked forward to reading on the train. I have read this short discourse before, but it was great to revisit the wisdom, to be reminded about compassion, impermanence—living in the present—without a tight hold on the past or the future. I needed this on this particular day. So many gems in the commentary, one of which says:

“In order to return to the present and to be face to face with what is happening, we must look deeply into the heart of what is and experience its true nature. When we do so, we experience the deep understanding which can release us from suffering and darkness. (pg. 35).

At work, I took the clouds and sun with me. I felt cloaked in peace, smiling more than usual, walking with a lighter, slower gait, compared to my usual quick step. I was in my element with the seaboard, the sunshine, the earth.

The workday came to a close. I grabbed my backpack, said goodbye, and made my journey back home. As I was approaching a stoplight, I had noticed an Asian woman coming from the opposite direction. I stepped up on the pavement to wait for the signal to turn green. I set my backpack down and leaned down to get my cap out because the sun was so strong on my face. As I stood up I heard, “Excuse me.” I turned and it was the Asian woman. I thought she was going to ask me for directions. Instead she held out a coin the size of a fifty cent piece and said, “Would you like this?” I took the coin with writing on it and began reading and then I said, “Oh” out loud. I was thinking, she’s going to want money, which I didn’t have, and she may begin going into a long discourse, but instead, because I stayed fixated on the coin, trying to read the print that reflected the bright light, she said, “Do you read Spanish or English?” That I took so long reading, may have indicated that I couldn’t read the English words. I should have said both, but I said, “English.” On the first side of the coin it says, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. John 3:16.”I was about to give the coin back to her when the light turned and she said, “Keep it.”

“Thank you.” I stood slightly speechless. I flipped the coin around to the other side and read, “Dear Heavenly Father, I believe that Jesus Christ your Son died on the cross for my sins, was buried for three days and rose again. Thank you for giving me eternal life through him. Amen.”

She hurried along toward the BART station and I trailed slowly behind, turning the coin in my hand and feeling touched, blessed in some way.

There were two other people in the intersection. What made her decide to give the coin to me, I wondered. Did I have a certain look on my face. Did I look in need of the beautiful words on the coin?

On the BART train platform, headed toward home, the clouds—still speaking to me— looked like tufts of cotton that a child has pulled into rays of light; and also they were patches of cotton, smoothed across the sky with a painter’s knife, textured, varied, and then I saw an opening like an eye down the center of this wondrous skyscape.

Zebras and Flowers

When I woke up Saturday morning, I had the desire to visit the Oakland Zoo, a zoo that I have not been to since I was a little girl. When I drove up to the gate to pay the car parking fee, I felt giddy inside and could not remove the smile from my face.


One thing I do appreciate about myself is that I truly have no problem revisiting a place, a time, an experience with the eyes of a child. I hope this never leaves me. My gut tells me I will always have this quality. I will one day be the little old lady, with the same childlike qualities and fine and deep wrinkles with just the right amount of agelessness that is revealed in my smile and in my eyes.





And the little girl says, "Mom, is this the jungle?"

The mom replies, "It's not the jungle. It's just the zoo."

Creation

We come into this world as artists, creators, and how we express that is for us to find out. It could be in how we organize an event, handle a customer crisis, write, draw, read, cook, tend house, farm—the list goes on. Life is art; art is life.

Yesterday, in particular, I felt on fire. So much racing through me. I continue to feel the inspiration and encouragement; and to find ways to remember to see the world with fresh eyes. I feel the nudges of the universe in a way like never before, or perhaps it’s the same, but now I’m listening more. I feel as though I am giving birth, birth to myself, birth to something that has always been—is a part of where I come from—from this earth, a series of connections, large and small, always a new page, always “emptying the cup” seeing the cycles and then allowing them to fade and then discovering them again.

All of this fire, made me think of a long lost memory of my real father and how he made me an easel when I was a little girl. I didn’t get to use it much. We lived apart. I had another father too. I was upset when my mother told him to take it down, take it apart. No easel. Why? Why! No! I cried. He wasn’t happy about it either. He was an artist, a fine cabinet maker. He would make me wooden dolls with block heads, but they were so beautiful, unique. He made a large crib, dollhouse, high chair. The only gift I kept because of circumstance is a treasure chest he made for me and here it stays, and when I open it, it still has that fresh wood smell that I love so much, and a flush of memory rises.

Ours was a complicated family story—to be saved for another place, another time—I’ll never quite understand, but I know that the easel he made with love, with his hands, my hands—that this drive in me to create in quiet and loud ways has always been there, and sometimes it disappears. I had never really made the connection. I see it now, and I also feel how it transcends all memory, into a larger memory beyond myself and my world.

To connect with that spark, that glow. It never burns out. The fire needs tending, keep blowing on it and see the sparks, hear the crackle. Know that it will never go out. It may need to recede, but it is always there: The drive to create and connect with the great beyond.