March. . .Again

Last year where were you? In Garden Grove at the Fish Market for me. Five minutes from another life. It was my home for a couple of years. Fish tacos, rice, and an Iced tea. Home was some local hotel. Got comped when I didn't feel like driving home. That more often than not. Attended one of Kaprece’s meets when I stopped by the Grove. San Diego meet,I think.  Last Saturday, I was at the Blue Pyramid of Cal State Long Beach for another. In many ways, I hope it never ends. Going to meets. If an when she stops going, it will mean she is growing up. 

Time flies so fast. We think we have more time, but we don't. Two more days and we would have completed a quarter of the year. Ninety days gone. Gone never to come back. Like holding onto sand at the beach.

Been keeping a journal for some time now. Easier some days, harder others. Remembering what happened during. . . Recalling past events, planning future ones. There tends to be certain monotony, a malaise to these days. We do things over and over again, in hopes of accomplishing some task, reaching some goal. Discovering some truth we already know.

Are you happy where you are now? Why do I ask? Because its going to end. It is no longer to be the way you had wished it. Events change. Your feelings will change about certain tasks. Or events around it will cause the events you are doing obsolete. Jobs, locations, schools, workplaces will no longer hold the same wonderment as before. In time, a new love be discovered. It won't be like your first. It will never will. It shouldn't be. Its just different.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate it. I welcome it. Our empties, but it is refilled.  It forces us to realize the importance of right now. Time demands to us pay attention to her. To cherish what is in front of us. It forces to let us leave the baggage of long ago. It hardens feelings and it makes us realize some things needs to be let go.  We can hold on tight, but the sands of just slips away and forces us to grow and die at the same time.

Every day a new dawn begins. Every day the sunsets. Whether we accepts us this or not, it is hard to learn some things are true whether believe them or not. 

Last year, where was I? Posted a few pics, March of last year. Giving a high school friend a ride to the airport. Having lunch at Farmers Market, her first time. Taking a trail in the desert that used to be a grade school oasis. Climbing rocks and finding an Easter surprise.  Attaining a level of Reiki-dom, touching the fabled SR-71, doing Zuma, and walking in middle of Hollywood Blvd for the Marathon.  Joined a book club and had lunch with Dana. These were the things I did last year at this time.

I no longer do some things with regularity. I am paying the price for that now.(Loving it) Other activities have taken over. Others things are more important. Others have faded. Going to God’s house strong since last year. It's become important to me. I’ve found solace. I found silence. I have found purpose and meaning here.  There is certain fullness I feel when visiting a Mission or attending St Mary Mass. There is a certain-ness. There is a knowing a revealing, a continuity.

Not sure where all this came from, but is as if hearing music sings for the very first time. It is the rhythm. It slows enough for the message to be heard and understood. Where sound of music fill in places that are lacking.  Can’t say that visit to Mission or churches will have the same effect as it does me. It is listening to the radio. 

Changing the station. Shuffling through some static. No Satellite, Nothing pre-programmed. Just adjusting to the frequency of the universe until it says this is the station I should listen to. We grow up with a certain sound. We enjoy rock, hip hop, country. We listen to what feels like home. Then we change. We hear techno, house, blues, acid, speed rock, reggae. We discover that there is so much more. We discover. Where have you been all my life? Its that first kiss. We get to a rhythm, and a at times, we discover we are in cacophony of noises. It changes subtlety. A wondrous harmony transforms to something strange, unfamiliar, dulling. Then some how, another changes the station for us. Maybe its the Big Smile, maybe its a newborn. Maybe it renewed, a rediscovered love that gets us in tune again.

Our body, our soul. Our hearts beat with a different rhythm filling us with much needed sustenance. Oxgyenating our muscles, removing toxins, attuning us in ways that brings back to our beat. We need that turning point. we need that drama, that resolution. we need that first kiss again. And again.And again.

Alas, this song must end. Time for a new one to come in. Its calling and I am drawn.

Dharma

Three funerals this week. Went to first one yesterday. It was of a man that had lived a good life. He was refugee. Escaped the Vietnam during time of war time evacuation. Traveled to Oklahoma via the PI. Became a pharmacist. His passing left many people feeling empty. I know. Saw it in their eyes. It was a the Heart yesterday morning. Never attended a Vietnamese  funeral. Catholics they were. Hearing them speak in the guttural cadence that is uniquely Vietnamese. I understood the format, the cadence of the service. It was morning mass for those attending.  There was communion, singing, sadness, cries. It was unusual. There was videographer, a photographer and the attendees. It was unusual for me to see to this. Guess, it’s the noveaux thing. Weddings I understand. We want to remember the celebration of a glorious time. But the videotaping of someone’s passing? I don’t know.  Guess, this is the way.

Last funeral , less than a month ago, one of the pallbearer was using his Iphone to record the event. It was his son, though. When he spoke about his father’s passing at the church lectern, there was deep sadness and anger there.  Guess, he had certain license to speak his heart, troubling as that may be. It was hard to watch. Hard to be witness to, but in these moments one realizes one’s own impact he has on others. Little things we do and don’t do. Things that are bigger than bigger than what we realize. It is like a stream that veers to the left instead of the right. It seems so small and inconsequential. It is how one turns left instead of right. One great river becomes two. A destiny branches from one possibility to another.

One so hurt by the accidental. One so troubled by the rivers changed. One so fraught. Can’t say the torrents of life is not without its whitewater. It is not without its calm moments. It is not without its many, many wonders and dangers. So many possibilities have these secondary, and tertiary effects that can never predicted or explained. That momentary brush of the lips. That unyielding eyes that says, “No.” That realization that it is better to go without than become someone you were not supposed to be.

No one could know what tomorrow brings. It is perhaps better this way. To know apocalypse is tomorrow or the next day. Sure prophecies speak of a life destined to be. But how can one really be free if the future is foretold. How can we be allowed to make choices to be or not to be? How can the decision tree be decided if it was all preplanned, preordained, predicted? Sure there is a certainty to how life effects us, changes us, it molds us.

Rivers diverge, changes course, turns a different corner. So many roads to . . .are paved with good intentions. We cannot or should not dismiss the mysteries of the world. It is vital to examine our life, our course, and listen to heart. There is a plan. There is free will. There is a destiny. It is how we decide to face to be. We can be so much more. So much less. So much. Decisions must be made. In the end, does it matter? Of course, it does.

I’ll be attending another two funerals this week. One for a family friend’s father. Another for a high school friend’s father. Emptiness will fill this week. Crying, singing, remembering.  People dressed in black. A procession, a march of the casket. Flowers being tossed on top. White headbands. Dark glasses, and many people’s head bowed down in respect and sadness.  Friends of long ago. Relative’s unknown. Fathers’ friends of yesteryear will appear and disappear like pebbles in a torrent.  Their lives going the way their river takes them.

It’s a remarkable things these funerals. People dressed in black, coming to remember, to share, to pay homage to someone that has affected their lives. Sometimes hard feelings are found. Sometimes, truth is revealed. Sometimes a show is put on by those less than. People look at life differently, their filters are skewed. They seek energy by acting the drama queen. They play games of mystery and aloofness. Its how people do things. Walking through roles, playing parts that brings them comfort. It gets them through the day, until the time comes to shed their mortal coils.

Started this blog with a death. It was the passing of my neighbor’s son.  Four in car died because of reasons I don’t remember. My neighbor has moved, moved on. Physically and spiritually. In their absence, there home is being used for some church events, I think. Cars still park up front, Music and dancing still occur and people of all ages seem to go away happy. Not sure I understand what all these means.  Its nice to know in Andre’s absence, a new spiritualness thrives. In places,  energies are attract. Like waterfalls and mountain tops. May never understand the feng shui, but that is the fun part. It’s the discovery and experience. It when all things become revealed. The dharma of karma. Drama R Us.  Life is fun. Let’s live it.  It’s the mystery of it all that fills us. It is discovering and uncovering the meaning of things. Its learning the beauty of life and realizing that there is so much more, so much more, so much more.

When we meet these people again, we will learn the meaning of it all. Until then embrace, enjoy, and take it all in. The universe leaves us clues all around. Link to death of neighbor's son

Panera Observations

Lonely Planet Los Angeles sits to my left. To my right a blender is churning. In front of me in the next booth, a young lady in sweats waits for a friend. At 10 o’clock, three people sit. Mother and her two college aged sons. One is in jeans and yellow polo. His Denim is ripped. Don’t think that it was ripped on purpose. He’s eating a soup of some sort. Hungry he is because does not put his spoon down after each bite. Shoulder is hunched over and he brings his face to the soup, unlike the Japanese that brings the soup to their face.

 His brother is wearing a grey Hollister hoodie. Can’t tell what he is eating. His back is to me.  Black vans, darker blue jeans. Ooops, is it a woman with shaved head. Bulky the SHIM is. His/ her jean bottoms are rolled up.  Her/ his mother wears a purple sweater. She has her white leather purse around left arm. Maybe she had her bag stolen. Maybe she is in a hurry to leave.  She is eating her food like a cow. Her jaw rolls to the left. Her arms are guarded. Maybe she is cold. Can’t guess at the moment.

The son in yellow keeps looking my way. Maybe he is sensing I am writing about them. He already eaten half of his sandwich. He has only taken one bite. Guess, his mom doesn’t feed him.Grey Hollister hoodie,  sits with shoulders hunch. No back straight. Just head down, slurping at his food. I going to say it’s a him, by the jutting adam’s apple. 

Behind them sits two ladies. One older and the other really old. Both are wearing hats. Can only see a part of the heads. They each sit at opposite ends of the black couch. Both are Hispanic. She has the Janet Jackson Black Cat video cap on. She has a small diamonds in her ears. They are partially facing each other. Must be familiar. Maybe mother daughter. Its not a deep conversation. They would be sitting face to face and the conversation would be more animated or intimate.

The other lady has pink finger nail polish. She’s wearing a white hat. A rolled up summer hat. Reminds me of a can of white can of Cool aid with a circular  rim around it. Not a glorious hat, but something to keep her warm. Style, I am not sure she has any. She is wearing a white leopard print.  Isn’t that an endangered species? Both of the ladies are staring into the fire.  Maybe they are cold.

Next to them is an older couple sitting across from each other. The husband is leaning in and his wife has her arms across her dress. She seems bored. Both white haired. Husband is wearing  a green sweater of a place he has visited. Probably picked it up at some gift shop. The wife, maybe in her sixties, maybe retired. I sense she is bored. They have flag on their table. Flag has the number eight. They haven’t gotten their food yet.

Never mind, the service with the brown baseball cap is walking their way. A sandwich and a bread bowl soup. I am guessing Clam chowder.  I never hear anyone order the Black Bean or French Onion or Brocolli Cheddar. Its Friday and it looks like it’s on special. 

Server has a green Panera apron tightly wrapped around his waist. Skinny kid. Glasses.  His neck reminds me of that dopy vulture on those Buggs Bunny cartoons. No that is not nice. I guess I will live being mean.

Across the way, at 11:30 is a man in a green zippered sweater. A grandpa methinks He is playing with his phone. He wears glasses. Far sighted I think. His arm is straightened out as he dials his phone. It’s a flip top so I am guessing its not the I phone or Blackberry. My observation is that the numbers are enlarged screen so as to dial easier. Do people still call it dialing. Dialing is supposed to be for a circle, like a sundial. Pressing the numbers, but that doesn’t sound right either. Dialing!?@$ His back is against the wall. A giant painting of bread sits above him.  This the signature formula of Panera’s. Paintings of bread. It could be worse. It could have been doughnuts.

A tall man, maybe kid is leaning to my right. 5’10” or 6”. Can’t tell. Both of his elbows are leaning back against the wall. He’s about to order.  It’s a kid. He has an aquamarine shirt over a purple zipper sweater with a goofy checkered hat. He’s playing on his phone. His dad is three or four inches taller than him with his wallet out. Dad is wearing a brown leather jacket. Mustache. Maybe Irish. I get the Boston vibe. Face is a ruddy red. He hands his wife the receipt, I assume, his wife, goofy kid’s mom.

Older lady with a pooch. Maybe pregnant or just fat. Can’t really tell. She looks in late forties early fifties. Don’t think she is pregnant, lets say the pooch is . . .There is no smiles on their faces. All are drinking tea. Ice tea. They, too, have a flag. Their number is 047. Haircut is a little shorter than shoulder length. They are sitting side by side. They seem tired. Maybe they are on a trip.  Their son went to the bathroom. I wonder if he will wash his hands. You can tell by the reactions. Let’s see if he’s hygienic. The family is sitting where the yellow polo, grey Hollister, and purple sweater used to sit.

Panera boy is walking quickly around.  Oh oh. Aquamarine, purple sweater boy did not wash his hands.  His hands are not glistening. Did not hear the air dryer go off.  Gross. I’m thinking freshman or junior high eighth grader. He has a goofy look. He constantly checks his phone. Must have done it five times in the last 10 minutes.  Plus, I think the kid would be wearing something more stylish, more coordinated. Plus that hat has got to go. Vans sweater, purple zip, and goofy white hat.

It’s getting busier now here in Panera.  A line is forming up front. Well, my time is almost up. Gots to get me another carrot and walnut muffin. 

Heavy Heart

Stream of consciousness. Flow. Just tapping away at the keys and the unconsciousness is supposed to manifest itself in some kind or wonderful creation for all to be awed. 

For today it is blockage. Where does one go when the creative juices have met drought conditions. Its supposed to rain until end of the week. However, the only raindrops I am seeing are the little piddly stuff. My stream of consciousness. No rivers of flow, just a thimble. 

A heavy set lady sits to my right. Wearing white sweats, green scarf,  and a grey sweater. She has a overly stuffed black backpack and green Coleman mummy sleeping bag. I fear she may be homeless. Been sitting there for good two hours. Not sure what she is doing except to keep warm. Hair is a mess. She fell asleep a couple times. Would not have noticed, except that she snores. Found it ironic. She was reading a Cheerleading magazine. She may have been a cheerleader at one time. Don’t have the heart to ask how it happened? Just not that very open today. Maybe that is my problem.

Libraries. Well, let me preface this by saying. Certain libraries tend be the impromptu daytime shelters for those facing troubled waters. Its hard to not to feel bad. This is not an uncommon scenario. From what the radio stories I’ve heard, it is more common than naught for people to fall in dire straights. Not sure if the situation was drug induced, was it tragic times, was it a loss of job, a long-term mental condition. Heard that a large part of the homeless are veterans. Don’t think she is veteran. She may be. Still, this is hard to swallow, knowing people that served their country can’t maintain a steady to place to live.

Would say it’s the economy, but all around the world homelessness Is a part of everyday life. A few weeks back I was in Starbucks and a disheveled old man came to me while I was having a bagel. He asked if I can give me some money. Instinctively I said, No. Didn’t want to look him in the eye. Toothless, smelling something awful, and well. . . It was troubling. Troubling because I just had a hard time facing him.  It was a selfish reason. I was imagining what if I were that person. Sitting at an intersection with a sign saying, what these signs say. Its not image that I want to have in my head.

Driving in the side of the road. There was a family on 10^th and Ave O. There was a camper and family sitting on lawn chairs the side of the road. Waiting at the stop light, I realized they were not selling anything. They weren’t waiting for road assistance. It was family on the side of the road with a sign saying, “Out of funds.”

I was at the Cinemark, waiting for a movie to start. Sitting on the bench, this man asked me for money for food. He was 60+. I thought he was a patron just waiting for a movie like me. As a rule, I don’t give people money. I will buy them food, but it struck me when he asked, I was taken aback.  This uncomfortable feeling was heart wrenching. Concession line was long, so I went to my car and got my low blood sugar supply of food (I’m diabetic). Gave him oranges, chips, cookies, and the like in a plastic bag. Couldn’t watch the movie. Would have felt guilty splurging on a movie while others would be suffering.

I’ve seen the behavior of some people. Some have gotten angry and shouted. Others reached for the pocket and handed some change. Others just didn’t take notice and walked away.  I don’t fault anyone for their behavior. Don’t fault the person sleeping in the library with all her worldly possessions next to her. Don’t fault the Starbucks person asking money for food. Don’t fault the person at the movies asking for food. Nor do I fault people for being angry, reaching for change, or just walking away. It is just this problem has been with human kind since before biblical times. If smarter people than me, haven’t figured it out. Well, it is what it is. Maybe I'm the problem not accepting some fault.

There is no cry or rally for all to hold hands and fight this societal albatross called poverty. Maybe I am heartless? Maybe. A movie called Baraka came out some years back. It was one continuous movie with no dialogue that explored the range of beauties and tragedies people live all around the world. It went from the deep jungles of some Polynesian tribe performing some kind of group ritual prayer to workers in the cigarette factory to a ringing of a bell at a Buddhist temple. There is so much more, but you can watch the trailer below and decide for yourself.

What was disturbing for me was the Calcutta Foragers. Garbage trucks would drop of their load in the fields. Women, children, and men—the destitute would scavenge for trash. Not sure what they picked up, but it made me feel so sad.

I was imagining if drove by on 10^thStreet West by Waste Management. What if a busload of people would follow on the garbage trucks into the fields. Then a 20 or thirty kids and teachers would start foraging for whatever. That smell. That squishy feeling. That taste in ones month caused by the acrid cloud of all around.

Not everyone is Chris Gardner from the Pursuit of Happyness. This is not a very uplifting post and I am sorry. Its just the lady is sitting like Buddha. Eyes closed. Hands to her side. Backpack is full of something. Her sleeping bag is ready for transport and I can’t help, but feel a bit of sadness and despair.  We all have our journeys. We all have to deal with the 6 inches of front of our faces. Life can be bad at times, but it could also be much, much worse.  

 

What helps me is the story about a young man on the beach who throws one starfish at a time back into the ocean. I won’t revisit, but here’s the link. Starfish story  If this helps, well, then this post was not so sad. If you want to see the Baraka Trailer you can you tube it or if you are reading this on Facebook then you can go my blog website, http://ineversavedanything4theswimback.blogspot.com/

Standing Over You

I want to thank the Angel watching over me

Actually, I want to thank all Angels, humans and other wise.  Last night was bit harrowing driving home. Slick roads, snow coming down in flurries, so much so that I didn’t want to keep my brights on. It looked so much worse seeing all the snow coming down than less. Thank you for correcting Civic when I thought I was going to spin it. Thank you for keeping it dark enough where all I could do is focus on the few feet ahead of me.

You know I was scared driving to the top of Wrightwood. You know I was afraid they were going to close down the roads and that I would double back to sleep at Aunt Sally. You know I was afraid that I was driving too fast for icy mountain roads. Just needed to say out loud that I was afraid that we weren’t going to get home safely with the ones that I love.

You have been there for me those many long, late nights from the OC. You woke me when I was dozing off on the 405. I still remember that nudge on my shoulder when I was so close to the Wall of Death. I swear that I heard you singing to me.  I knew it was you that shook me awake. You know how I was so close to leaving paint on that barrier. Could have been worse, huh? Thinking about crashing on that sleepy drive home is not a thought I want to have in the memory banks. 

I knew it was you when you gave that police man the suggestion to let me sleep it off at the Hotel instead of bringing me in for the DUI. I know it was you that kept me up, one leg up standing steady when he gave me that road sobriety test.  It was you that guided my hand to touch my nose when the Officer asked. It was you that helped be blow the breathalyzer below legal limit. You got me through those challenging times. DUI story

I am sorry I didn’t heed your shouts that one night on the radio. I know it was you shouting for me to do the right thing, but I was too stupid and too blind. I have no secrets from you nor from the Big Smile. For this I am sorry, so sorry. I hope you can accept my apology for letting you down. Biggest regret in my life. When I fell ill with my heart condition, I knew it was you giving me what I needed. I know that. Knew it then, too. 

Also heard you in the shower. That Pan thing. Got it. Sorry, I am slow to warm up.  Wasn’t the answer I was expecting, but it was what I needed. From me and my family, thank you.

Lots of the guilt and loathing has washed away. The stink of  past mistakes no longer choke me. They are washed away in that year of healing heart. It was broken, so broken down. Rebuilt. Its better now. Strong as Bull. My heart has been cleansed. Awash with Faith. Full of Faith.  It is so full of Faith. I am trying to get the basics for the future ahead and I hope to be better than yesterday.

When I started writing this blog, I was not a regular churchgoer. I never did read the Bible for other than academic reason. I never actively searched for God. For one reason is that I always felt you close. Didn’t need the ritual of religion. I was okay just talking to you on down low. 

There may be a time, when our relationship will go public because you have spoke in ways that I cannot understand nor explain. Not sure that I can speak with fire and brimstone as others. It is not really my style. For now, I hope the Blog is okay. I hope the pictures of the Missions and Churches will do. Not sure on the priest thing yet, but I will try to live a pious life.

However, things have changed for me. You know this. I am a weekly churchie. Been reading the Bible. Still not looking because the Big Smiles is always with me.  

You know I do go out visit at his House. At the Mission Inez. At the Mission San Fernando. At the Mission San Gabriel. At the Mission San Juan Capistrano. At the Temples in the Valley. At the Temple on the way to Zuma. At the Cathedral of Our Lady of Angels. At Mission San Diego. I promise to keep visiting your houses. It is the least I can do.

Still got reservation Telling others what they should do would seem so hypocritical and you know I try not be that. It’s just the truth is that I cannot condemn others for their actions because I too cannot cast the first stone because I too have sinned.

You know I listened to the book on CD, Angel Time. Meeting Anne Rice and finally giving it a listen. It hit home with San Juan Capistrano description. Admittedly, it was spooky. But I’ve come to accept the Mysteries and seeing the connections with things.  

Thank you for sending word to the Big Smile. Thanks for getting Tamms the new job. Thanks for Corinne’s for her finding a good right guy. Thanks for opening doors with Family I never knew.  Thank you for everything.  Oh yeah, thanks for sending that Samoan guy at Garden Grove those years back. That question he asked got the wheels turning on the road home again.

To those, they may think this early sign of schizophrenia. Not sure which type, but seriously no one can tell me there is some bigger plan. Logic has its place. Emotion is vital. There has been a leap. . .and I have taken it. I can best explain it this way. My capacity for understanding is limited by the experiences and knowledge my brain can understand. People rationalize all kinds of things. I understand Cognitive Dissonance. But there are simply too many  Miracles. 

We fault not the child for putting his hand over the fire. When the parent shouts, “No” it is not out of malice the parent shouts. It is out of Love. Children make all kinds of funny jumps of logic. We may put our hand in the fire because it looks cool. We must learn the hard way, at times. It is through these trials that we evolve.  I’ve learned there is something more. . .so much more.  That line helps to understand. “Some things are true whether you believe them or not.” Guess, its like high school trigonometry. Hopefully, I can do more adding then detracting to this thing we call Life.

Anyways, for everything before and soon to come, thank you for being my Angel Standing By.