Interesting correlation: I feel I am as responsible for society and its doings as I feel myself to be a part of society. The more isolated and separate I feel myself to be the less responsible I feel for the idiotic choices of my society. This may mean that the more representative the government, the more I feel my voice will be heard, understood, and given its due, the more responsible I feel for larger doings in the world. The more responsible I feel, the more likely to take action. So, I didn't recycle because I felt powerless about ....

I find myself in strange territory, thinking that I am responsible for my own actions upon the earth no matter the outcome. That somehow, it does matter whether or not I recycle even if the effort is poorly organized and ineffective, and insignificant. It matters because my actions are my vote. My life is my vote. My example is my plea that others take up consideration for what seems important to me. And isn't this how I was convinced when no education, no commercials, no culture could convince me; by Keli's example. The most persuasive expression in my repertoire is the expression of my action, at least in part because action is difficult and cumbersome while words are cheap. Every life should be lived as an example for that person's most up to the moment thinking on how to best live a life. That's how I intend to live mine. In this way my effort can be directed toward outcome in only a symbolic way. My true aim is communication.

Sometimes it seems like the more significant events of my life fail to get written about. There was too much going on at summer camp for me to write while I was there, and I think I've avoided writing since because, obviously I can't write about anything else until after I've written about that. But then, obviously I can.

Last night I listened to "The Path to Tranquility" by the Dali Lama. I enjoyed it, but I was astounded to discover that I don't think much of the depth of the dali lama's understanding of reality. He seems like a really sweet guy; earnest and passionate about doing good, definitely an Eneagram 1, but I think I my own spiritual depth might be greater. Ironic then, that what I found most exciting and informative were the introductory "8 verses for disciplining the mind" which he himself has taken much inspiration from; the second verse of which is "When in the company of others I shall always consider myself the lowest of all and from the depth of my heart hold them dear and superior". This shocked me. And spoke to me. Why? Is the quest for status one of the roots of suffering? If desire is suffering then it seems clear that it is. And yet, why always consider myself the lowest? Why not just notice my own assesment of my own status without attachment? Could it be that this is just very hard to do? That I am so tricky with myself that this inquiry might be an endless loop, never reaching anything but doubt and more doubt about the accuracy of my assesment? To always consider oneself lowest might be the shortest path to the realization that the assessment of status does not matter. An instant short circuit to the "what is my status?" question. I had the thought that if I accept this practice, then I should emphasize the infinite beauty and wonder of the others, to feel myself the least among beings quite magnificent. Maybe this is the point. If I am the lowest, then I will want to lift everyone. And that feels good.

Last night I did some writing about the first verse, on paper. I'll go get it....

Okay, first, the eight verses in their entirety. I thought it was worthwhile to write them out by hand last night after I heard them, and I never do that, but now I'll type them out too.

THE EIGHT VERSES FOR DISCIPLINING THE MIND

Regarding all sentient beings as excelling even the wish-granting gem for accomplishing the highest aim, may I always hold them most dear.

When in the company of others I shall always consider myself the lowest of all and from the depth of my heart hold them dear and supreme.

Vigilant, the moment a delusion appears which endangers myself and others I shall confront and avert it without delay.

When I see beings of wicked nature overwhelmed by violent and negative actions and sufferings I shall hold such rare ones dear as if I have found a precious treasure.

When others, out of envy, treat me with abuse, insult me, or the like, I shall accept defeat and offer the victory to others.

When someone whom I have benefited and in whom I have great hopes gives me terrible harm, I shall regard him as my holy spiritual friend.

In short, both directly and indirectly, do I offer every benefit and happiness to all sentient beings, my mothers; may I secretly take upon myself all their harmful actions and sufferings.

May they not be defiled by the concepts of the eight profane concerns and, aware that all things are illusory, may they ungrasping be freed from bondage.

Current Location: Livingroom

Current Music: random

Things have been happening at the speed of life. I'm in strathmere sitting in the downstairs livingroom of the McCormac's at 8:30 int the morning. Dad just left for the gym while Mom is still sleeping. That's amazing, and I'm grateful for that small piece of independence for her. Rosie is out walking the dog.

Dad and I talked about business only a little this morning, but enough that I feel discouraged and worthless. The road out seems so long and hard.

Part of my discouragement might be the shape my body is in lately. Serious back pain almost all the time (I've taken to bumming darvasets from dad like they were cigarettes); another boil or pustule or whatever on my leg.

ast night I got cold and borrowed a sweatshirt and sweatpants from mom since I'd forgotten to bring anything warm. There was supposed to be a late night party, but I didn't want to go dressed like that. I sat in the livingroom to write and then to read for about three hours after dinner. The kitchen and the front porch both filled up with people who were talking, laughing, drinking. I wished I could escape the noise. I wished I could go home, but I'd told everyone I was staying until at least today, and I worried for mom's discomfort if I ran away.

Mom came in after a while to tell me I could be more social. To get me to take advantage of seeing all these people I hadn't seen in so long. She teased me that I didn't like them, and this felt uncomfortably close to the mark. I like them all fine: Sue, Dave, Walter, MaryAnne, Jenny and her husband Matt, Megan and her boyfriend Chris, Sandy and her friend. I have no problem with any of them, but neither did I have any interest in their conversations about jobs, money, shopping, how great it is to be white and American. I felt how strange they all find me, and I felt how long and difficult is the journey from where they live to where I live. The most basic assumptions of our cultures are different. I cannot go back, I cannot unsee what I have seen. I hate their implicit denial even if I understand it.

It's amazing how out of place I feel here. The drive here was delightful. I felt so open and peaceful and ready to engage with whatever was waiting for me. That's all gone now.

As soon as I arrived in strathmere and started talking with my family I started to despair. I always forget how much I've drifted from their ideology, their worldview. The return is painful. I get so much reinforcement from the people I surround myself with that it's easy to imagine that everybody thinks and feels as I do. I came here prepared for whatever reactions they had to me. It was my reactions to them that threw me. My sister just finished an interview for a position with a big drug company, selling drugs to doctors. Everyone was congratulating her and telling her how much money she'd make. I was as shocked and disturbed as if she'd just announced that she'd applied for a job as Satan's helper. I couldn't look at any of them. I stared out the window telling myself not to pick a fight.

When I got a chance to talk to my Mom alone I displayed a dazzling bit of projection, asking her how Sandy was doing and saying that she seemed hard and unhappy to me. Mom said she was doing great. That she was frustrated by her situation with Todd ( the boyfriend she left for abandoning her at a wedding but who has pursued her to get her back ever since) , but that she was happy. Then I asked her how I was doing. She said that I was running away from pressures, that I wanted to escape, that I was doing fair.

Dad woke up from his afternoon nap and mom went in to take hers and I got to have a conversation alone with him too. This was the best, most connecting conversation I had today despite an argument we got into about whether I should pay off him or the credit card debt first when I sell the business. He said that his only regret was pulling me out of Gainsville where I was happy. I found this really touching and big hearted of him. At one point, seemingly out of nowhere he told me about a letter he'd just gotten from a younger friend of his. The letter was a heartfelt thanks for the difference my father had made in his life; two pages of gratitude. Dad got a tear in his eye as he told me about it. The guy was the guy I hired to put in the carpet at Gail's. He was a crude, loudmouthed drunk, and to hear of his praise for my father and to see how he was moved by that praise made me very miserable. I can't wait to pay him the money I owe; though I got my first glimmer tonight that this won't be enough. I can pay him, and maybe I can even pay him more, but I can never go back and pay him on time.

I walked to Gar's house this afternoon, and I felt really uncomfortable the whole way. This is not the same place it was when I grew up. It got rich and cold somewhere along the way. I'm anxious to leave. When did I become so disgusted by wealth? These enourmous houses, convertable cars, fashionable people make me sick and afraid. I grew up here. Why do I feel like a pretender on these streets?

The beautiful yard, right on the bay that Garwood and I played on as kids is gone without a trace. In Its place is a monstrosity of a house that literally dwarfs the original which still sits next to it. The extravagance of that thing, while I know that Gar's mom will be slowly forced out of her more modest home by the ever rising taxes makes me sick. I just want to go home. I wish Gar was here. I miss him.