June 2005
Monthly Archive
There seem to be a lot of people in corporate America who are afraid of Things Going Wrong. I hear a lot of worried voices trying to get answers; trying to make things more complex than they are, as if concise is Too Easy.
So I do this?
Yes.
And then what?
And that’s all you need to do.
So I just do this?
Yes.
And how do you know what to do next?
[unspoken: How could I not?]
Well, we can tell by what you give us what needs to happen next.
So all I do is this?
Yes.
Or the woman who will go on and on and on and…when a simple two sentence explanation will suffice. And worse, she doesn’t actually answer the question.
It’s a way of protecting themselves, I suppose. The more they say and the more buzz words they use the more difficult it sounds to other people so no one asks detailed questions and they look smarter/more awesome somehow. Except to those of us who can see right through what’s going on, stop the monologue and say, “Actually, XYZ so Q.”
Then there is that moment of silence before she says, “Oh, yeah yeah,” like that had been what she was explaining all along.
It’s easy to blame it on corporate culture and buzzwords and all that, but I don’t think that’s really the key. Today is the last day of a large four day meeting. There are a lot of people in from out of town for this, so they’ve catered breakfast (OJ and pastries) and lunch for each day. A number of them went home last night since this last day really has a different focus. The people who are catering breakfast were called and told we only needed half the normal order.
What did we get?
The normal order, with each pastry cut in half!
What aren’t we teaching our children which lets them think for themselves? What *are* we teaching our children which keeps them eternally on auto pilot? Where is the pride in our work–in ourselves–which makes thinking something through, asking accurate questions, and *listening* second nature?
If children aren’t getting this from TV, school, books, video games, friends, neighbors, etc, what can I do to help instill that confidence in the few children I have influence with?
Much with the tired. I’m so sleepy I’m thinking about how I used to sometimes stay up writing so late on my computer in college that I would suddenly realize half the screen was full of ’s’ or ‘t’ or something repeated hundreds of times. Strangely, it was never ‘z’.
Which then reminds me of when I was young and dating this guy who was no good for me, Waldo. No, really, he changed his name to Waldo! But, that’s not the story. One night my parents were out of town and I was out babysitting and he broke in. I found him when I got home, asleep on the floor of my room with a pen in his hand and a sheet of paper with half a note written on it. I can’t remember what the note said, but he fell asleep in mid-word and there was a bumpy line running off the side of the page.
It’s funnier now that I look back on it. At the time I was just trying to get him to wake up and leave my house, there wasn’t much funny about him refusing to leave. It’s taken me years and years, but I think I’m finally learning to speak up more significantly for what I want. Sometimes–like at the Ball–I might get too big for my britches. Sometimes–like talking to Ex-Squared–I might be so interested in getting what I feel I need that I forget it might be nice (and even in my interest) to make the other person comfortable first.
Aside from the exhaustion, the weekend was fabulous. I didn’t do some things I thought I would do and I missed seeing some people I thought I would see, but I got a couple unexpected invitations which resulted in a something of a grounding feeling. It was more of that smaller groups thing I love so much. I still have glitter in my eyes, metaphorically and pysically!
Yay weekend. Thanks guys.
That would be three apologies from three different guys this week. One was a little late in coming, but all were appreciated.
I think it’s a step forward that I now have guy friends who apologize to me when they overstep boundaries. Even when they overlean boundaries. It’s rather nice to be treated not just like a chick’s body, but like an actual chick!
For a while I’ve been over here all, “Hello? Real Person, right here!!” Finally, they’re starting to notice. It’s nice.
Lying in bed last night I felt a deep loneliness. A loneliness not just of having no one to cuddle up to, but of having no one to honestly trust. A loneliness of not feeling seen, underlined by kisses and gropes from people I know don’t want a relationship with me and hearing how much his body misses my body.
I want something easy and cozy and committed enough to stick around when things get bumpy, knowing the cycle will turn again and circle back to fun.
And I wondered if I know anyone who can see me and do that with me.
Today I found a photo which told me about the hardest part of getting that. I wonder if I’ll ever have to.
With moonlight shining on the water and the sand, the waves pouring in one after another–white scars on the black of the ocean, the cove seemed otherworldly.
Dancing and kisses and tea and playing. We loved and shared and celebrated the full moon.
I wanted to be in the mood to dance, but I wasn’t. I was cold and feeling insular, coming back to the same questions I have about myself. My story about me.
I wasn’t allowed to indulge too long, though. The playfulness of the tribe drew me out and engaged me in a way I don’t usually experience. (The difference between engaging someone by interacting or engaging by looking very intently.)
I was feeling fairly disoriented for the past couple weeks. Unsettled and unsure. (As evidenced by my antics at the Ball.)
Friday was the Celebration. Manifestival. We came together to become one community through music and rhythm. I usually don’t have Primary Religious Experience at these Celebrations, but this one did instigate a settling for me.
I had a face to face with Ex-Squared, I had a face to face with O and we sorted out a friendship, I was on such a roll I was sorry That Brief Guy wasn’t there so I could just be honest there, too. But, maybe that would have been going a little too far. I wasn’t the only one thinking it, though. More than one person said, “Oh, too bad ______ didn’t make it!”
Tulip would have been proud.
Drummer Boy was, not surprisingly, absent. A mutual friend came up to me and asked after him. I could only acknowledge that he was missed.
R was amazingly sexy in her special made-for-the-Celebration dress. Stone and Garma were beautiful, as usual.
And the music moved us to share and to open and to risk and to dance. It provided a background for our learning more about each other.
Recently David and Ellie, who aren’t in this particular Community, both wrote about the deep, spiritual, healing, unspeakable quality of music. How timely.
From oonz oonz to a Halleluiah chorus…
We are one in the dance.
Majur said the Klan “did a lot of good up here” and said he was not personally aware of the organization’s bloody past.
There comes a point where the only way to regain any shred of dignity in the eyes of those you hurt is to own up to your actions. This is not the way to be humble. Let’s cover our lies by telling more and greater lies? The Klan is a peaceful organization? Please.
I don’t have much time to sit and read anymore, and it makes me sad. I take months to get through a book because my only reading time is about 25 min total each weekday.
I’m still a reader at heart. Which is why Flea’s entry struck a chord with me. I feel her shock, her horror, her realization that cute does not equal desirable if there’s nothing behind it.
I feel samsara wind it’s tentacles around me more and more tightly when I don’t read. Really. I find I am far more inclined to sit when I’m reading Dharma texts. Hand me the Jewel Ornament of Liberation and I’m struck with devotion.
Like Flea, I hardly remember a time when I didn’t know how to read. In fact, I remember the first time I climbed up on the couch to read a book to my mother. I was in pre-school, about three years old I think. I remember making a mistake which I’d earlier heard my brother make. I was disappointed in myself for not remembering there would be a difficult word in that part of the story and slowing down to be sure I read it correctly. The book was about a dog who stole a bunch of sausages from a butcher; it had come from Migo’s school so we didn’t get to keep it.
I know this is the first time I read to my mom because she told me so years later. Her side of the story is that I was sitting behind the couch (which was in the middle of the room) playing with my People and appearing to be completely in my own world. When Migo finished reading and ran off to do whatever, I climbed up and told her I was going to read the book now. She figured I would make up some story by looking at the pictures–instead I read every word. She was blown away.
Years later, somewhere in 4th grade, I asked my Dad to take me to the bookstore because I didn’t have anything to read. He thought I was nuts. I had two floor to ceiling built-in bookshelves in my bedroom which were full of books. I told him I’d read them all and he marched me back to my room and pulled a random book off the shelf. I told him the plot. He tried another and another and I knew every book he pulled out. He’s still a bit amazed that I had not only read every book but could tell him the whole story in detail! He says he still didn’t take me to buy new books because he couldn’t afford my reading habit.
Last night I went over to Stone’s to help with the Quilt. I have serious doubts about my own crafty-ness, but she had faith. I’m not sure I did very much, but we did get the whole thing laid out.
I went home and fell asleep pretty quickly. I dreamed of the Quilt and trying to finish it. I had it on the sewing machine and was sewing the circle wandery patterns you find on quilts. But, it was time for bed. I left it on the machine, but I had to hide the whole thing because Ex-Squared was trying to destroy it before I could finish it.
I went to bed with my lover (I should have looked to see who he was!) and in the middle of the night woke (in the dream still) to find Ex-Squared had pulled the machine out of the closet and had submerged it in the bathtub so the machine would rust and ruin the quilt.
He was standing in the bathroom next to the tub looking quite pleased with himself. Laughing a little.
I woke up all pissed off again.
However, I can’t wait to see Stone’s Quilt all put together in real life! I’ve got about 7 thousand shots of it on the digital camera so we would know where to put everything back after we moved it to tack on the bottom pieces. After it’s all stuck together, she’ll go back and sew it. It will be beautiful!
Stone took me to get a pedicure for the Ball. She was in charge of color, design, and rhinestones. Wow, it looks good.
But, next time…
I’m doing this.
Maybe this explains my fightin’ mood Saturday night.
LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): As a boy, the renowned Spanish matador
Manolete was a sissy. He rarely played outdoors, preferring to be near his
mother as he read books and painted pictures. Psychologist James Hillman
explains this by suggesting that the youthful Manolete had already sensed
his destiny, intuiting that one day he would be alone in the ring facing
down angry half-ton bulls. His childhood behavior was a way of marshalling
his strength and shielding him from the enormity of the challenges he
would seek out one day. Think about how this theme might apply to your
own life, Libra. Is it possible that what you have considered one of your
weaknesses has actually been preparing you to express tremendous
strength?
From a pamphlet on STDs for lesbians and bi-sexuals, written by the Order of Perpetual Indulgence Convent of Dunn Eideann:
Guilt
The most pernicious of all infections, you can have it for years without realising it, and the majority have it to some degree. It’s spread by letting someone else tell you what’s good for you, especially religious organisations and politicians. Symptoms include low self-esteem, feeling bad after a good time, and judgemental behaviour towards others. If left untreated, it can lead to an inability to enjoy yourself, large counselling bills, irresponsible behaviour leading to epidemics of sexually transmitted infections and, in rare cases, death through suicide. It can be treated by learning to love and respect yourself and your own values, and having a good laugh.
Ok, so like, once? I was at this Violent Femmes concert? And this total asshat was beside us. He was, like, all pushing everyone and everything and all totally drunk and didn’t care that everyone else was crammed in, he was going to do whatever he wanted and all. Right? So, like, I *almost* totally got into a fight with him. I’m all in his face and he’s being an asshat, but I didn’t want to get kicked out. But then later? He and my date got into it and my date threw an elbow and there was a lot of pushing–cause, like, there wasn’t room to actually throw a punch.
Dude.
(more…)
A friend of mine asked about Primary Religious Experience today. I believe I’ve had two. Here are my stories:
The Primary Primary Religious Experience
When I was five years old I had to have an exam which is apparently invasive and difficult even for adults. In anticipation of the nature of the procedure I was to be put under general (anesthesia). This was in the late 70s when popular thought was to not tell children what was going to happen because it would scare them. (This has since been reversed and children get explanations of what and why.)
I’d been through some very painful and scary experiences already that day. Which was surprising to me because I’d grown up around the hospital and considered it a safe place.
As I was wheeled into the OR, after they refused to let my mom in with me (she was an OR nurse so I didn’t get why she had to stay outside), they took my bear from me! I told them, I promised them, he wouldn’t cause any trouble and he was quiet and good and would stay with me and not be in the way, but they said he had to wait outside anyhow. I was with a bunch of people I didn’t know and I had no idea what they were about to do to me.
They put a huge, heavy, smelly, uncomfortable mask on my face and told me to breath the papery, stale air in deep breaths. The room started to spin, which seemed very much not right to me. I think I was crying again, but the nurse had her hand on the mask and I couldn’t get away. Everything looked and sounded wrong.
Then it stopped. The room stopped spinning and there was a moment of silence. I experienced a sudden calm and I was no longer frightened.
And I knew this is what it was going to be like to die. I knew I wasn’t dying then, but that whenever I did die it would be warm and calm and peaceful and I had no reason to be afraid of it, even though I didn’t know what would be on the other side.
Some might not count that as a primary religious experience, but I do. Acceptance of death is something many people work years for in their spiritual practices.
The Second Primary Religious Experience
This experience happened only just about a year ago. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m Buddhist. *grin*
The ceremony is called Taking Refuge in The Three Jewels. At that time you proclaim your intention to take refuge, you prostrate yourself three times, the preceptor snaps his fingers (at this moment you ‘become’ Buddhist), and then the preceptor tells you your new name.
I knew I wanted to take refuge. I was 97% sure I was ready, but I was scared, too. It felt very much like a marriage ceremony to me, and goodness knows I’m not much for commitment.
I’d been through five sacraments in the Catholic Church, four of which I remembered. There hadn’t been much religious ooomph to any of them, though I have always believed ceremony to be an important part of community. They were more ways to connect me to my heritage.
As the Refuge ceremony proceeded, I really began to feel very strongly the devotion I was proclaiming. I whispered the third recitation of the refuge vow because I’d begun to cry and I was in the Front Row directly in front of the preceptor.
A heartbeat after he snapped his fingers I was hit with something, like a … um … nerf gust of wind? Sort of like a gust of wind, but not windy and not cold and not any temperature I wasn’t already. But it hit with an umph. and a moment of silence. and the world went black from the edges down to a pinprick of light and color (I think it was yellow/red) and then instantly opened back up just a little brighter and just a little louder.
I was a little disoriented, but didn’t have much time to recover as I was first in line to be told my new name. After the ceremony the preceptor told me I looked surprised when he gave me my name. I think it was hangover from the snap.
I dreamed my teeth were falling out. I would wiggle them a little and they would come right out. No pain but the roots were still attached.
Here’s what Dream Moods has to say about the whole thing.
I’m not big on lying.
I also don’t think it could be a question of putting my faith more in what man thinks than in G-d. I doubt my friends would say I don’t have enough spirituality in my life, except for that one who wasn’t paying attention.
I was just telling R yesterday how unsatisfied I am with my appearance lately. In fact, I wrote a bit about that in my previous post. I’m sure that’s more on the right track. That and the part about lacking power and self-confidence. Honestly, I think that goes hand in had with the appearance issues. I’m not sure there are many women who feel powerful and self-confident at the same time they feel they aren’t attractive.
Me: Very strong. Big muscles. Brave.
Him: Three years old.
I’ll take my complements where I can get them.
I had an interesting conversation with some friends Friday night about relationship. I think I’m going to take an intentional break from dating. I’m back in this place I don’t really know how to navigate.
I’m stuck between wanting to trust and feeling silly and careless with myself for doing so. I firmly believe I have to give trust to get trust, and that if I withhold my trust there it creates a bad situation. I’m not feeling very trusting right now, so I guess I shouldn’t be dating.
I’ve been feeling dissatisfied with myself for the past week or so. None of my clothes fit quite right, and nothing in the stores does either. I’m filling my schedule but I still feel there’s something I want to do I’m not getting to. I’m not sure what I’m searching for.
Part of my general dissatisfaction with myself is a lower tolerance for what frustrates me in other people. We have a guy at the office who I’ve told several times D and I don’t know the answers to his questions, he’ll have to ask the person in charge of the project. He just came over again with a question he’d asked before, a question I didn’t know the answer to last time for the same reason. He comes over and stands between our cubes looking back and forth for either D or I to notice and acknowledge him. I usually notice him and then he comes over quietly sort of stating something and I have to interpret what his question is. I feel awful, if I really were a fantabulous communicator I wouldn’t have so much trouble sorting out what he was asking–right? Finally I say, “You know, D and I aren’t actually in that group and we don’t have anything to do with that project. I think you’ll have to ask R.” “Oh. … So I should ask R?” “Yeah, I think that’s the best thing.” Next thing I know he’s looking for J.
It also irked me that when D and I went over to see what he’d been working on (after telling him we didn’t really need to see it) whenever I would ask a question he’d look at me while I was speaking, then *turn to D* to answer! WTF?
I know it’s more a result of poor social skills and probably not any real intentional insult on his part, but … really! really!
In other news the cast of ‘The Breakfast Club’ just won the Silver Bucket of Excellence Award at the MTV Movie Awards. This is only remotely interesting because I was recently discussing the trend in Hollywood of remaking classic moves. Sure, they remade ‘Sabrina’ and ‘The Manchurian Candidate’ but could they ever do justice to ‘Roman Holiday’ or ‘Cool Hand Luke’. Finally it occurred to us: someday they’ll remake the movies of the 80s! What, we wondered, would ‘The Breakfast Club’ look like in another 20 years? Who could really play Ally Sheedy’s role as well? It’s doomed from the start. Perhaps this award is just what was needed to prevent such a catastrophe.
Weird dreams last night. Perhaps as a result of sleeping under a canopy of hundreds of little pictures of the start of my doomed marriage. Maybe I should weave a magic spell around them as I wash and dry them again.
What I would really love to do is to take the rest of the day off and go see movies. I do have a birthday party to go to tonight, though I’m not certain how social I’m feeling. Luckily, it’s in honor of a guy I really like and will be peopled by other friends I don’t feel like I have to be always high energy for. Plus, there will be a hot tub involved.
It’s disarming how different setbacks feel when I am being held by a group of friends. I haven’t had that so much since I moved to CA. I’m in awe of it and grateful for it. This is what was missing way back when Ex-Squared was just Ex for the first time.
Isn’t it cool to have friends?
Listening to the
sound of the hammer on the
strings — it surrounds me.
It is cold in my office! I’m wearing gloves, I kid you not. And two sweaters. And I’m thinking about buying warmer pants at lunch. This is ridiculous.
I knew it would be cold (though not this cold). That’s why I was trying to wear layers today. I reached into the closet this morning to pull out a nice button up shirt. I figured I could have long sleeves in the office and easily unbutton or remove the shirt if I had an outdoor lunch.
The whole left half of my shirt was wet when it came out of the closet! That was absolutely not right. I pulled out some other things hanging on that half of the closet and a good deal of them were also wet.
Argh!
Then I checked the floor. Soaked. There was a puddle! What had been my memory box was now a fast deteriorating blob of cardboard. And what was in that box? Some toys from when I was young, the contact sheets from my wedding photos, and *the negatives* from my wedding photos!!
Aaa-argh!
I spent about an hour hanging negatives with paperclips. Tonight I’m going to go back home and wash them and hang them to dry (hopefully) without spots.
Then I looked up to the top of the closet…all my photo albums and memory books! Luckily, most of the water only hit the edges of the pages and not too many of the actual photos have been damaged. But, I’ll have to probably replace the books they’re in.
Not the best way to start the day, let me tell you. Lucky I’ve got a handful of photographer friends who knew just what to do and calmed me down by assuring me everything is salvageable.
I left for work and stopped by the upstairs neighbor’s house. I wanted to be sure they knew about it if they didn’t already. Who knew what stuff of theirs was getting ruined. Turns out, they’ve known for about a week and have called the landlord a few times but nothing had been done about it. Last night they realized the leak was getting all over the floor (it was coming from the bathtub pipes) and they put down a bunch of towels. Of course they didn’t know I had a closet under their bathtub.
At least the negatives weren’t soaking in the water too long.
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