Dreamland

I believe we are constantly transforming, developing, changing. I am such a different person from who I was 18 months ago. Life, and its consequences, has a funny way of getting inside me. I am always searching for all the angles, different perspectives. Sometimes I take myself on a journey to a town called exhaustion. My dreamland reconnects me with my origin. My dreamland has nothing to do with me sleeping. It a sort of daydreaming reality that is far more vivid and deep in meaning than any alpha state experience. In my childhood I called this land Rotcehland , an ancient sounding name, an island kingdom between Iceland and Greenland. Politically diverse, more than 26 different languages spoken. A balmy southern island, Paalme; and a frigid north , Kuensalia. I have been the king of this dreamland.

There are days when my sadness takes me to a western beach in Rotcehland, there I sit with Pretzel and think of God protecting me. Or is it Mother Tara protecting me? Maybe the Universe or the Force, it does not matter who.

Lately I've met many people worried about loosing in the game of life. Life is not a game. Refuse to compete, it's barbaric, inhuman. I do not even want to compete. Compete against who? Nobody ever wins. It is forbidden to compete in the Kingdom of Rotcehland. I have declared it so.

Why do we diminish ourselves so?

Today I am thinking of the word DIGNITY, your worth, your reality. Be your bold self, refuse to play any games where fun is nowhere to be seen.

I just received a parcel from the Royal Rotcehlandish Post Service: Flowers for you!

Centered in Uncertainty

I was feeling a bit anxious today. When you are unemployed you live in a different time zone. Life little structures and routines are all gone. You are on your own and you must keep yourself centered (... if not entertained) in order to maintain your sanity. I must say that I do have the support of friends and family. I do not feel isolated but I could very easily fall into that trap on account that I am living in a different time sequence from the rest. This afternoon I took a long walk with Pretzel, my dachsie, and thought about my anxiety. At this very moment there is nothing I can do but to calm my nerves. And that I intend to do. It is not easy at all because I do have goals and dreams I want to fulfill and I do not want to postpone them indefinitely. So calming down is priority number one. In times like these I draw from my spiritual experiences and realizations. I am a spiritual mutt if there is ever one. I was raised by deeply religious Catholic grandparents, an atheist dad and a non practicing Catholic mother. I went to Catholic school all my life. Then I got into the New Age movement of the 80’s. In the early 90’s I went back to Catholicism (I realized later that it was a hunger for cultural identity rather than true conviction) and then into Tibetan Buddhism, only to be a free spiritual agent today. Excuse me, but I must laugh at myself if only tenderly. All these religious and philosophical disciplines have helped construct what I am today and I am grateful. Today I felt I had to have a serious talk with myself and establish a set of principles that would make my life easier and more enjoyable. To understand that there is no hurry in life, that I have nothing to prove, that it is reasonable to still cry everyday over the death of my mother 8 months ago, that it’s okay to have blind faith in finding appropriate employment, that it’s okay to keep dreaming of a better life. I have been reading a beautiful book by Marianne Williamson that has inspired me lately to ask for miracles in my life. And that I am doing today, surrendering to a higher energy capable of restoring my vitality. In the meantime more tea, more books and more cookies! I am grateful to all the visitors I have had recently, you keep my spirits up.

Famous Asmathics in the History of the World

Bronchius Dilatatus, Roman wheezer of note.

Amusing ideas have been percolating inside my brain for the past days. It may well be an increase of my consumption of coffee. That or new medicines for my asthma. I felt I had to dignify this condition by looking up for extraordinary asthmatics past and present. They were not extraordinary in their asthma but in the pursuit of their great talent and genius. Of course that is our only common ground. I cannot possibly compare myself to these giants:

Charles Dickens (1812-1870)

Theodore Roosevelt (1858-1919)

Billy Joel (1949- )

Marcel Poust (1871-1922)

Edith Wharton (1862-1937)

So may their cacophonous wheezing and stridor be a lesson to all. We of the short breathing kind shall overcome. I raise my Advair Purple Diskus to you!!!!

Photography: HDR

These are HDR photos. HDR stand for High Dynamic Range Imagery. I have read the technical definition of the term and is a little bit complicated for me to understand it. This type of photography allows for a more luminous intensity using both photographic and software programs techniques. One thing I know is that these type of images are so dreamy and beautiful when done correctly that I instantly go in a trip. I have become an eager enthusiast and wishing to learn more and more. The old abandoned house seems to me to be out of a Harry Potter movie, the lime green lighthouse reminds me of a mini golf course, and the profusion of roses the very field where Dorothy (of Oz fame) was sent a spell from the Bad Witch of the West and fell asleep.

My extremely modest photographic ambitions have been put into a halt. All my life lies inside twelve boxes, including my camera, Photoshop discs and photo collection, and since I am living with my brother at the time I should not abuse of his hospitality by setting up my "photo lab" in the middle of the living room...sigh.... But soon enough I'll be riding the photographic Pegasus into lands and places unknown...of course I will share with you all bloggies.

PS- These photos come from the site stock.xchng.com. The one with the roses was taken by Nevile Ditmen and uploaded on a GNU licence for public use. The other two phots have no restrictions and have been put into the public domain for use.

Music: Hourglass

The Hours- Phillip Glass,composer; Branka Parlic, pianist

A harmonious pounding if there ever was one. My own simple definition of the musical instrument that has shaped my world since age 9. The piano has been an appendix to my body ever since. I cannot steer away from a black and white keyboard for long before I feel miserable and depleted of an essential energy akin to breathing. I was watching a video of The Hours by Phillip Glass (1937- ) on youtube today. The music created an interesting landscape in my mind. I remembered long lost conversations between me and a former significant other in a diner we use to frequent. The memory was a sad one but the music by Glass dignified the moment in a different way. I could see this episode of my life with certain detachment. Then it was not just a sad memory but a memory framed by the narrative music I was listening to. The music of Phillip Glass engages me. It surrounds me like literature and art. I can look at myself from the inside and the outside. In many occasions his music has had the reputation of being repetitious and hypnotic. But isn’t life both? How many times have I gone to the grocer’s where the same friendly cashiers greets me with a “Hi there, Sir how are you this morning?” or the endless times I had to wait for a red light to change into a green light. I could go on and on. When I am listening to Glass be it Songs from a Liquid Days, Koyaanisqatsi or Einstein on the Beach the word repetition becomes a rare petition, a petition on my part for sanity, for compassion, for at least trying to make a little sense of the chaos around me. Music always delivers answers to me.

Meditation Insights: Perception

My eyes are not a camera. It will not be fair to present all the snapshots I have taken and pass them as reality. I do not intend to reason on the subject of what is reality. The definition of reality is a conundrum, a social discourse, an explanation. Truth is not a picture. Many times truth seems to be a construction, us being the supreme architects. Truth is to be held in your heart. I mean Truth not the presentation of truth. Not the definition of truth, which is flawed by the limitations of language. Perception is a gateway to understanding the mystery of truth. I perceive as a sentient being. I am limitless in my Higher Being. How could I define or contemplate truth as something stationary, solid....the truth is...... I hold to the mystery of Truth. The mystery of truth is a gift to the human mind. The mystery of Truth is a voyage. Dwelling in truth is dwelling in love. May my perception of life and all other things that are not life be perceived in the beautiful mystery of Truth. I embrace the voyage, I am on my way.