Traffic Trauma or Side Street Stress
Thursday, January 20, 2005. Yesterday I decided to go to Seattle to see the exhibition at the Seattle Asian Art Museum of the contemporary ceramics by the Korean Yoon Kwang-Cho, a Zen student. Also I wanted to visit the Three Treasures Sangha. I called and arranged an orientation session with Ace at the zendo a half hour before the zazen session started. I timed it pretty close on the way to the ferry, thinking I had time to stop by Starbucks for a few minutes and get a free refill. Just as I was about to leave Candice locked herself out of her car and asked if I could help. I went out to look but there was nothing to do. Her puppy dog was in there and had his mouth just inches from the little button that stuck up through the window frame.She kept saying, "Bite it, bite it." Of course that was a hopeless pursuit. Then I realized I had better get going and tried to hurry so as not to miss the ferry. You can't hurry on 305. You just follow the car ahead of you. Again I realized how time constraints can cause anxiety in a person. People that are pressed for time experience road rage. Time is running out and you have to get there.
I got there with time to spare. Once on the ferry I climbed the stairs to the passenger deck near the front of the boat. Actually there is no front or back to the ferry boat. There is End No.1 and End No.2. I mean the end facing Seattle, the direction we will go. I bought a little bag of Ruffles from the vending machine for $1.25. Many passengers were sitting down in the front end. When I walked to the rear (or I guess I should say aft) I noticed fewer people, far fewer. It is always that way. More people sit up front (or toward the bow) than astern. I think that every time I have mentioned that to someone they respond with an explanation, namely, "Sure, people want to see where they are going." Now I can see why that is important, even necessary to look where you are going if you are driving a motor vehicle. But as a passenger on a ferry you do not need to see where you are going. I find it more interesting to sit in the rear and watch the white water patterns in the wake. The wake is in the rear. I remember spending an entire voyage from Newport to Catalina Island, some 30 miles, sitting in the stern watching the wake. In that case it was much more turbulent and dramatic than the wake of the ferry here. Another event that left a strong impression on my memory was the ride back from seeing Igor Stravinsky conduct at Royce Hall at UCLA. A bunch of us rode in a station wagon and on the way back to Laguna I sat cross-legged in the back, facing the rear. I was fascinated watching the road appear to feed out from under the car. It was dark and the traffic was light. It was then that I remembered many similarities between the events of the evening and a dream I had had the night before.
Even when there are few passengers there is usually a health-walker doing laps around the ferry. Once they get going there's no stopping them. They become mechanical, oblivious, compelled to continue in the same mode. Funny thing the way they don't want the slightest interruption. They don't want to stop, not even for a second. If they must stop, they walk in place. I think this is why they like being able to walk in a circle around the ferry in the same direction. If it were just a straight line, so that they had to stop and turn around to walk from stem to stern, I don't think there would be so many doing it. There is that appeal of the unbroken action, like on a tread mill. No breaks.
Once in Seattle I was driving up Madison toward the museum and looking at the map I thought I'd try turning north on Broadway for a change. I had forgotten to bring my new glasses and had trouble reading the street signs. I was getting hungry and considered stopping somewhere for lunch. Just past Broadway there was a big Ihop sign. I decided to stop there and get the cheese blintzes. The building was narrow and went back pretty far from the road. I parked in their lot. There was a large sign saying that parking was for customers only and the driver must remain on the premises or his car would be towed away. Below that was a large sign about the towing company that would carry out that threat. I gathered they had a parking problem in the area. Actually Seattle University is right across the street.
As you walk in the door the dining area is a long narrow room to your left. Most of the staff and customers were black people. A young white woman with bleached hair seated me and gave me a menu and went to to get some coffee. I was seated with my back to the wall . There was a double row of two-man booths running down the middle of the room and larger booths on the far side, toward the parking lot. Sunlight was coming in the windows behind me but the sun was nearly over head so it only lit up the window frames.
I picked up the menu and looked through it. I couldn't find any cheese blintzes, nor any pancakes or related items. I set the menu down I thought, "Maybe that sort of thing is only served in the mornings," but I seemed to recall having ordered cheese blintzes at late hours at Ihop restaurants. Just then the hostess returned and set a cup on the table and started pouring coffee. I said, "Wait a minute. The only reason I stopped here was to get cheese blintzes and I can't find them on the menu." She set the pot down, picked up the menu and as she was saying, "Sometimes the pages get stuck together," she popped open a new page that had been stuck to the front page. There were the cheese blintzes, just like I remembered. But the price seemed to have doubled since the 70's. The hostess said that my server would be there to take my order. I looked around. There was a sturdy built very black fellow taking the orders at a booth in the corner. There were 7 black people in the booth. The waiter had a deep voice. There was a long discussion going on about the food. He hurried back to the kitchen with a question at one point. He had a very thick and short neck, broad shoulders, very short hair and a mustache and was wearing a white shirt and a dangling gold earring. I hoped he would wait on my table.
Directly in front of me were two old white men sitting in a booth talking. They were sideways to me so I could see both of them very well. The fellow on the right had thick glasses, thin very white hair and scraggly beard. His skin was a pasty white and he had a big pot belly. He was complaining about something, somebody. His companion was balding and gray with hairy forearms, glasses and wide-opened eyes. He had this concerned look. Just then my waitress appeared. I guess she noticed that I looked shocked. She was a young white woman with black and red hair, black lipstick, very black eyelashes, high arched and black-red eyebrows, and no chin. She had a gold nose ring and gold beads attached to holes through her upper lip. At first glance she looked sort of like a Balinese puppet. I was speechless. What a horrible sight! Then I realized that she had put a lot of work into creating this look and probably thought she looked pretty good, or something. She took my order and left.
I couldn't help watching the two old guys in front of me. I couldn't hear exactly what the one was complaining about. The other fellow spoke only rarely and so softly that I couldn't make out a word. Behind them and separating the two rows of booths in the middle of the room was a panel of glass with a decorative pattern etched into it. Through the glass I could see a rather faint image of a woman sitting in a booth and facing toward the room. She seemed almost like an apparition, as thought she were transparent or something. My eyes were drawn there periodically. I couldn't quite understand if I was seeing a reflected image of her or what. finally I realized that it was the sharp reflection of the sunlit window frames behind me on the glass panels that made things seen through them appear less sharp.
The blintzes were good. They had strawberry preserves and sour cream on them. Yummy. As I resumed my driving I noticed that the area had lots of old brick buildings with elaborate metal window frames. And there were a great variety of shops along Broadway, including unusual restaurants. I saw one that said, "Indian, Nepali, Tibetan Food." Next time I come there I will try that place. I don't think I have had Tibetan food.
After looking at the exhibits I realized that I should forgo visiting the library at the museum and get out of the central part of Seattle before the afternoon rush. I took 19th down to Madison and headed toward the sound. I figured I'd get over to 1st Av. in the industrial section and visit the art supply and ceramic supply shops. To avoid going through downtown I took a left on Boren Av. This was a new one for me. My eyes were so blurry after spending so much time looking at things in the museum that I had trouble reading the road map. I drove by Swedish Hospital and then by the back of the Frye Museum and down the hill toward the International District. As you come down the hill there is a great view of Mount Rainer. At the bottom of the hill the name of the street changes to Rainer Av. Many of the buildings have Korean, Vietnamese, Chinese writing on them. My plan was to drive south a bit and then swing west to the industrial area and bingo, I'd be there. But to the west was a big hill covered with trees and none of the roads to the right looked as though they passed up over the ridge. So I kept driving south. I finally turned right on Alaska St. That curved right and left and fed into Columbian Way which gradually curved to the right until I had no idea what direction I was going in. After a while I found myself on the west side of the ridge and coming down at an angle toward the north west and suddenly there was a sign that read Spokane St. Finally, something I recognized. I headed west on Spokane expecting to get through to First Av. and turn left. No such luck. After crossing Fourth Av. I got stuck behind two lanes of stopped traffic. It included a few semi trailers so I couldn't see what was going on. Looking at my watch I was surprised how much time had passed since I had turned onto Boren. Oh well.
Some 15 minutes later nothing had moved. I finally resolved to get out of there so I maneuvered onto the side of the road and backed out onto Fourth against the traffic and took off south on Fourth, hoping no police saw me do that. Looking west down the next street I could see what the problem was. A freight train was standing still across the road. I continued driving south to get to the end of the train. It took me over a bridge which passed over not water but a huge railroad switching yard. It was packed with boxcars and stuff. I managed to get over to First after crossing the bridge and headed north on First until I passed over the railroad yard going the other way. Finally I pulled off at Daniel Smith's and parked. I was quite upset. The whole driving without knowing what you are doing is disturbing. I went in and took a leak and poured a cup of coffee and sat there a while, but I just couldn't relax. So I drove up First to Hanford and turned left and arrived at Seattle Pottery Supply. I've skipped all the details about traffic jams and more trains but, believe me, it took quite a while to go those few blocks. It was now nearly 5:00. I had turned onto Boren at 3:30. I couldn't believe it had taken me an hour and a half to get here the way I went. I could have walked here faster had I just gone down to First Av in the first place. But the worst was yet to come.
I bought a couple bottles of glazes and the store closed. I had one hour to get to the zendo. I had never been there before but I had a couple Mapquest printouts on the front seat. Looking on my Seattle road map I could see that it was only two miles away as the crow flies. So I figured I'd have time to have something to eat and relax a bit after I found the place. I'm getting tired of writing out all the details but I'll tell you I spent the entire next hour trying to get to the zendo.In the dark I could rarely read a street sign. I almost got stuck in the mud turning around in a dead end street. The zendo was on 24th Av. At one point I could read a sign that read 17th and then 16th and so on. I thought at last I would at least find 24th Av. I cross 20th, 21st, 22nd, then the road I'm on ends at 23rd! I have to turn right or left. I tried right and went up the hill and turned left expecting to get through to 24th. That is where I almost got stuck in the mud. Getting back on 23rd I went down the hill and ended up on Rainer, where I had been about 4:00! It still took me an incredible amount of driving around and around to find 24th. Once on 24th I discovered I could not read any addresses in the dark. I would park and walk up to houses with my flashlight to see an address. I finally found it and was standing there as Ace drove up at 6:00.
After Ace filled me in on the way they do things at Three Treasures Sangha and the history of the organization, people began arriving. Zazen was from 6:30 to 8:30. That was the longest I have sat at any of these places. I suppose it might seem weird to some people that a group of people get together and sit cross-legged and silently on cushions in a dim-lit room for a couple hours. By the way, anyone who has not tried it will be very surprised at how difficult it is at first to just sit and not move or speak. Twenty minutes would seem like an interminable length of time. Even ten minutes might be hard. On their own most people find even a few minutes of not doing something or not being entertained unbearable.
I just missed the 9:10 ferry so by the time I got home it was nearly 11:00PM. Poor Sitka goes nuts when I drive in. I leave her out in the yard the whole day with plenty of food when I will be gone for quite a while. Of course I never know if one of her friends came by and ate up the food. For the cat it is no big deal if I'm gone for a day.
Well, we are done with King George II's coronation. The cost amounted to about 10 cents per American citizen. Of course it is worth it to spend that kind of money to boost the ego of our leader. But then we aren't paying for it anyway. It seems nowadays the federal government just borrows money and leaves it up to future generations to pay the bills. There's no problem with deficit spending.
A Dental Day
Monday, January 17, 2005. I had an appointment to day with a Persian endodontist in Bellevue. There was an abscess at the base of tooth 31 which had already had a root canal years ago. The endodontist was to decide whether or not he could save the tooth. If not, it was to be extracted. So, off to Bainbridge to catch the Seattle ferry. It was raining.
About half way through the ferry trip I noticed a smaller ferry, a passenger only ferry, on a parallel course about 100 yards south of us. It was going a tiny bit faster than our big ferry. Quite a few people were watching it. It created a swell behind it that was about 1 and a half times the length of the boat. Behind the large swell was a small dip followed by a smaller swell. At the back side of the first swell the water was very turbulent as it dropped into the low area. There was something nice about watching it make its way through the water.
I arrived right on time at the endodontist's office, in spite of getting lost twice. The receptionist was a slender young woman with blond hair in a pony tail and a peculiar accent. I gave her the not from my dentist and the little envelop containing the x-ray of my abscessed tooth. When she got up to make a copy of my driver's license I noticed she was wearing very tight shinny black pants. She handed me a clipboard with pages of forms to fill out. There was a little boy sitting on a couch in the waiting room. I sat at the same coffee table. I noticed him lift the lid off a tray full of candy and take one in a yellow wrapper. Then I noticed a white coffee cup and saucer on the table that was covered with candy wrappers. They were all yellow. I pointed to the wrappers and asked, "Did you eat all those?" He began to answer and stopped. I gathered it was a long story and bogged down wondering how to explain that someone else, not there now, had also contributed to the pile. I guessed it was something like that. The little boy seemed so sincere. I looked around didn't see a coffee pot. I wondered what the cup was doing there. It was empty. And I noticed that all the candy wrappers were only on the saucer, with none inside the cup. And the saucer was over-filled with wrappers. I thought, "He must think it is not proper to put them in the cup.
I began filling out the forms. I hate this sort of thing. But this really took the cake. I'd never seen so many questions. Like, "Do you discuss your dreams with friends?" or "When you cut your toe-nails do you start with the right rather than the left foot?" I'm exaggerating of course.
Another woman appeared behind the counter. She was dressed in a black velvet-like suit, very dressy. There was something unusual about her eyes. She was attractive in an unusual way. She appeared to be intelligent and I could hear that she had an accent. I wondered if she could be the other doctor sharing the office but didn't think so. I had the impression that she and the receptionist were speaking in a foreign language though I couldn't hear well enough to tell. There was something very unusual about her eyes. From a distance her left eye seemed peculiarly lifeless looking, but in an intriguing way. I wondered if they could be Persian. But the blond hair of the receptionist didn't fit that. The other one had dark hair. I finished the forms and put them back on the counter. I was peculiarly quiet. It occurred to me that someone might think I was quiet because of anxiety about having my teeth worked on. But I was unconcerned. I don't mind going to the dentist.
I sat there paying attention to what I saw and feeling my hands and feet. I carefully examined the table and could not understand how it was constructed. The corners had grooves cut where you would expect miter joints to be but down the side you could see that there were no joints there.I looked at my watch and noticed that I had been sitting there for an hour. The receptionist asked if I would like something to drink. .I said, "Do you have coffee?". She said, "Yes, would you like cream?" I said, "Yes, please," and I now understood where the empty cup on the table had come from. The door opens and she comes in carrying a white cup and saucer just like the ones on the table. She said, "Be careful, it's hot," and she picked up the other cup and saucer. I figured she knew it would be a while since she offered the coffee. I added the powdered creamer and sugar and stirred it with the silver spoon. I had a couple sips. The door opens and a different woman in a uniform says, "Tanner?" In I went.
The assistant took an x-ray and left. I sat there in the dentist's chair for a while, listening to the faint music coming out of a round speaker in the tiled ceiling. I gathered that it was some kind of foreign music but couldn't tell where it was from. The scales sounded unusual but there were no quarter tones.And there was a piano in part of the arrangement. Of course that was not used in any middle eastern music as it can only play half-tones intervals.There was a soloist alternating with a chorus and a calm quality you don't hear in American music. I kept wishing it was a little louder. Although it seemed mostly melodic there did seem to be some sort of chord progressions, maybe like descending by whole tones. The endodontist entered and introduced himself. He put out his hand to shake and as I took his hand I noticed it felt rather limp. I asked about the music and he asked someone else who said it was Russian. He had dark skin, very short dark hair, rather plain features and very pale irises. His voice was exceedingly gentle and he had little or no accent. He composed his sentences carefully and made his meaning very clear. There was a monitor high on the wall and on it appeared the x-ray they had just taken and next to it, the one I had brought with me. The infected area appeared dark below the tip of the root on the right. And the canal in the right root was obviously blocked or incomplete.The doctor asked, "Who did this root-canal?" I didn't know. He said, "Do you see this right here?" and I could see an arrow had appeared on the screen. He was controlling it remotely. It was hard to make out but there was a faint light area in the canal that seemed peculiar in its straightness.He said, "That is a piece of metal, probably a broken-off file that was left in there. Because of that they had never completed the root canal in that root." Great. They had broken off the file and never told me. He said that he would try to bypass it and get to the end of the root. If he could not do that I would have to come back for surgery. I asked how he would access the area. He said, "From the side. I will cut away a square area and cap the canal from below and clean out the infection." He began by injecting local anesthetic in my gums. I thought he would go away for a while but he stayed right there and began installing a diaphragm over my mouth and clamping it around the tooth to be worked on. Just before that the woman with the strange eyes came in and showed me the projected bill. Ah, she was the financial officer. Up close I could see that her eyes were also very pale. She was very attractive in a highly unusual way. An interesting face. The doctor asked, "Is your lip numb?" I poked it with my fingernail and said, "No." He said, "How about your tongue?" I gently bit down on it and it felt thick and numb on the right side.
For almost an hour I watched his face with a white mask over the mouth and nose, glasses and, in front of the glasses, a pair of black cylinders with about an inch and a quarter diameter lenses which looked like powerful magnifiers. He never commented to me on what was going on but after a while I figured that he had successfully bypassed the broken file. I noticed at one point that he kept putting little light-colored cylinders into the cavity he had drilled and pulled them out and examined them. Some had turned red. Later he explained that they were paper that he put into the infected area and they absorbed fluids. If they came out clear or yellow he knew that was puss from the infection. When they came out red it was blood. He told me he had put in a temporary filling and I should contact my dentist to put in a permanent filling.When I got up from the chair and walked into the hallway I stopped short and stood there looking at a peculiar thing like a large capsule that could contain a human being. I asked the attendant, "What is it?" She said, "It's an aquamassage. Would you like to try it? It's complimentary." I said, "Sure," and walked into the room. She had me take off my boots and leather jacket and she lifted the lid. I got in and lay on my stomach. There was a slot in the head support for your nose and mouth. She closed the lid and turned it on. A flexible membrane lays on top of your backside and high-powered jets of water are directed against the membrane. The nozzles slowly work their way up and down your whole body. It was pretty good. I began to wonder how long it would go on. It stopped and someone raised the lid. There was a young blond woman that I hadn't seen before. She asked,"How did you like that?" I said, "That was good. How long had I been in there?" She said, "Seven minutes." I was surprised that it had been so long. Then she said, "Seven years. See how long your hair has grown? You and Rip van Winkle," and laughed. That was funny.When I got back out in the waiting room there were several people sitting there. I paid the bill with plastic and went to the car. It was still pouring rain. I looked on the map and saw that there was a shopping mall nearby. I drove there and parked in front of a Barnes & Noble.Although the store was pretty big there was no coffee shop, so I went outside and walked a ways until I spotted a Starbucks sign. I opened the door and stepped into a strange world. There was Starbucks counter there and in a very open setting. There were many tables arranged in large areas and many food-service stands. And some great music. It was a gospel choir, one of my most favorite types of music. I ordered a tall drip and found an empty table near the choir. They were swaying back and forth together and clapping as they sang. A big black woman with her hair up in a knot on top of her head was leading the group. They were in black with long colorful scarfs. I sat they swaying and smiling and foot-tapping for a while and suddenly I realized I was looking at the face of a Japanese woman in the choir. Then I noticed a tall gray-haired white man in the back. Then I saw a short and young Mexican woman with thick hair and next to her a Chinese woman. My gosh, I had just assumed they were all black. Maybe a third of them were black. It was hard to make out the faces on the dark stage but I thought, "Goodness, here I am listening to Chinese people singing black American gospel music and doing it really well." Tears came to my eyes. At first I was embarrassed but, what the hell, I was really moved to see all these people from different races singing together and making this great sound. Then I noticed the sign above them that read "In honor of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr." Of course. I had forgotten. It was his birthday.
An old lady in a yellow overcoat asked if she could sit at my table. She sat down and never looked at me or said a word. She watched the singers and clapped after each piece. Then this big black woman on the stage started talking about Jesus and I think she said something about putting our hands together and I thought, "Oh no, I'm afraid to do this." And I remembered at the Thanksgiving dinner at the Haggard's, all fifteen of us held hands around the table as Mitch's mother said a long prayer. That was nice. Christians do that kind of thing.
I was getting hungry. I pulled out the instructions from the endodontist's office. It said not to eat for an hour. After the choir left the stage I strolled around the mall for a while and by the time I got back to the stage area an hour had passed. I went to a stand and ordered a German frankfurter. The little Mexican guy there put the frank on the grill and leaned on the counter and said, "How are you?" I said, "Fine." He asked if I was having a good day. I said I was. Then he asked me what I thought about the tsunami. I hesitated. He said, "I mean, why do you think it happened?" I was even more hesitant to answer. He said, "Some people think it was because of the earthquake. I think that .... the people did bad things ... you know?" I said, "Oh, I see. You think God was punishing them for being bad." He said, "Yes, that's right." I said, "Okay." Then he says, "You know, I think that we are making holes in the atmosphere and the oxygen is going off into space." I said, "No kidding." Then he said, "You know they say that tall people don't live as long as short people?" I said, "No, I hadn't heard that." He said, "Oh yes, that's what they say. So you know the dinosaurs?" I said, "Dinosaurs. Yes." He said, "Well, I think they were crushed by pressure from outer space. They were flattened because they were so tall." I said, "Oh." He turned and looked at the frank. It was getting burned. He picked it up in thongs and put it into a bun and handed it to me in a little paper basket. He said, "Maybe some people would not agree with me. But I don't care. I have my own ideas. I don't believe everything people say. I can think for myself." I said, "That's very admirable," and thanked him for the hot dog and went to a table to eat it. A Latin singing group had taken the stage.
Here are a couple pieces from my last firing of the kiln
A Hot Time Tonight
Friday, January 14, 2005. Thursday evening I stopped at Skipper's for a cup of their new salmon chowder. The girl at the counter said, "You like that don't you?" I have been getting it every time I go to Silverdale since I can't chew. I said, "Yes." She said, "I've never tried it." I said, "You should try it. It's good." She said, "I'm afraid to try anything new."
I entered the mall through The Bon. While working my way through there I browsed a section of kitchen stuff and came across a display that featured a gadget that included a black and white TV, and AM/FM radio, alarm clock, lantern, spot light, thermometer, and compass, all in one. It cost $49.99. If only it had included a can opener I might have bought one. It came with a remote control of course. Next to it was a radio and CD player that looked like a Hummer (the car). It too had a remote control.
After having coffee at The Fraiche Cup I stopped at That Kitchen to get a timer. They were all mounted on cards and hanging on the back wall. There were many different types of timers and thermometers there.I looked to see where each was made. Not all of them were made in China. A couple were made in Korea. When I was paying for them I asked the sales girl if they had anything in the store made in the U.S. She said that the only thing they had were some heavy cast-iron ware made in Tennessee.
I thought about how so many of the people in the mall shops are browsing, not looking for anything in particular. I can see how people who like to shop just go around looking at things when there really is nothing they need in particular; they just like to shop. So they see something, maybe a kitchen gadget of some sort, and they think, "I don't have one of those," or "That is a nicer shape (or color) than the one I have," and they buy it. They take it home, put it in a cupboard and never use it.
What is to be gained by the acquisition of things. We quickly become accustomed to having all the stuff and take it for granted. We get used to it and take little notice. This applies no matter how much stuff you acquire. The same is true of wealth. Once you are above the poverty level it makes little difference how much wealth you have. At least with wealth you don't have the storage problem you have with things. It is just a matter of numbers on pieces of paper or computer monitors. But these things boost the ego. The same applies to the quality of the things you acquire. You might develop such a high opinion of your self that you would not drink wine out of a two dollar glass when you are used to sixty dollar wine glasses. You may feel that only a BMW or Mercedes Benz or the like is suitable for someone of your importance.
Then there is position. It seems that so many people aim to improve their position in life, or at work. They are not satisfied with the position they have. They want to become a manager, a supervisor, a VP or CEO. But then there are those who are CEO of several companies at once. They think, "I'll be happy if I become the president." But of course it never quite works that way. If you are in the habit of being dissatisfied with what you have and want more then that's the way it will be with you. There is no limit to greed and ambition.
Then there is the matter of personal accomplishment. You might be a fast runner, have a gift for mathematics, be able to remember things you read better than most people. You may be able to acquire knowledge, be able to remember a huge number of facts. To what extent does the feeling of accomplishment depend on your comparing yourself to others? You feel good to be superior or better than others and you feel bad to be inferior or not as good as others. You might feel good when you are better looking, taller, stronger, younger, than some others. In these cases your good or bad feelings depend on comparison with others. Of course you limit your comparison to a certain class or species. A fast runner competes with other humans of the same gender, not gazelles or cheetahs. The strong man compares his strength with other men, not gorillas or elephants. The tallest man is short compared to a giraffe.
Later at Barnes and Noble I was talking with John, the programmer that works for Electric Boat and discovered that he is a Mannatech distributor. He even had a resealable sandwich bag with some pills in his pocket.
Tonight (Friday) I was at Fraiche Cup again, but sitting at an outside table this time. I was watching the people, all the people, as they walked by. I began to notice that very few people noticed me at all. So I felt rather invisible. And when someone did look at me, mostly those entering the coffee shop, they looked at my eyes. That is very common. Almost everyone that looks at me at Starbucks in the morning for example, looks at my eyes, and only at my eyes. That is true as well for people talking to me. You know how they say the eyes are the windows to the soul? I think that this habit of looking at people's eyes is related to being concerned about what others think of you. I look at people's eyes mostly myself. And I notice a big difference in my internal state when I look at other parts of them and not at the eyes. It is hard to describe but is something like that I am less concerned with imagining what they might be thinking about me. So while I sat there tonight I spent a long time only looking at people's feet as they walked by. It was a very interesting experience. I did it for about ten minutes.
This being 'self-conscious' as they say, is an odd phenomena. You are imagining what others are thinking, particularly about you. Of course you really don't know. You never know what people are thinking. I have experimented with this when sitting with someone by thinking all sorts of bizarre things and being absolutely sure that they would never guess what it was I was thinking. Of course. But we do have the habit of thinking at times that we do know what people are thinking. There is another sense in which we can mean that as well. We ask, "What do you think about that?" when we are asking for an opinion. They may not have been thinking about that at all. I have noticed a certain radio talk-show host often asks people what they think about something and won't accept an 'I don't know' for an answer. I always wonder, "What is so important about what some guy thinks about something like is there an after-life?
Across the walkway from Fraiche Cup is a hair salon. Aside from the large doorway the entire front of the salon is glass windows. You can see the row of stations where they work on people's hair. This evening I was noticing a man sitting there having his hair done. That was unusual. An a woman, perhaps his wife, was sitting in the next chair and was watching the whole procedure and was talking with him and the girl cutting his hair. They were all taking a lot. Later I noticed they got up and all three of them went to the counter where the cash register was. They stood there talking for a long time. Then I noticed the man walked back to where he had been sitting for the haircut and I saw him reach down as though to place something on the seat. I couldn't see anything in his hand and I thought he had probably placed a tip there. But I didn't know. Maybe he had left something there and just picked it up. Anyway I thought, "I'll watch what the girl does after the customers leave and see if she picks up something from the chair. Well they were all back at the cash register again and continued talking for quite a while. Finally I saw the couple walking out the door and I could see the girl walking toward her station. The couple are headed toward The Bon and suddenly stop dead and stand there close together right in front of the girl's station, that is they blocked the view completely. And they stood right there for quite a while. It was a funny moment. Here I had been so sure that my idle question would be answered by watching the girl and now it just happened that the couple's odd behavior completely frustrated my plan. I couldn't imagine why they were standing there. Then they started to move on and I could see that he had been on a cell phone.
I'm doing another firing tonight. It should be about done now. It is 10:30PM. I was out there a little while ago to see how it was going and the thermometer outdoors read 24 degrees. But it is fairly warm in the shop because of the kiln. When the kiln gets pretty hot it emits light and it is nice to stand there at night with the lights off and see the bands of light all around the shop. I can tell by the color of the light about how hot it is, It starts out red and then gets orange and brighter, eventually getting up to a bright yellow and finally in a glaze firing to an almost white light.
Not Eligible
Thursday, January 13, 2005. My dentist referred me to an orthodontist in Bellevue with an unpronounceable Persian name. I called their office and made an appointment. The woman I talked to asked if I had insurance. I looked through my wallet and couldn't find a card for dental insurance. I told her I would call the dentist's office to get the name of the insurance company. I called the dentist and they told me I was insured with Dental Health Services. They gave me an 800 phone number to call. I called and they answered with Dental Health Services. I told them I would like to order a new card and also wanted to know what information I had to give to the orthodontist on Monday. She asked for my member number or social security number. I said I didn't know my member number and gave her my social security number. She told me I was not an active member. I asked her to repeat the number I had given her and she had it right. She then read off my name and added "not eligible". I said, "Well someone is billing me monthly for dental insurance and I got this company name from my dentist." She said, "You have not been a member since 1998." I was silent for a while and said, "I don't know what to say." She was silent. Finally I said, "Well, thank you," and hung up. I called the dentist's office again and the same woman answered. She got out my file again and said that my name was on their list from Dental Health and gave me the member number. She said the list had been updated January 2005.
I went to the computer and called up the last 30 days of my checking account and identified the automatic billing item listed as Transdental Health. I called the local Bank of America and asked if they could give me the name of the company billing me monthly for dental insurance. They referred me to another number that handled these things. I called them and they referred me to another number where they authorized automatic payments. They looked into it and gave me the name Dental Health and gave me an out-of-state number to call. I called that number and they confirmed that I was an active member. I got the woman's name and asked where she was. She was in California. She said she would mail me a new card and gave me my member number. She said that I had been a member since the year 2000. They had the wrong spelling of my street name which she corrected. Then although everything was taken care of I decided to call back the 800 number and try to find out why they had the wrong information and try to get it corrected. A different woman answered. I explained why I was calling. She asked for my member number and asked me to wait while she looked me up on their computer. Then she says that I am shown as an active member and gave me the name of my dentist and the date of my recent visit. I told her that wasn't what I was told when I called this number before. She didn't say anything. I said, "Whoever I talked to before at this number told me I was not a member." She said, I will send you out a new card to .." and read my address. I said that wouldn't be necessary because the woman in California (and I read the name) was already sending me a card. She was silent. I said, "The only reason I called was to straighten out the record because the woman I talked to before told me I wasn't a member." She didn't say anything. I said, "Actually I had given her my social security number, not the member number." Still she was silent. I said, "Hello? Are you there?" She said, "Yes, I'm here." There was a long silence. finally I said, "Thank you," and hung up. I looked at the clock and saw that I had spent about 40 minutes on this mess, all because of an error in their system and which I could not get them to correct. I went through something similar with Cenex recently.
***************************************************
It has been below freezing for several days now and so I have not been out in the shop more than a few minutes at a time. But today, in spite of the cold, I went out there and started a new head in clay. I realized that I am much more relaxed when working with clay than I am drawing or painting the same subject. Being able to actually get my hands on the thing and feel the shape is much more satisfying. The whole process seems much simpler. There is a definiteness to a sculptural form that is a struggle to achieve in paper. There is another difference that seems fairly consistent. I am much more tense when working on a picture but I will persist for hours. I get locked into it. I seem to be driven by a kind of dissatisfaction. With the clay I don't feel that and won't work as long on a piece. I feel satisfied to get to a certain point and quit.
Hecho en China
Wednesday, January 12, 2005. This morning while sitting alone at Starbucks I found it easy to pay attention to what I was seeing. And I noticed that my mind was unusually free from cares. They go hand in hand. Any time my mind is troubled I just cannot see or hear what is actually going on around me. It is as though you only have so much energy available at any moment and if your mind is involved going over and over some notion with strong emotions attached there is not much left with which to simply observe whatever is there at the moment.
A few days ago I went to the local Rite Aid to purchase a small clock for the meditation room. I got a little square thing with a round inset dial, with a blue back-light that came on when you pushed a button on top of the clock. It required a single AA battery. I took my purchases to Starbucks, got a coffee and sat down to assemble and set the thing. First problem I had was that I couldn't figure out how the thing opened so I could put the battery in. I don't know why manufacturers always change things like this. Once you have a good battery compartment cover, why change it? But then, I understand that we are conditioned to believe that new is better for the sake of the capitalist-consumer economy. So every year you have to learn a new way to find the door handle to get out of a car.
Anyway, back to the little black clock. There are various sunken triangles and areas of parallel ridges on the back. I'm pushing on these with my thumbs, trying to get something to open. This little tab with a triangle on it suddenly snaps and flies off. Looking in the little cavity I can see right off that this is not where the battery goes. On careful examination I can make out little patterns next to the penning that must represent sound waves being emitted up and down from a small circle. I had just broken off the on/off control for the alarm. I tried to stick it back together but it had suffered severe damage and would never work again. So, what the hell, I didn't need the alarm any way. I began applying force to another section on the back of the clock and it suddenly comes flying off and lands on the floor about 8 feet away. Finally, I have opened the battery compartment. I slowly rotate the clock around with my hand so as to get the light reflection on the back wall of the tiny compartment to reveal which is the positive end and negative end for the battery. Putting the battery in and snapping the cover back in place I was pleased to see the second hand moving in little one second jerks. I set the time and when I pushed the button on the top of the clock the face lit up. Fine. When I got home I set it on the little table in the meditation room.
Hours later I was sitting in the living room playing with the animals when I heard a strange mechanical sort of buzzing sound. It was hard to determine where it was coming from. I couldn't imagine what was making this sound. It was the little black clock in the meditation room. The alarm had gone off. I took it into the kitchen where I could examine it in the bright light.I probed around in the little hole where I had broken the switch off but couldn't seem to find a way to turn the alarm off. I got out some needle nose pliers and began breaking the plastic away so as to be able to look inside and perhaps locate the switch. I made the hole bigger and bigger, ripping pieces off, until much of the clocks interior was visible. Then I began gripping various pieces inside there and breaking them off, hoping to stop the alarm. When i pulled a small silver colored cylinder out the sound stopped. When I turned the clock over I could see that the second hand was no longer moving. I threw the whole thing in the trash.
So today I went back to Rite Aid and picked out another clock. Like it's predecessor it too was made in China. All the clocks there were made in China. Again I took the clock and a battery to Starbucks. I couldn't open the battery compartment without causing the lid to fly off. And, after putting the battery in it I couldn't get the lid to close. But it would sort of stay in place with out being latched. This clock was digital and I could see that the little colon separating hours from minutes was now blinking, which meant it was getting power. And I was able to set the time. But the back light didn't go on when you depressed the button. I took it back to Rite Aide and turned it over to a young fellow in the camera department. He said it was faulty. I told him I wanted to exchange it. After noticing that all the clocks were made by the same company I figured I'd just run into more problems no matter which one I picked. I exchanged it for the same kind I bought the first time. At least now I know not to break the alarm switch off. It is now working fine.
Tuesday
Tuesday, January 11, 2004. After going all the way to Lynnwood to the dentist they said they couldn't help me and referred me to an oral surgeon in Bellevue. All this driving is due to the dental insurance I bought.
Going through my stuff I found a copy of the first architectural rendering I did. It was drawn in India ink on vellum in 1984 for a contractor in Forestville, CA. It may be the best one I ever did.
Here's a detail so you can see the lines.
Sad to hear that Kimo's grandmother died. He and Tempera had visited her in Oregon a couple weeks ago.
A New Week
Monday, January 10, 2005. I have so much stuff! I really don't like it. Why would anyone need so much stuff? I'm gradually going through all the stuff and either giving away or throwing away most of it. So far I have two bedrooms trimmed down to a level I'm comfortable with. Of course the third bedroom contains piles of things I don't yet have a place for. I just finished up the smallest room except I would like something to cover the window. It is now my quiet room. Before that it was the catch-all room. Most of the stuff I had in there is now gone. Here's a picture of the quiet room.
I'm still occupied with the distinction between intentional and unintentional thought. It is only recently that I have been able to sustain intentional thought for more than seconds at a time. But what a difference! Just as I am grateful every day that I have enough money to live on I am grateful to be alive now that this new awareness has developed. Along with it I am now regularly noticing that there is the world of words that we live in and the nonverbal world. The word-world involves reading, writing, talking, listening to people talk, either in person or on the TV or the radio or recordings. It also includes thinking and reasoning, remembering, planning, evaluating, concluding, speculating, theorizing. The nonverbal world consists of seeing, hearing, feeling, breathing, moving, and even observing thoughts. If you develop a little distance from your thoughts they become an observable phenomena. Now you see a tree, now you see a car, now you notice you are thinking about food. Just as we have eyes and ears to sense sights and sounds we have an inner faculty which allows us to sense thoughts. When you can 'step back' a bit from your thoughts you tend not to take them so seriously. They are something that comes and goes and there is no need to hang on to them or make a big deal out of them. They are like ghosts that have fleeting existences. Most of the time these thoughts are coming one after another, one leading to the next, and we are not in charge. You can take charge now and then and then you can think what you want. You can see what you were just thinking and turn it around, reverse it. If you were just thinking that something was bad or harmful you can think of it has good and useful for example. And in the process you will see the truth in both views.
I'm impressed at how small the world of words is compared to the world of say, only what you can see. The word or thought world is built on old stuff, old ideas, opinions, beliefs. The world you can see is so full of fresh, new, unknown experiences, on and on, from one moment to the next. It is huge. It is all there, available at any time, but the entrance fee is the stopping of thinking. You have to give it up, all this thinking, thinking, thinking. Then you are free to experience the newness, the unknown, the wonder.
Something I consider at times is that there is not meaning in the nonverbal world. I see the color red. It is just red. It doesn't mean anything. Then enters the thinking mind. The color red suddenly takes on meaning. You interpret what you saw, you speculate and entertain possibilities, or you recognize it as a man-made symbol, etc. As soon as this process starts you no longer can see the color. You have retreated into the world of thinking and reasoning. This is also the world of fear and worry. When you saw red there was no fear, nothing worrisome. But then you start to think about the meaning and all of sudden you might become worried. You attach meaning to things. You see something and in the next second you slap a name on it, label it, and from that moment on the label stand in for the perception. You have become blind. You call it good or bad and grasp for it or flee from it. You are then afraid you might miss it or lose it or you are afraid you might encounter it. All due to your thinking. Possibilities are not happening, they are imagined.
On a Winter's Day
Sunday, January 9, 2005. It has been snowing off and on for the last couple days, mostly during the night. I was able to get out and down to Starbucks the last two mornings. This morning I was out of here about 6:30AM before the roads had been snowplowed. And it began snowing pretty heavily as soon as I got started, so it was hard to see where I was going. Going down highway 3 I could just barely make out a set of tire tracks. And of course it was still dark out at that hour. I drove all the way to town in second gear. I'm still new to snow so I find it fascinating the way it transforms the world into a black and white scene. The dark evergreen trees just look black against the white snow in the early morning light. Here's a picture taken in my front yard after the sky was lighter.
Here's another picture that was in the camera. Tempera and Kimo are getting ready to return to California.
It was nice having them here.
I discovered something very interesting today. When my thoughts have turned to the recent e-mail squabble I had with my daughter I noticed that every time I felt frustrated, wronged, and angry, I was blaming her. She was at fault, not me. Then one time I thought, "Wait a minute. That can't be right. She is probably hurting just like me. Neither of us is to blame. We were just coming from different places. What I thought was going on is not what she thought was going on." The minute I thought that all the bad feelings were gone. I felt very good in fact, like a weight had been lifted off me. That was many hours ago and I haven't felt angry since. Later I noticed that I was thinking about how I could demonstrate that she was wrong and I was right. Again, as soon as I noticed that I realized what a waste it was to cling to such thoughts. All it can ever do is make yourself and anyone else involved miserable.
Oh, Happy Days and Ouch
Friday, January 7, 2005. I guess it was yesterday or the day before that I watched a TV program about the Mars landers. Some of the scientists involved in the project were so excited and interested. There was nothing they would rather do than study the latest data sent from Mars. Among other things they were trying to determine if water had played a role in mineral formation on the planet. They found that it had. They found vast numbers of hematite nodules and after boring into some rock they identified sulfates in the freshly exposed rock surfaces.
While I could certainly appreciate and understand their excitement and interest I also had a feeling of the futility of such scientific inquiry, like where does it lead us? It goes on and on and actually makes no real difference. Of course modern science and subsequent engineering have transformed our world so that at least in this country people's lives consist more and more of man-made experiences, and those concentrated on making money. Many people go to work and look at computer monitors all day and contribute to the profit-making potential of some company, then go home and watch videos on another larger screen. We live more and more in an electrical manufactured world, the long-term consequences of which are unknown. It is certainly highly unnatural. That is not how we were evolved to live.
Getting back to this scientific inquiry business, I watched another program where a fellow was explaining that there had to be genes which did not simply contain the code for protein synthesis but were controlling genes that turned on and off the protein synthesis process. He had logically concluded that such genes must exist and was trying to find them. The situation is analogous to the hunt for the neutrino. He may well be perfectly right. Meantime he is frustrated and rejecting all information that does not confirm his opinion. He is not satisfied. He wants to be 'right', to have his conclusion verified. And suppose they eventually identify such genes. Then what? He made the feeble claim that his work might eventually lead to some health benefit to humans. That always has great appeal no matter how empty the claim.
These activities, though fascinating, tend to lead the mind toward a faith in the so-called objective world out there. At the same time this 'objective' world becomes more and more theoretical, purely mental. You don't see it or hear it or feel it. You calculate it, find out about it through looking at words and numbers and equations. It becomes nothing but ideas, mental models. The ideal tends toward those string theory folks involved in trying to reconcile relativity and quantum mechanics and come up with a theory of everything, hopefully consisting of a rather simple equation. That becomes the ultimate reality, some little symbols printed in a line on a piece of paper. What on earth kind of reality is this?
There is something to be said for a so-called subjective view of life. It differs in that it is not so much a view as an on-going experience. It doesn't depend on knowledge. Being 'right' means nothing. You might even say that knowledge is nothing more than a hindrance to such an experience. Knowledge if the poor-man's stand-in for experience. I don't mean accumulative experience. That depends on memory and is simply knowledge.
At the moment I am aware of leaning to the right. This is not a matter of knowledge or information. I adjusted my seat and am now in a more vertical position. The leaning felt peculiar and was inclined to adjust it. Now I see the blinking cursor after the last word I typed. Of course it is silly to try to keep up with experience and put it all into words and make sentences. The words only stand for or indicate the experience. As I move my head and focus my eyes on different places it is all new and fresh. And new each moment. It takes some kind of presence or mental focus to do this. At best I can only maintain this for a matter of seconds before my mental, reasoning, theoretical, literary world takes over. That is the world of time, of plans and memories, hopes and fears. And selection based on opinions and judgment. It cannot accept what is. What is is not a matter of words. The experiential reality, the world of subjective awareness is nonverbal. What is the point of trying to put what I see into words?
Well, maybe there is a point. But the value is not in the words. Sometimes I can use words to help sustain awareness. In fact this very day, much of the time I was more than usually in touch with and in control of my thoughts. And those thoughts were directed toward my experiential world. I mean, say, while sitting at a table at Barnes & Noble I was sub vocally saying to myself, "There goes a fat lady in black pants, dark hair, wearing a red scarf. She is sitting down in a chair. The table top is green. There is a man with gray hair, bald on top, large ears, large jaw. He is wearing a blue shirt. He is holding a book in both hands." So on it goes. I didn't 'know' any of this. It is all news to me. But great. And, as evidence that what we take as the 'objective' world around us is actually, from moment to moment, a product of our state of mind, at those times when I was most clearly aware of what I was thinking from one moment to the next, an unusual number of strangers looked at me, smiled, and spoke to me. It was like being in a different world; one in which people were spontaneous, not afraid, open and enjoyable, fresh and responsive. Was that the objective world? Or was it my world? What did it have in common with the world other people sitting there were experiencing? In many cases, not much. Most the people had their noses in books and didn't notice a thing going on around them.
Tonight my tooth is hurting so much that I cannot chew anything, even though I have taken an Advil. Now that is an experience. It puts me right here in the here and now when I close my jaw and my upper teeth contact the infected tooth. Ouch! No theories are required, no reasoning or coming to conclusions, no doubt.
Doubt. That is an unavoidable feature of the rational world. If you operate on reason you can never be sure. The validity of the Aristotelian syllogism depends entirely on the validity of the initial assumptions. So you are never quite sure. I have no doubt that my tooth hurts. There would be no point in arguing with me about that. When I feel that pain I know it.
****************************************
I bought a book on sculptural materials and techniques. The author has the opinion that the 'true' sculptor has to be true to the materials and claims it is aesthetically dishonest to make one material take on the qualities or appearance of another. I can't help thinking of how impressive it is to see how Bernini could give the quality of soft flesh or flowing hair to marble. I just don't see what is objectionable about that. He passes right over the matter of bronze casting where the initial work was done in clay or wax or plaster.
In a book on Zen by D.T. Suzuki I came across a description of three components that constitute any object. There is the substance, the form, and the function. They were meant in a context specific to Buddhist philosophy but, aside from that, they are very satisfying mental tools to apply in considering any object. As an example we might consider a specific oak table. It is made of oak, it has a particular shape, that of a table, and it has certain functions as a piece of furniture. In a desperate situation it could function as fuel for a fire. It could be used to stand on if you need to reach the ceiling. It might have various arrangements of the legs and decorative trim or have various finishes. It might have been made of ash or walnut or pine or combinations of different woods. It might have been made of plastic or cement. Anyway, I find those three concepts very satisfying in considering an object.
My daughter Andrea and I had our regular semi-annual blowout by e-mail. As always it is just one misunderstanding after another. Oh well, it is a consistent pattern.
I finally solved the problem with the relation between this page and the cascading style sheet. I never did understand what was wrong. I just made some rather arbitrary changes and suddenly it works again. I'm so relieved. I'm adding things more often now that it is fixed.
Did another bisque firing and again a life-sized face cracked. Next time I will try very low heat for a much longer time before starting to raise the temperature very much. I now have a negative mold made for a general sort of life-sized face. I will line it with a relatively thin layer of clay, pressing it into the mold, and then it should come right out after drying a bit and I should have a hollow form that will hold its shape. From there it should be much easier to fashion a face.
I'm still eliminating stuff from the house. The small bedroom is now empty except for the closet and I am in the process of painting the walls and ceiling with a gray-brown color. I guess it is a stupid thing to do considering how my lower back has been hurting but actually, so far, I think it might be doing my back some good. After all, the back problem developed after I spent a couple lazy days lying down and watching TV for hours. I have developed a new health problem in the last few days. I think it is an abscess. I can't chew without a lot of pain. I was just at the market and bought a lot of soup and instant mashed potatoes. It doesn't hurt much unless I'm chewing. I made an appointment with the dentist for next Tuesday. That means I will have to be over in Edmonds that day so I will figure out other things to do as long as I'm on the mainland. I haven't been to a Zen group for a while.
Horrors
Here is picture of a painting I did in the days when I was doing architectural renderings. It is supposed to be a portrait of the children of a psychiatrist that Tempera was working for as a Nanny. I shipped it to her and telephoned. She was hysterical and screamed at me. She never paid me and I never saw the painting again. I guess it didn't suit her taste.
The Gov
Thursday, January 6, 2005. I have been saying for a while that the disaster in Indonesia, etc., is an opportunity for the U.S. to improve our image in the eyes of the Muslim world. This would do more for us than the invasion of Iraq which has turned the whole Muslim world against us. Finally I saw on the TV news Brian Williams interviewing Colin Powell and they discussed this point.
***************************************************
I hear a lot of partisan opinions about the budget and national debt. It is nice to see the data.
Back Pain
Tuesday, January 4, 2005. I had slept late and didn't get to Starbucks until 8:30. Bill had been there and gone. As I was ordering I mentioned to Julie that some flags were at half mast and I wondered why. A young fellow to my left said it might be due to the tsunami. He was small and slight and had extremely bright, dark eyes. He seemed very alert and good natured.
I went to a table next to the windows. I sat there with no book, watching people. There was a group at the next table that I know I examined microscopically, yet right now, I can't remember them. The field where I take Sitka was all frozen. I walked far enough out there so that I was in the sunlight. I had my big Polar King jacket on and mittens so even though it was windy I managed to stand there quite a while while Sitka ran around. She seemed to have found some fascinating trails and was working her way further and further away, nose to the ground, never looking back. She wouldn't respond when I called. Finally I barked and that got her attention. As is often the case lately she started to run to the car but slowed to a walk after a short distance.
I had planned to go to Seattle today. Got off to a late start. I got kind of irritated trying to see what is wrong with my website. The style sheet and index are not coordinated now. I just can't figure it out. I left and drove to the Bainbridge ferry. It was cold and windy there. I was the first car waiting in a line off to the left. I was watching a figure, female I guessed, all bundled up, walking up the ramp to direct traffic onto the ferry. The head was covered with a black ski mask. It was an odd sight. I parked on the second level on the right side. My lower back was bothering me as I climbed the stairs. It had been bothering me off and on for a couple days. I climbed slowly and was glad there was no one else there to hold up.
There were few passengers. I had picked up a refill of coffee at Starbucks on the way to the ferry and had that with me. I bought a little bag of potato chips from a machine. I sat at a table facing south but the glare was terrific so I went over to the other side.
When I remembered the glare I also remembered the group I had examined so at Starbucks this mourning. It was a family, the mother, a girl about 14 and a tall young man about 19. The young man had hair the same light hair color as the mother. The girl had dark hair. The girl sat with her back to me. I first noticed how thoughtless the girl was in where she had her chair. It was obvious that her brother was going to have to borrow a chair from another table and she sat right in the way. The young man lifted a chair by her and sat facing the windows. The mother was looking at him and not saying much. The direct sunlight was on his face. His hair was slightly wavy and was combed forward over his forehead and completely covered his forehead. The hair rested on a pair of rather thick glasses. He had large, simple features, a prominent chin that was a bit shiny, pink lips that maintained a subtle smile, and his eyes were blue, I think, and held a continuous squint, the lower lids held up over the eyeballs. It made him seem very thoughtful and intelligent. He moved very slowly and spoked softly with a deep voice. He just made brief comments to the mother. His gaze was directed outside almost all the time. He appeared to be in thought but not lost in thought. I imagined that he had an above normal ability to work with his mind. He slowly ate a sweet roll. At one moment I noticed him look down, right at the roll. He appeared to examine it carefully for several seconds, then took a bite. His mother had her face turned toward him most the time. There was occasional conversation between them. I couldn't hear her voice at all, only saw her lips move. His expression barely changed at all, the squinting eyes and slightly smiling lips. He was wearing khaki pants, and had on a turtle-neck sweater under a large jacket. I had never seen them before. I watched them until they left.
So, back to the ferry. I sat at a table next to the aisle and facing north. The booths next to the windows had tables and most were occupied. A little to my left was a woman seated in a booth who seemed to be looking at me. I couldn't see clearly enough to tell exactly so I put my distance glasses on. She was in her fifties, slim, with short, light hair, and wearing a heavy knit sweater and black pants. The seater had a very complex pattern in grays and whites. I had the impression she was waiting for someone. In the next booth to the right was a fellow wearing a lime-green and black jacket that probably indicated he was a bicycle rider. He had one of his shoes off and was fooling with the lacing and seemed to be having some trouble with it. In the next booth there were two men, the older one had his nose in a laptop computer. He had short hair and no chin and was dressed very plainly. He looked intently at the screen and moved his hands on keys once in a while. I don't think he ever looked away from the computer on the whole trip. The other fellow was younger and was reading a newspaper which he held up high so that his face would not have been visible to the other man.
I heard a loud guffaw to my right and looked in that direction. There were two men sitting at a table next to the main aisle. One had on a dark uniform and had his back to me. The other was facing me and it was obvious that he was the one who had made the noise. He was way overweight and had on blue jeans and a red plaid jacket. He had a beard and long hair that was tied back. When he laughed you could see he was missing a couple teeth on the left side of his mouth. He was eating something. There was crumpled paper all over the table around him. His clothes looked crumpled. He had a pencil in his right hand and was doing a crossword puzzle. the puzzle had been torn out and was folded and crumpled, as though it had been in his pocket for a while. He would talk to the other fellow about the puzzle and the other fellow never looked away from reading a newspaper.
A large gray-haired fellow approached the woman with the coarse-knitted sweater. She got up and hugged him. He was wearing a black jacket that had a white insignia on the left-front part. It read Christ Church on top and had another word below. He sat down across the table from her. They talked a bit. His left hand trembled uncontrollably. When he held the left hand in the air his whole body got caught up in the shaking motion. He was trying to read a newspaper, He folded it and held it in his right hand and set his left down on the seat so that the shaking stopped. She put some earphones on and sat there with eyes closed, slowly nodding and moving her lips.
Mister Crumpled passed by and threw a load into the trash container. I looked at his table and saw that all the crumpled paper was gone. Then he walks up to the table and carefully sweeps crumbs on the table into a little pile, holds the other hand at the edge of the table and sweeps the crumbs into this hand. Then he just tosses it all into the air over his left shoulder! He didn't even look to see if anyone happened to be there at the moment. He sat down and resumed work on his crossword puzzle.
We were nearing Seattle and people began getting up. The big fellow in the dark uniform sitting with the crossword artist stood up, picked up a black canvas bag, undid a combination lock on one of the zippers, folded up his copy of the Bremerton Sun and shoved it into the compartment, zipped it back up and scrambled the lock.
The lady with the earphones had been nodding and lip-moving the whole trip. She and the Christ Church gentleman were now talking about some place in Central America. He would think of something to say and go, "We saw the ahhh, the ahhh, the ahhh," until she would take over. Then he would say, "We took the ahhh, the ahhh ..." His memory was failing him.
Once off the ferry I turned north on Alaskan Way and drove very slowly, carefully checking out all the complex structures to the right, going up the steep hillside. I was determined to get a better understanding or mental picture of what was going on there. I drove as far as The Olde Spaghetti Factory and then got up on First Avenue and drove south checking out all the shops and businesses. I saw some interesting things and decided to park near Pikes Place, buy some pepper jelly and walk north along first. I drove down to Union and parked in the complex across from The Islander. It is only $2 per hour. It was pretty full and I had to go down into the lower levels. On the way down I noticed the remains of an old brick wall with filled in arches.It appeared to be a remnant of some previous structure that no longer existed there.
As I started walking up First Ave. toward Pike's Place Market I decided to take the 'inner' route in the center of the shops. There are shops on both sides of you and below you there. Eventually that led to the market area but I saw shops that were new to me. One was an herbal apothecary. It was full of things from Asia. The back wall was lined with bottles of various things. The only one I read the label on said 'Cedar Chips'. That's what I buy for animal bedding. I turned to the left where there were a lot of books for sale. Around the corner was a woman in black doing a tarot card reading for a long-haired kid. In the other direction was all kinds of strange objects. I handled a lot of incense container/burners from India. They were carved in wood and were rather attractive. But what really caught my attention were the dozens of necklace-like prayer bead strings that were hanging from pegs. The pegs were so high that I could grab the lower part of a string and pull it off the peg but I couldn't reach high enough to put them back. I decided I could use one in my mediation. In the process of selecting one I ended up with a whole bunch of them in my hand. When I went to purchase one I said I couldn't figure out how to put the others back. The guy said, "I think I can figure out how to do that." During the time I was in there looking around it happened several times that I would look up to see a young woman looking at me and smiling. I mean a different one every time. I guess it was a place where that's what you did.
As I left there with my beads I walked slowly along examining all kinds of things and realized that I can't do that when I'm with Andrea and Brett. They just forget about me and walk on ahead talking to each other and I feel hurried. It was so much more relaxing to stroll along taking in all the things I could see. After all, why be there? I went to a restroom, the one with the XY in the tile floor in front of the men's room and XX at the women's. I guess that dates back to the fifties when chromosomes were the hot item. As you are leaving the restroom area there are a couple steps up to the next level. As I raised my right leg I felt a sharp pain in my lower back. I grabbed the railing and stood still. It was alarming. I've had that kind of thing become so severe that I can't move. I began walking with care, paying attention to how I held my hips and distributed my weight. I proceded very slowly into the lower shops and went into a shop that had some unusual imported sweaters and hats.I was looking at a sweater and even considered buying it or at least trying it on. I was handling the label in the collar and saw that it said XL. Just then a sales girl came up and told me to disregard what it said on the label. She said you have to try them on. Then I realized that I certainly didn't need a sweater and resumed looking at things with no thought of buying anything. I went to pick up a knitted hat and again experienced the sharp pain in the lower back. I felt weak and miserable. I sat down in a chair for a while. There was a full length mirror on the wall. I couldn't see myself in it. A sign said something about the fitting booth. There were mostly women's clothing on racks. I began worrying that the back pain could get so intense that I would not be able to move. I wondered what I would do in such a case. I figured I'd tell the sales girls attending the shop and see what they had to say. Who knows, maybe they knew of a chiropractor nearby or some such thing. But how would I be moved. When this had happened to me before I had roommates and friends carry me out to a car for example. I didn't know anybody here. In fact I didn't have phone nunbers of people that I did know on me. I knew Andrea's home phone and that was it. I'm not even sure of the spelling of people's last names, and in many cases don't even know the last name of people I've known for years. If I did call Andrea, what would I expect her to do? I don't know. I just know that when my back goes out I'm totally helpless, can't move. What about my car? It is in the parking garage. Oh Jeez. I hoped that the pain would not get too bad.
If you want to scare some little kids, maybe I can help.
Something to Chew On
Saturday, December 25, 2004. This being Christmas I couldn't go to Starbucks this morning. I took up the veena and practiced singing sargam for a while. At first I had difficulty with the high notes and after a while my voice loosened up and I was able to do two octaves. Then I practiced hitting the drone strings on 1, 5, and 7 for a while. With extended repetition the exercise became similar to counting the breath in that my attention would periodically lapse and I would be thinking about something else.
I remembered that Sheri's in Silverdale would be open so I drove there for breakfast. I was reading a book, waiting for the food. When the food came I put down the book. This was very unusual. When I eat out I always read while I eat. Many people do. And as soon as they are done eating they stop reading. This is often the case. At home, every time I prepare a meal, I sit down and turn on the TV ans watch news programs while I eat. When I finish eating I turn it off. It is like I cannot eat without reading or watching TV or talking if I am with others, or listening to the radio if I am in bed. So here I was eating. Just eating. I had my earplugs in so I couldn't hear any outside noise. I was thinking about how I intended to listen to various things, mostly musical, when I got home. Then the thought occurred to me that there is no time other than the present. All the rest is imaginary. I was having trouble with this concept when I realized there was something I could hear right now. It was the sound I made chewing toast. I was listening to the only thing there was to hear at the moment. The sound of chewing. Then I thought, "If I can't even listen to the sounds that are present now, what chance is there that I will listen when I get home?" Then I realized I had stopped listening. As I listened I also began to notice where the food was in my mouth, which side, and so-forth. Then I was following the movements of my tongue and the way the food particles got smaller as I chewed and how the flavor changed slightly as I chewed. Then there was the swallowing. There were different kinds of swallows. Some were so subtle as to be barely detectable. At other times there was a distinct gulp.
The only time you can ever hear anything, or see or touch anything or do anything is now. I can only raise my finger now. I can think about raising my finger or plan to raise my finger some time in the future but right now I am either raising my finger or not raising my finger.
This moving a single finger may seem a trivial thing, a silly thing. But it is not. There is a lot going on when you move your fingers. The less you move them and the slower you move them the greater the opportunity to observe what is going on. Less is more. You don't want excitement if you are pursuing awareness. There is a lot to be said for stillness and quiet.
Beyond Words
Friday, December 17, 2004. This evening I was sitting in Starbucks reading D.T. Suzuki's writing where he is saying that satori cannot be explained because it has nothing to do with ideas or concepts but is an experience beyond words. I was sitting there thinking how I can accept that completely. A description is not the experience. Someone lacking the experience cannot grasp an attempt to describe the experience. If a person has been blind from birth no amount of explaining in words could ever give him a true understanding of colors. There is a unique qualitative experience in the perception of colors that is beyond words. A person who can see red knows what you mean by the word red. Someone who has never seen red doesn't know what you mean by the word red.
Rich walked in and sat down for a few minutes. As usual he was under the gun and had little time to dilly-dally. I shared my thoughts with him. We each came up with examples that made it clear that some kind of thought preceded and transcended verbal expression. He said, "You know how you can hesitate while you are trying to think of the appropriate word to use?" Clearly that indicates that the thought or idea was not initially in word form. You may suddenly realize something and then put it in words, and then put the same idea in different words or even in a different language. The fact that you can translate something written into different languages indicates that the ideas are beyond words. But they are still ideas, aren't they? They can still involve reason or be the result of a logical conclusion. Thus this is not the same as the Zen experience Suzuki is discussing.
He also said that satori involves not the perception of an object but of reality. When I look at an object such as a coffee cup it is clear to me that it is beyond words, or has nothing to do with words, as I believe Rich said. I see what I see and I could struggle along trying to make a comprehensible description in words but there would aways be this chasm between the words and the experience. So something being beyond words is a common experience for me and apparently has not much if anything to do with satori. When I am looking at a coffee cup I cannot say I have some profound sense of reality beyond that cup.
There is another aspect to this looking and seeing experience. For the most part I cannot be thinking and seeing at the same time. I can only experience this nonverbal seeing from moment to moment, moving the eyes and focal point, when my mind is quiet. As soon as I begin thinking I do not see. There are exceptions. It might be regarded as a matter of energy. When my energy is involved in seeing there is little or none left over for thinking. But at times there is, and I can both think and see at the same time.
Then there is this. There is the special case when the thinking is aligned with the seeing. That is the thoughts are about what you are seeing. (12/26/04. I had left off here and at the moment am not inclined to continue. But it is a whole topic to be considered.)
How do you like my new bifocals?
This, That, and the Other
Thurs. December 9, 2004. All day long, I'm believing my thoughts. Sometimes it seems that almost my whole life is just thoughts. continuous thinking. on and on, as though I have to keep thinking or I'll die. No, that's not it. Is stopping thinking a kind of death? Is that the key to rebirth, to enlightenment?
How will I ever know?
There is a change in the way I hold my tongue these days. I'm not holding it as though to block my throat as I used to for as long as I can remember. I've also more feeling in my neck lately, mostly tension. And, looking in the mirror, my neck looks thicker than usual.
I've quit being the comic at Starbucks. I think my facial expression has again grown serious in general. With respect to that, today at the wood work and wood-fired pottery gallery in Winslow I saw photos taken at the opening of the big wood-fired kiln in Seabeck. I was in several of them. In some I had a somber expression but the main thing I noticed was that I held my head forward. Sometimes I can feel that I'm doing that.
I have been so impressed by the menus drawn by Sara at Starbucks. Each object, even letters, look so solid and tangible. I'm only able to do that when I slow way down and move my hand slowly. Yesterday I saw she was making a new menu so I stood and watched her do it. She moved her hand very slowly and purposefully.
When I am going to eat a meal I sit down in front of the TV and turn it on, usually to a network news station. Tonight I left it on while I was working in the kitchen. I noticed how much my thoughts were in response to what I heard on the news. I thought, "I don't even need to know any of this stuff." And I thought, "These are not my thoughts, not what I would normally be thinking about if it were quiet." And I wondered just what the difference would be. "What would I be thinking?" so I turned off the TV. It was quiet. Very soon I began to be much more aware of my thoughts and actions and my senses. The sound of big metal pot hitting the sink was so striking. I began feeling the water on my hands and seeing the colors of the things on the table. And I heard sounds outside. Frogs. I opened the back door and stepped out. I could hear recorded music playing in the distance, very faintly. There was a light rain. I tossed the rinse water in the pot out into the dark.
My thoughts were about people I know, not characters I heard about on the tube. Not just people. Other things as well. They came and went. At times my thoughts would get stuck on something. An unpleasant memory. Then that would pass. I carry around these burdens from the past. The past. What is the past? In court or at a bank or applying for a job, the past seems real. People regard that as you. Your record. Your history. There it is on paper or on the computer. In the year such-and-such you were somewhere and did something. It's in the record. That is your life.
But of course that is not your life. Your life is being lived now, where you are. For me, I am at the computer, thinking of sequences of words and typing them out. I just ran the spell checker and corrected a couple misspelled words. My chair is way back from the table and I am leaning forward. I just moved closer. That is better. My eyes feel tired. I am squinting. Breathing. Remembering seeing Mitch walking in the parking lot this morning. And then running into Josey. She had on a dark red sweater with little white bulges all over it. I feel the rug under my bare feet, my butt in the chair. My fingers press the keys. So on it goes from moment to moment. My attention alternates between sensing and thinking. That's enough for now.
My Booth, Your Booth
Thurs., Dec. 2, 2004 Just got back from Seattle. Took the 7:20 PM ferry to Bainbridge. I went up to the passenger deck and sat at an interior booth. I sat there looking around and after a while I noticed (per usual) that almost every head was down, either reading or looking at a laptop computer. A few with heads up were talking on cell phones. It is kind of weird to see all these people together ignoring each other. I kept looking around and spotted an old lady just sitting looking around. Then I noticed a few more people that didn't have their heads down. They were all Asian and older people.
Many of the window booths with tables were occupied by a single person. There is room for four or six people in the booths but most had a single person. I'm looking at a big guy with a black goatee in one of the window booths. He looks very serious and is looking intently at a laptop and has earphones on. All of a sudden a very ordinary looking guy with big glasses on sits down in the booth on the other side of the table. There is no sign of recognition between the two men. I'm thinking, "They must know each other. No one would have the nerve to just sit down in a booth that is occupied by a stranger without even saying anything." But I was curious and kept watching these guys. I realized that we were already 10 minutes into the voyage and I wondered where this guy had been. He starts unlacing these big boots, first the right, then the left, removing a thick sock from each foot right after the boot. He folds up the socks, opens a pack he had put in the seat, puts the socks in and takes out a wool hat. He lays down on his back on the seat with his knees up, puts the cap over his face and spends a long time fumbling with the zipper on his jacket. There has been no communication between the two guys. He finally gets the jacket zipped up and lays still for the next 20 minutes. As we are arriving at Baindbridge the guy sits up, slowly puts the socks back on and slowly laces up the boots, never looking at the other guy who is still absorbed in his computer. The guy gets up, picks up the pack and walks off. They were not together. I thought that was a very unusual event.
Looking out of my eyes.
Monday, November 15, 2004. In the entry about cloning I mentioned 'looking out of my eyes.' Lately this is an important experience for me. When I am aware of looking out of my eyes and seeing what is in front of me I feel very clearly that I am experiencing the 'here and now.' I am 'present'. And it seems that when I am not present I am 'thinking'. And I am lost in time. When I snap out of it I can notice what I am thinking at the moment. I feel much more aware when I can say to myself, "I was just thinking such and such," or, "I am thinking about ....". Just as you have a sense that allows you to see light and a sense that delivers sounds you have a sense that enables you to detect your thoughts. At times I can experience thoughts in a manner similar to how I experience the appearance of the keyboard in front of me. That is, neither is 'me'. Most often I tend to identify with my thoughts. Or my thoughts become my entire life for a while. What I am thinking is what is. That is my reality. Well, what an impoverished world we live in when it consists mostly of our thoughts.
Immortality
Saturday, November 6, 2004. When the capability of cloning hit the news many years ago I heard a well known radio talk-show host getting all excited about this ding-bat notion he had that he could live forever by having a clone made from his DNA, download his knowledge and memories onto a computer, transfer that to the clone and he would have , "A new me!" He went an about this every day for weeks. He never seemed to see any problems with it. Well darned if I didn't hear another talk-show host expound the very same idea last night. It astounds me that an otherwise intelligent person could maintain such a belief. I suppose the great fear of death plays a roll here. Maybe people will 'grasp at straws' if they think they can escape death.
The people who believe in this method to obtain immortality regard the clone as 'themselves', because it would have the same DNA. But so does a twin. They refer to the clone as 'me'. They also seem to imagine that this clone has no life of its own and that it won't take long for it to become an adult. They look at it as just a body. They are never concerned about the upbringing and nurturing of the clone nor does it have any rights of its own. Of course they say it has no soul. Anyway they use expressions like, "I'll keep it hanging in the closet to harvest organs from." This is another angle they have. They will raise clones and sacrifice them when organs are needed. This way they avoid rejection of body parts. They just do not regard a clone as an independent being with its own consciousness.
Then the idea that their identity is nothing but memories and knowledge that can be digitized and made into a computer file is odd. And they say that once the files are transfered to the clone that will now be themselves! If I could talk to them at that point I would ask, "So there you are with your living twin that now has all your knowledge and experience. There are now two of you. You are looking out of your eyes at him. He is looking out of his eyes at you. He has his own thoughts which you cannot experience. How do you bring about the transfer of your consciousness so that you are now looking out of his eyes and not yours? And thinking his thoughts. And what happened to your old body? Did you have to die to bring about the transfer? And what happened to the consciousness that had been dwelling in the clone? Did you have to eliminate him somehow? " The whole idea is one of desperation. And the concept of human identity that is implied is so ridiculous. But then, I actually do hear many people, particularly Christians, expressing the idea that their 'soul' consists of memories and knowledge. They hold to the sacred individual theory. From another point of view, this 'I' which consists of memories and experience, knowledge, etc. is nothing more than a product of the thinking mind, a concept. Nothing more than a bunch of thoughts. There is nothing there that can be conscious.
Members Only
Wednesday, October 20th, 2004. This afternoon I discovered that the members special viewing of the new exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum, Spain in the Age of Exploration, was happening this evening. I decided to go even though the speed-reading class meets tonight. I've been losing interest in speed-reading and haven't been doing the homework anyway. In my haste to get to the 3:50 ferry I forgot to notify Rich that I wouldn't be there. When I got to the ferry the parking area was empty, all the cars were already aboard the ferry. I just made it. I took the car for a couple reasons. I haven't been walking much lately and have felt shaky on my legs lately and I don't like walking in downtown Seattle late at night.
I parked in a complicated old concrete multilevel garage a block past the museum, across the street from The Islander restaurant. It is right on the edge of the steep slope that leads down to the Sound. The rate is now simply $2 per hour, which is pretty good for the area. The first thing I did was check out the instruments at Lark in the Morning. They have exotic instruments from all parts. Lots of stringed instrument hang from the ceiling. I examined some small harps, listening to the sound and seeing how they were made. At least one was made in Pakistan. It occurred to me that I could make a harp. I wondered if Andrea might enjoy a harp as an accompaniment to her singing. There was a fellow playing a bamboo flute. He played well and the instrument sounded good. There was another fellow sitting on a stool playing a didgeridoo with a very deep sound. He was a young guy with long dark hair which was tied back with a curved plate with a stick through it like women use, but it looked fine. From there I walked on up to Pike's Place Market area. I was surprised to find that most the shops and food service places were closing down at 5:00. The little Russian stand was open and I ordered a ham and cheese pirozhki. The woman working there asked if I worked in the area. I said no. She asked if I lived in the area. I laughed and said, "No, but I often come here just for the food." When she handed me the plate she offered a little cup of a tomato sauce, which I took. They have two tables in the walkway between their stand and the African import store where I had bought the hat I happened to be wearing. While I was eating I looked up and saw the big black face behind the counter over there looking at me. He smiled and waved. I've bought several items there over the past few years. I noticed the Russian woman leaning over the counter with a curious frown on her face. I kept looking at her, unable to comprehend where she was looking and why. As I looked away she said, "Do you like the sauce?" I said, "Yes, it's good." She had been trying to see if I was eating the sauce.
I had a bit of time to kill. The viewing was from 7 to10. It was 5:20. I decided to get a cup of coffee up on 1st Ave. On the way I passed several produce stands. Many of the guys working their had strange hair and head-gear on. I noticed they all had kale for sale, something you don't see in Poulsbo. Tempera likes kale. I crossed 1st and walked into the Seattle's Best on the corner. I've noticed the outside seating at the place is regularly inhabited by homeless folks, mostly black, and mostly very sociable. I was a little hesitant to go in, but I did. A very pleasant young lady took my order, my usual 12 oz. drip. I took a seat at a table near the back, facing the street so I could watch people walking by. I left a few things on the table and found the restroom. There was a sign saying to knock before entering. I knocked. I didn't hear anything, but there was a lot of background noise. I tried the handle and found it wouldn't turn. And there was little number pad under the handle. I walked back to the counter and asked the girl how you get into the restroom. She said, "Fifteen thirty!" Just as I approached the door again, armed with the combination, it pops open and out comes a serious looking little guy. The door closed before I could grab it. I had to stoop way down to read the numbers below the buttons. I pushed the right sequence and a little red light on the pad turned green. It worked!
Sitting at the table there I had this uneasy feeling about being in such a crummy low-class place. I began noticing the furniture. The tables and chairs looked pretty good. In fact better than at the Starbucks in Poulsbo. A woman dressed in black with rather large hips was having trouble getting by . She spilled a little of her coffee. The way she held it, it was obvious that it was too full. I realized that I was not really at the table but in a somewhat tentative position where I was blocking egress. I felt as thought I was ready to leave at any moment. I moved up to the table and set my glasses down and looked around with my usual squint. The woman in black was seated by the windows with a man, presumably her husband. He had reddish hair and appeared to be Jewish. She did too. They were dressed pretty well. It occurred to me that they might be waiting for the museum thing as well. Could be. I wondered if the museum was open before 7, or if they closed for a while first and then reopened. I didn't know. It was about an hour and a half before 7. Well, maybe I will sit here a while. I looked around. There were few customers. A table near the windows was occupied by three guys, two of which were playing chess. The third guy was a large Native American with a decorated t-shirt on, something about a tribe. He had broad shoulders and long straight dark hair. The player with his back to me got up and went to the counter. I gathered that they knew him there. He was a well built black fellow, nicely dressed. He appeared to be very strong and fit. He was all in black. I noticed the other chess player was a young Anglo type, maybe a college student. He was studying the game. A conversation was going on between the fellow at the counter and the girl behind the counter. Everyone seemed so civil and well-groomed. I suddenly realized that I was the grubbiest looking person in the place! Here I was with sawdust and wood stain all over my pants, my long hair which I hadn't brushed in a couple days hanging all over the place. I looked like a bum! The floor and tables were clean and fairly new and all the customers were very decent looking folks and here I am feeling superior to the situation. How weird is my mind?
It was nearly 6 when I decided to take my chances and walk the couple blocks down to the museum. To my surprise you can now walk on the east side of the street where the whole block of buildings to the north of the museum had been demolished. There was a covered walkway with a plywood wall separating you from the construction. There were several small glass windows at various heights in the plywood barrier. I went up to one and was shocked to see that there was now a huge hole in the ground there. The entire block had been excavated to a depth of 8 to10 stories!. It was so dramatic I kept taking another look as I passed new windows. Wow, what a hole!
As I approached the museum I could see several people sitting and standing around. It was apparent that the doors were closed. Of course I just had to try the doors myself. I noticed three young women approaching the doors and grinned, knowing they would find it locked. They knocked on the door with confidence and attracted the attention of a fellow inside who then came and let them in. They worked there. A man with his wife took the opportunity to ask the guy when the doors would be open. He said, "Seven or seven ten." The man asked, "Well can I use the restroom?" The guy at the door said, "No," and closed the door. The man who needed the restroom spoke into the air, "I guess we'll have to find another place," and swung his head around as thought to pick a direction in which to look. I noticed that the giant black sculpture that swung the hammer was not functioning. I decided to take a walk down the hill. As I got underway I decided I would have time to walk to Liberty Bay Books. It is a great place with all the complicated levels and coffee shop downstairs. A couple blocks down the sidewalk was closed for construction and I had to cross to the west side of the street. The air was a little nippy but I was okay, having worn my leather jacket. My feet were a bit uncomfortable due to my wearing my cowboy boots with no socks. I couldn't wear socks in the boots because of the sore toe. It was dark and most of the shops were closed or closing. I walked with my hands in my front pants pockets for quite a ways and then put them in the jacket pockets. I started feeling my legs. I remembered that I had brought the car just to avoid doing what I was doing now. Oh, well.
Several blocks later I regretted my decision to walk so far. I passed a few pubs but had no desire to stop there. I kept walking. My legs were beginning to bother me quite a bit. I was also bothered by the realization that in order to get to the museum I'd have to retrace my steps but uphill! Oh man, my legs were already worn out. They were sort of aching in the upper thigh, in the back, toward the sides. My feat were getting sore and my calves ached as well. By the last block I wondered if I would make it. I was breathing hard and felt like my legs might give way any moment. I noticed other people bopping along as though walking were an effortless pleasure. I could see the red neon sign in the window that says, "READ." I crossed the road and pushed the door open. I wanted to sit down. As I passed the counter a sales girl smiled at me. I proceeded through a couple rooms and headed for the little raised alcove where the books on Buddhism were. I climbed the few steps, turned left and sat down on the floor. It was a dead-end place were I could sit without being in the way. I didn't even look at any books. My attention was on my legs. I though,"Man, you are really out of shape. You haven't been walking much for months." My aim was to recuperate. I sat there for about ten minutes. Looking at my watch I estimated that if I started back now I would get back to the museum about 7. I thought, "What am I doing? What is the rush? Why did I come all this way? Why not check out the books while I'm her?" I got up and hunted for the used book section, went back there and looked at several art books. I soon realized that I really wasn't interested in books at the moment. So, out the door I went, passing the same girl who smiled again.
It was dark and the air was cool and the streets were nearly empty. I decided to pace myself, trying to walk a little slower than usual. That turned out to be difficult. I kept speeding up. I reminded myself that I had several uphill blocks to cover.I began focusing on the ground in front of my feet and imagining that it was level. As soon as I would look up it was apparent that I was on a grade. Actually the first few blocks were level. Then the grade starts about where the foot traffic from the ferry comes in. It is really not much of a grade for a person in good shape. About half way up the hill I stopped and sat on the steps of a closed office building for a couple minutes. I was surprised that I was actually doing pretty well. I had crossed to the west side of the street and when I reached the intersection at the museum I looked at my watch and sat down because it was not quite 7 yet. My legs were tired. I thought, "Now I will have to be on my feet in the museum as well." I looked across the street toward the museum and was shocked to see that a huge line had formed and went around the corner and up the hill. There were at least a hundred people lined up. I jumped up and crossed the street. People were coming from all directions and the end of the line was growing faster than I was walking! I had to step it up to get to the rapidly growing end of the line. Finally I got in position. I noticed that the door was open and the line was moving as they let people in.