Nice relaxing massage — to the sound of lawnmowers

[fossilizing porpoise, below clay cliffs, Block Island, photo © 2009 J. Van West]

"That nothing is static or fixed, that all is fleeting and impermanent, is the first mark of existence."
— Pema Chodron, The Places That Scare You, p. 18


April 17, 2009

Jeff ran software updates on my laptop the other day. I can’t do this because it involves using the internet.

The next morning I went to use my computer and it was making this relentless clicking sound and was almost totally unresponsive. I went to restart it but it wouldn’t even do this even though I got to the dialog box. so I did a forced reboot and it was exactly the same situation.

When I went to play music — I had a client coming in and I use my cds copied to itunes for the music system — it took a while for the music to start, then it was having to buffer the song.

So I had no music for that client. Jeff took a crack at fixing it and said if I did a safe reboot that I should be able to use the computer. I did this before my client came in the next day and when I went to use Itunes there was no sound. I could play the songs but the volume wouldn’t work with the safe reboot.

Jeff took another look and said the computer is probably going to require a system reinstallation. Everything was working fine before. Then Software Update brings me up to the bleeding edge of softwareville, thanks to the all-nighters of programmers all over the world, and the computer doesn’t work anymore.

Ol' Lappie

[view from Kettle Cove]






A chickpea leaps almost over the rim of the pot where it's being boiled.
'Why are you doing this to me?'
The cook knocks him down with the ladle.
'Don't you try to jump out.
You think I'm torturing you.
I'm giving you flavor
so you can mix with spices and rice
and be the lovely vitality of a human being.'

— Rumi, "Chickpea to Cook," from The Essential Rumi tr. Coleman Barks

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

OK, the compulsory 5 minutes of notes.

Nice fireside chat with Lindsey today in our living room. Talked about kids, the Obamas, racism. All very good. Nice to be with her. I don’t know when the last time we had the opportunity to sit in a room for an hour together and talk. We’re going to do it again, in theory, in a couple weeks. Not next Tuesday. Next Tuesday the plan is to be at Brenda’s to watch the inauguration.
*
It’s interesting how much I loathe this computer at times. It has done nothing to me but has unwittingly been a ball and chain at times due to the internet. Even picking up the plug to plug it into the wall (because the battery runs down quickly and I refuse to replace it right now) — the way it feels in my hand, rubbery, somewhat dirty, cumbersome with its heavy square midsection; the heat it radiates into my lap or onto whatever piece of furniture it happens to be sitting on — the fire of the sun of the dinosaurs (fossil fuel to electricity to spinning hard drive to warm computer). I’d much rather be warming in front of the fire only.

Of course…these notes would be much sparser, much less likely were it not for Ol’ Lappie.
*
Letter from Mia today—I don’t know when it came in — it was on the counter in the stack of miscellaneous items that collect there. Dated 1/6. Nice 2 page letter hand -written — fun to see her handwriting again — tucked inside a photograph card showing a frog driving a car.
*
Text message from a friend to which I returned with a phone call. Not sure I will continue to receive or respond in any way to text messages. I’m starting to punch the button on my phone again obsessively. Of course today Jeff headed to Arkansas for 3 days and he was texting me with progress updates and family business. That is different.

Snowflakes on the virtual Appalachian Trail

But don't be satisfied with stories, how things
have gone with others. Unfold
your own myth....
— Rumi, tr. Coleman Barks

This morning: the snow coming down very lightly, big flakes. But it was very cold. They were magnificent, tiny, hexagonal flakes.

We had Monday homeschool coop for the first time in ages. Angie pulled a piece of black velvet out of her pocket and I went into the kitchen to retrieve the two magnifying glasses. We caught some flakes and we looked. Observed. Kids huddled around. What’s falling out of the sky right now? Don’t breathe too close to them or they will melt away to droplets of water!
*
We have in so many instances traded the immediacy of opening a letter, of a poem, of this, whatever this may be, for a false immediacy. Messages are retrieved, little black words on a screen, that for the most part poorly approximate the realness of a person.

But the immediacy, when observed from the outside, is: person interacting with machine. And whatever this is can only be experienced by me, and cannot, most of the time, be a shared experience. Like me and my friends and their children observing the snowflakes this morning as they alighted on a bit of black velvet. Even that person on the other end of the text message is not sharing a real experience with me, except of messaging on our phones!

Nothing I have ever experienced socially via the internet could approximate the experience of sitting in a room full of actual people — the way they look, move, smell, sound, laugh. The way it feels to be touched by one of them. It’s a known fact that many, many of us are living in a state of touch deprivation and computers are partially, if not entirely, to blame.

Even in a platonic, casual conversation, there might be a hug exchanged, or a hand laid upon an arm. These simple gestures can draw an otherwise isolated person back into the collective experience, can provide that much-needed human contact that is lacking. Computers are not warm and loving. They are cold and toxic. People are warm and loving (and, well, I suppose some people are toxic!).

There is not enough of this in this wired world — of people sitting in a room together, enjoying the moment, not having to save it or store it (except perhaps a photograph, a memory, a poem, a journal entry) but mostly to breathe it in and breathe it out. To live it and to let it go.

As I hike away from the internet on my virtual Appalachian Trail there is so little I miss and much that leads me to feel that another year like this might be good.