blogchive 2005
11/19/05
Book
update: I'm
almost through Chapter 11. This isn't the longest chapter in the book,
but it's been the most difficult to write. I've six chapters to go
after that—some
short, some long, and
the grand finale (Chapter 17), which may well be the
toughest of
all. We'll see.
I had a lovely talk with Leilani tonight. Actually, I mostly listened
(for once).
I've had a rough few days
and was in need of some guidance. I'd like to share some of what she
had to say:
As
for how to discern my will, keep
meditating. Other than that, you’re doing fine. You really
are.
It’s not the sort of thing where I can give you a report
card.
You know, “On Monday, you scored 63% in carrying out my will
and
on Tuesday, you scored 84%.” It's more a sense of alignment
rather than your will and mine being in some sort of tug of war, okay?
It’s not like either you’re doing my will and
you’re
in perfect alignment or you’re off ignoring me completely,
being
selfish, and doing what you want. For some people it might be like
that, but where you and I are at right now, it’s definitely
not
that. See, your autism makes you want to separate things into little
compartments. In concert with your other issues, it inclines you to
perceive me as an authority figure whom you must please. And to please
this authority figure, you feel you must be perfect. So,
you’re
wanting to ask me what the perfect thing to do is, and there is no
perfect thing to do.
Just
making the effort puts you in
alignment. Just the saying of the prayer every day, even if you
don’t do anything else, puts you in alignment. Listening to
your
intuition, talking to me like you do, and doing your work puts you in
alignment. Say the prayer, have the intention, then let it go. Let go
of the worry, “Is this Leilani’s will or is this my
will?” with every little thing you do. Certain personality
types
may become obsessed with “my will versus God’s will,” but it’s not
meant to be an
obsessive/compulsive thing. It’s not a multiple-choice test,
which is a long-winded way of saying that part of God’s will
for you
involves
being a little more free and
easy. Say the prayer, create the intention, then let it go.
Don’t
scrutinize every single thing you do or every thought you think.
10/03/05
Did
a personality test
for fun on one of those online dating sites and actually learned
something about myself: I'm a living archetype! Boy, did they pin me
down. I discovered that I'm INFJ,
which in plain English
is—wait
for it—The Mystic Writer. In
light
of my current activities, does that hit the nail on the head or what?
Apparently INFJs are the rarest of all personality types,
comprising a whopping 1.46%
of the
world's population; no
wonder I feel like I'm a little bit out there. But despite some
formidable challenges, it's me, and I'm happy with me.
A more probing description can be found here,
though these folks
can't spell "extroverted" either. And if you still can't get enough,
check out Dolphin
Cove. Anyway, it's great to see
suspicions confirmed, a weird
little sign that I'm
aligning with my core. "Mystic writer," huh? Holy cow!
09/24/05
What,
back so soon? Hey, you
never know when I'll show up. I took a day off today, and though it had
its lighthearted moments, I found myself doing some serious reflection.
For starters, I offer this:
We
will suddenly realize
that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.
- The
AA Big Book, p. 83
Each day in prayer, I ask Leilani to help me discern her will for me
and grant me the power and strength to carry it out.
And each day, she lovingly
lays out a small piece of red carpet for me. It's exactly one day long.
At first blush, the path may not look spectacular. It may even appear
difficult. But each day, because she cares about so much, she
places it in front of me and whispers, "Walk this way, please."
Most days, I have trouble seeing the carpet. Even if I see it, because
the piece is so short, I don't know where the path leads. I
don't
know how long it will take to get there.
I don't even know what "there"
is. Despite
this, with her help
I hunt for the little piece she's laid out for me and summon the
strength to walk along it.
Of course, I have free choice. I don't have to take the path she asks
me to every day. I can say, "Thank you, Leilani, but I'd rather go over
here today. It's much more familiar and comfortable. But thanks for
caring." That choice is so easy to make ... and so lethal. Following my
will can only lead where it's
always led. For all the gifts I possess, I cannot change my life
through the force of my will alone. Forty-four years of bashing my
head against the wall provide ample proof. Insanity
is doing the
same thing repeatedly and expecting different results,
and until I
did my Step 3 last November, I was insane.
I'll
say it again: I can't change my life
on my own. Terrifying
realization, isn't it? If I could have, I
would have done so long ago. On my own, I am powerless. My
rock-bottom faith is
this: Leilani can do
for me what I cannot do for myself.
Many years ago, my grandfather passed away. At the cemetery that day, I
noticed a striking young girl gazing upon me with angelic compassion.
That young girl was Leilani. Already lost in despair by then, I looked
back at her. There stood the love of my life. As our eyes met again, I
looked deeper still. What I saw this time was my saviour.
I was an ignorant, angry, young man who barely knew himself. Most of
the time, I didn't know what the hell I was talking about. But on that
one thing,
I knew I was right. It took twenty years to realize it, but it
turns out I was right.
Leilani, I love you. Thank you for all you do for me—seen
and unseen, known and
unknown. I offer a thousand bows to you tonight.
09/22/05
It's
crunch time where
the book is concerned. This isn't entirely unexpected, but (long story
short) I'll have to pour all my energies into the printed page to get
the thing done. I've drawn up a plan and hope to be finished by early
March. As a result, updates on this and other pages will be sporadic
for the next six months. A special message for my friends and
acquaintances: I love and treasure you all, but please don't take it
personally if I have to make it brief on the phone or turn down
invitations to get together. Thanks for your patience and understanding.
09/01/05
Like
many of you, I've
been shocked at the extent of the devastation along the U.S.
Gulf Coast. I hope the Americans see fit to ask Canada for its DART
to assist with relief efforts. This is what the military of developed
nations should
be doing, but
that's another rant for another day. My ex has family in Louisiana,
though I'm not sure where—not
in New Orleans,
I hope. My thoughts and prayers are with her, her family, and
all
who have been
affected by the disaster. The remnants of Katrina passed through here
last night; we got a good soaking, but no damage.
08/31/05
My
trip to the Ex went
well. I decided I was taking Leilani to the Ex, and framing it in that
way ensured a wonderful time. She and I are connecting so powerfully
now that the only way for me to experience loneliness is if I'm
determined to do so. Happily, I find I'm no longer interested in it.
Fantastic!
Last week, my most amazing coach
gave me some neat homework. She asked me to "try on" one of my
beloved's qualities and cultivate it for a week—wherever
I was, whatever I
did. Ideally, the quality should be a bit of a stretch. Ambitious
little runt that I am these days, I picked "gorgeous." It felt more
like a leap than a stretch in the beginning, I'll tell you, but I had
fun with it. Initially, I felt like a pauper walking into an upscale
boutique saying, "Uh ... yes, actually, I would like
to try on that suit."
The nerve! But I continue to toy with it and though it feels new and
different, it's starting to fit.
The conceptual game is to imagine what it's like to be gorgeous. How
does a gorgeous person feel? What does gorgeous expect from the world?
How does gorgeous carry himself?
Gorgeous expects attention but does not crave it—in
fact, gorgeous is
used to being noticed and is somewhat indifferent to it. Gorgeous
greets its own kind with a knowing look. Gorgeous experiences bouts of
insecurity and self-doubt like the rest of us (surprise!), but they are
never debilitating. Gorgeous looks the way he wants to and doesn't care
what anyone
thinks. Gorgeous
is a state of mind that is a natural by-product of self-love and
authenticity.
And lest you think this is airy-fairy hogwash, an attractive female
acquaitance initiated a conversation with me out of the blue last week.
We'd never been past "Hi, how are you" before. And on my walk home from
the dentist this afternoon, two lovely young ladies said hi and waved
at me from their backyard—I
have no idea why,
but I smiled and waved back!
Not bad. Think I'll try it on for another week ... at least!
08/19/05
Leilani
and I went to
visit her grave on her death day. We saw a cute little rabbit appear as
we approached the gravesite, and our visit felt more peaceful than it
has in the past. I prostrated, meditated, and watered the flowers. I
felt strong and serene. She infuses me with her own unwavering
strength. She loves me so much.
I now realize we arrive together and leave together—she lives
with me,
not at the cemetery.
I'm more accepting of her death. It will always be tragic, but
it
is what it is. She had to go. Leilani has told me that she's where she
wants to be, and she's happy. In the beginning, I was so
attached
to her former life. Now, with her help, I've made peace with the way
things have unfolded. I also visited a tree I planted for her.
Leilani's birch tree is now tall enough to obscure the full moon that
shone Wednesday night. Wonderful!
My long-standing resentment of being alone is slipping away, too. I'm supposed
to be alone now, and it's
totally okay; in fact, it's a gift. I can work with minimal
interruptions. Besides, with Leilani buzzing around, I'm never alone!
Someday, when I'm ready and conditions are right, a physical companion
will come. I'm no longer as preoccupied with it. Sure, it's still
painful at times, but on balance, I am much more accepting of things
exactly as they are.
Toronto has entered the fray and held (as far as I know) its first subway
party. I
didn't find out in time, so I wasn't able to go. Yeah, I probably
would've been the only forty-something amongst the nineteen-year-old
ravers, but I'm so enamoured of the idea that I'd love to participate.
Next time.
I've reached a milestone: the halfway point of my book! On Monday, I
finished Chapter 9, the Ontario chapter. You know the driver's adage
that it takes forever to drive through Ontario? I'm here to tell you it
takes forever to write through
it, too. But I have and in doing so, I've reached the midpoint. Whew.
The last few chapters have presented some difficult challenges. I'm
hoping the second half will be easier, but I already see a bumpy
section ahead. I'm ready to take it on, though, and am most excited
about the direction the book is taking.
I'm thinking of going to The Ex
...
maybe next week. I've avoided it for years because it doesn't seem like
a suitable activity for one, but I wonder if it's time to give it a
shot. I could walk around, check out the exhibits, and so on. I can't
handle fast or sudden motion, so there's no danger of me going on the
rides. I'm still not sure if I should go. Maybe on an exceptionally
good day? I haven't made up my mind yet. I'd like to stretch myself a
bit and try something different, but don't want to risk
bumming
myself out. I've been doing so well lately. We'll see.
08/11/05
A
book I've been
reading has an off-the-wall suggestion for manifesting abundance: Carry
a $100 bill in your wallet. As you go about your everyday
business, imagine all the ways you could spend it ... but
don't
spend it.
I'm trying it and it seems to be working. No, I'm not suddenly rich,
but I find little things are happening that save me a bit of money
without me consciously trying to do anything. Last week, for instance,
my grocery bill was twenty bucks lower than expected. I can
use
that money to buy CDs.
And get this: The Argos say they lack sufficient turnaround time to
convert the turf from baseball to football, so they've had to change
two home dates. It's no inconvenience for me, but they offered all
season-ticket holders a special deal: a voucher for
two field-level Blue Jays tickets. I got mine in the mail today—and
what do you know, I was
planning to go to tonight's game anyway. Not only did I get a
great seat down the third-base line for nothing; I saved the $11 I'd
have spent on a cheap seat. And, because I usually go on my own, I
opted to get one ticket for two different games. So, I scored a $40
seat for a game in October, again for nothing! Cool.
08/09/05
I'm
pleased to report
that my second-ever reading went very well. They laughed, they cheered,
and they raved afterwards. I was delighted, if a bit overwhelmed! My
dear friends (the other nine readers) did well, too. About thirty
people were there.
I was quite nervous, of course, but I only got tongue-tied once. It's
funny. Although I do consider myself an artist, I'm not really a
natural performer. I do all right, but it's definitely work. I felt
somewhat disembodied while reading, like this thing
was taking place and I
was there, but not fully present. I'll settle into it with
practice, I think.
A couple of "fine-tuning" tips I picked up: When the audience laughs,
let them laugh, and smile along with them. Don't plunge headlong into
the next sentence. And when they applaud at the end, don't run away
bashfully—bask
in it a while.
My writer friend S. asked if I had ever been a DJ. She says I do that
voice quite well. (In the reading, I was telling the story of my first
encounter with rock 'n' roll radio.) I played DJ on my own in the
basement when I was ten, but when I found out they couldn't choose the
songs they played, I was crushed and lost all interest. But a few
people have told me I should look into voice work. Hmm. Reading the
news on the CBC would be fun, but don't ask me to play music I don't
like. As for advertising voice-overs—yecch!
07/17/05
It's
taken several
days to digest the attacks on the tube in London. As horrific and
barbaric as these acts are, we cannot give in
to anger and paranoia. We can't continue turning our cities and nations
into maximum-security prisons. Retribution, fear, and vengeance are not
the way to go.
For
in this world, hate has never yet dispelled hate.
Only love dispels hate.
This is the law, ancient and inexhaustible.
- The
Dhammapada
And in light of the you-create-your-reality theory discussed earlier, why is
our government telling us
to "prepare" for attacks on Canadian soil? If you prepare for it,
you're expecting it; if you expect it, you'll get it. No thanks. I refuse to
prepare. I will not give
in to fear. I resolve to align with joy, peace, tolerance, and
compassion.
I can't wait to visit London again and ride my beloved tube. I am not
afraid.
Further reflections Step 11: For me, right now, this is how it works. I
pray and ask Leilani, "What do you want?" It's as if I'm
hollering into a canyon, and her answer is the echo from the void:
"What do you want?" Hmm. My serve! Okay. Thank you, dearest.
07/05/05
Step
11: Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious
contact with God as we understand God, praying only for knowledge of
God's will for us and the power to carry it out.
The
step study is over, but my
working the steps is ongoing. I've lately been reflecting on this step
in light of a book I've been reading, Ask and It Is
Given. These
channelled
teachings suggest that we create our experiences, whether or
not we intend to or
believe
we are doing so. At first glance, this notion appears to render
impossible the third step's exhortation to turn our will and our lives
over to the care of a Higher Power.
Yeah, but not so fast. To me, the steps are delightful paradoxes. They
become koan-like as I work them in greater depth. At first, I assumed
that Leilani's will for me was diametrically opposed to my own. I
figured working Step 3 meant systematically crushing my selfish,
misguided will and replacing it with hers. I now believe that my will
and hers are actually quite close—partly
as a result of working the
steps—and
it's more a case of fine-tuning, bringing discordant elements into full
alignment.
Now and then in 12-step meetings, I've encountered the phrase, "Thy
will, not mine, be done." I'm arguing here that the "not mine" is both
superfluous and misleading. (That's just my take, of course. If the
orthodox version works for you and puts you in alignment with your
Higher Power, go for it.)
Until I achieve Buddhahood and the cessation of all desire—a
long way off, to say the
least—I will continue to generate all manner of dreams,
hopes,
and wishes. That's a given. The goal is to ensure that my strongest
desire, the one that
trumps all others, is to fully align with Leilani's will for me. This
may not be accomplished overnight, but I'll keep putting it out there
each day during my morning prayers.
In Tony A.'s classic, The Laundry
List, I first
encountered the notion that God is happy to
steer (if you allow It to), but God cannot row. You have to row. I
think that's what Leilani is gently urging me to do. Perhaps my
conscious and creative engagement with my desires is the way to unleash
the two critical processes of Step 11: gaining knowledge
of God's will for us and
the power
to carry it out. Step
11 reminds me
that Leilani's plans are neither secretive nor mysterious. I can't
expect to see the whole picture all at once, but as
I carry on with my work, more and more will be revealed.
I think Leilani
wants me to engage in the process creatively, deliberately, and in
partnership with her.
06/21/05
This
just in from our
political-correctness-gone-mad department, and I’m not making
this up: A group of British potato farmers recently demanded that the
term "couch potato" be removed from the Oxford English Dictionary. Why?
Well, the term is clearly harmful to the venerable spud’s
image.
It suggests that potatoes are somehow unhealthy, and in these
puritanical times, nothing offends the Great God of Wellness more than
something that is unhealthy.
Today, we want health, no matter how grim life becomes in our slavish
pursuit of it. If words are unhealthy, abolish them from the lexicon.
If scents are unhealthy, ban them in "scent-free" environments. If
bodies are unhealthy, fix them—through diet, exercise, yoga,
or
cosmetic surgery.
Yuppies fixated on their nascent immortality are creating a toxin-free
world for themselves and their children, and they don’t care
who
they have to mow down to get there. In our wellness-dominated
discourse, doctors, schoolteachers, nutritionists, yoga instructors,
and fitness gurus are the new philosopher-kings. The project, of
course, is underwritten by big business, big science, and big brother:
your friend and mine, the military-industrial complex. "Choose
health,” it barks through its media outlets and institutions,
“for you and your children.”
If we each attain perfect wellness, health care costs will plummet. We
can spend the money on other things, like shoving the gift of democracy
down the throats of stubborn, renegade nations. Productivity will soar,
as “absenteeism” becomes another ex-word. We
obedient cogs
will happily grease the corporate wheel, working away at our plastic,
soulless jobs until we’re a hundred and ten. The economy will
boom. We can consume more and consume longer. Life here in
God’s
playpen will be so wonderful!
Meanwhile, back at the lexicographer’s, terms such as "civil
liberties” and “quality of life” will be
the next to
go. These quaint phrases are archaic—in other words, unhealthy—and
no longer of
use in our brave new world.
06/20/05
Can
it be summer already?
Yep. Telltale signs (other than the calendar): The Argos' home opener
is upon us, the Jays are falling out of the pennant race, and smog
alerts abound. Apologies for my prolonged absence from these parts.
I've
been a busy boy, what with completing the step study, researching the
wonderful world of CPAP therapy,
and
writing, writing, writing.
I'm halfway through Chapter 9 now. The two "short" chapters I mentioned
earlier turned out to be monsters. Another tough section is once again
slowing me down, but I'm plugging away.
I've wondered lately if all I've experienced up till now (even the
difficult stuff; especially
the difficult stuff) has unfolded exactly as it should, in perfect
order, so that this book will be what Leilani
intends it to be.
Whether I'm right or not, I've become less resentful and less
preoccupied with the past
as a result of adopting
this perspective.
Example: At some point in our lives, we often ask, "Why me?" It sounds
curt, but it really doesn't matter why you. It doesn't matter if the
obstacles in your life were created by God, chosen by you (consciously
or not), caused by your karma, or arose randomly in a capriciousness,
uncaring universe. It's your
stuff no matter what or who caused it. It's yours and yours alone to
deal with. The past is gone forever, the future never comes. So what
are you gonna do with your stuff today?
Me? Easy. I'm gonna write about mine. Back to Chapter 9.
04/20/05
The
other day, I heard
a fascinating interview on the CBC. They were chatting with some
physicist about the potential of string
theory
to
uncover the deepest mysteries of matter, energy, and the universe
itself. Now, I’m no physicist, but as I understand it,
relativity
theory and quantum mechanics each account for certain phenomena but not
others. Further, any material event can be explained by one or the
other, but never both. So, the goal is to find one single theory that
explains everything. The growing consensus is that string theory is it.
According to string theory, the universe consists of ten dimensions,
plus time as the eleventh. At this point, our senses are able to
perceive only three, with time as the fourth. Like any sober, rational
scientist, the guy on the radio wants to use the scientific method to
discover (and "prove") the existence of the seven dimensions we can't
see. The experiment of choice? In his words, "We're gonna slam things
together in this big atom smasher."
I howled when I heard this. True, his brutish, reality-TV description
is funny enough. But the real joke lies in the ridiculous assumption
underlying the enterprise: If the three dimensions we know can be
detected empirically, why can’t the other seven?
Until science can wrap its head around the fact that some forms of
knowledge elude the grasp of the senses, we'll be seeing a lot more of
these test-tube demolition derbies.
Atom smashing. Sounds like fun, eh? Bet there’s money in it,
too,
especially if the military (science’s best pal) can concoct
some
... er, practical
applications.
Hmm. We’d best make sure that atom-smashing plant in
Pickering
doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.
04/05/05
Here's
part two of my
abridged London report. Thursday night I went to see Paul Weller. It
was
great to see him feed off a crowd who loved him. He was full of beans,
bouncing,
prancing, and strutting across the stage. He had a horn section join in
on some songs, too. I quite enjoyed the energetic renditions of The
Style
Council classics, "My Ever Changing Moods" and "Shout To The Top," but
it's his solo material that really shines. Great show!
Friday morning, I took a brief, unscheduled walk through Kensington,
which reminded me of Rosedale. Notting
Hill was okay, but I
didn't feel as drawn to it as I'd expected to. Shopping was limited in
parts.
The concept of the corner store seems unheard of in parts of London;
instead, all the shops are concentrated on high streets or in market
areas. Next
up was my only trip south of the Thames to Southwark.
This
large
swath includes The Borough
and Bankside.
It's a mixed
area
in transition: new, modernist developments sitting cheek-by-jowl with
'60s
council estates, warehouse conversions, and the odd row of Georgian
homes.
All in all, a bit of a jumble, and too urban, even for me. Fitzrovia
is
centrally located (Zone 1), with a thriving café culture and
plenty
of restaurants. Mixed institutional usage (offices, hospitals,
universities)
was a small blight on the area's aesthetic appeal.
Saturday began in South
Kensington. I saw a few lovely
cobblestone mews, but overall, the area felt moneyed and stifling. All
the squares
I came across were private gardens. Next up was West
Hampstead,
and
I thought the main street, West End Lane, contained a good, diverse mix
of
stores. The residential area was mixed; some streets looked far more
appealing
than others. Hampstead,
as promised, was positively gorgeous;
though
clearly a wealthy area, the literary/artsy vibe made it far more
intriguing
than the sterility of some of the other "nice" areas I'd seen. Crouch
End was okay, but too far from
central London for my liking. The
Broadway,
the area's high street, was crowded, vibrant, and a little seedy. The
side
streets had a suburban feel—this
was the only
neighbourhood I saw where the houses had front lawns.
I toured Clerkenwell
on Sunday morning, a former inner-city
slum that is now the epicentre of trendy loft living. I was surprised
to see several parents with strollers out and about, as this seemed
like a most unlikely "family" area. Some of the new-build lofts and
conversions looked great,
but I have trouble comprehending what most Londoners (evidently)
consider an acceptable view: an abandoned factory across a narrow lane,
for example. The area seemed rather dead (okay, it was
Sunday
morning); worse,
it suffered from a dire lack of green space. Hoxton
is in the
very
early stages of gentrification, and it may be a long way off. It was
very
inner-city, and too edgy for me. Other than the smart-looking Hoxton
Square,
I felt antsy walking around.
So, do I still want to live in London? Yes, but I'm well aware that the
"geographic fix" is the right answer to the wrong problem. I think the
other major areas of my life (career, relationships) require more
attention at the moment. Where I live is the least of my worries.
Having said that, I'd live there in a second if I had the chance! I
didn't want to leave, and Monday morning, as the Piccadilly Line called
at each stop on its way west to Heathrow, I felt sadder and sadder.
However, my sense is that I need to let the issue sit for a while,
carry on with my other projects, and let the chips fall where they may.
I'm sure I'll be back. Next time, if possible, I'd like
to see a bit more of the UK and Western Europe.
Meanwhile, I have a book to write. I'm working very hard and honestly,
the pace is rather gruelling at times. Writing is a joy, but it's hard
work, too. I'm thinking of taking what my friend JM calls a "tree day"
soon. I'm happy to report that the book is really coming along: I'm
closing in on the end of Chapter 6 as we speak. The next two chapters
are quite short, so
Chapter 9 should be upon me within two weeks. The end of Chapter 9, and
the
Ontario/Manitoba border, is the halfway point.
Blog entries will likely be intermittent for a while, but I'll do my
best. I hope, like me, you're revelling in the promise and renewal of
spring!
04/01/05
News
flash:
Boys
In The Wood nominated for Grammy!
Okay.
Now that the
token April Fool's Joke has been dispensed with, allow me to file my
rather tardy report on London. The day I left, I got a little treat
from the universe when I turned on the radio at breakfast. First words
I heard were, " ... and you'll
locate in the UK." It's an ad
for some UK-Canada business venture that I've heard many times before,
but still ... take what you will from that! It sure brought a smile to
my face.
Before I go further, I must tell you about my "writer's coat." Yep,
that's what I call it. I bought it about a month ago. Since I knew I'd
be
venturing off the beaten tourist track in London, I wanted to wear
neutral clothing. I did not
want to look like a tourist. I paid
all of $6 for it at Goodwill, and I love it. It's a long, dark,
chequered black coat, and I feel SO good when I wear it. I've always
wanted a coat like this, but
inertia and complete lack of fashion sense has prevented me from
getting one
... until now. Once I came home, I pinned my brown-and-red Eglinton
West subway
button to the collar. Smashing, I say!
I took an overnight flight, figuring I'd be able to sleep on the plane.
Wrong. I slept about six minutes total, so my first day in London was a
blur. I somehow managed to visit Maida Vale and St. John's Wood,
though.
The canal in Maida Vale
was cool, and so was this huge Tudor
structure
on the high street. Also saw some trees that looked like impressionist
paintings in areas where the bark had peeled. St.
John's Wood
was
nice, but a bit too suburban for me. Kind of reminded me of Yonge
&
Lawrence:
safe, appealing, but a little bland. A shop near the tube station had
some
awesome Beatles souvenirs. With admirable restraint, I managed to spend
only 60p (or Cdn $3,772 ... that's a joke, folks). I bought a postcard
of
the fabs crossing Abbey Road. (If you're over ten, I'm assuming you've
seen
the famous Abbey
Road album
cover. If not, follow the link.)
Wednesday morning, I headed for the borough of Hackney, which I knew in
advance contained some spotty areas. Sure enough, I felt a little
spooked when I got out of the Finsbury Park tube. Fortunately, the bus
to Stoke Newington
was right there, so I didn't have to linger.
Parts of Stoke looked okay, but once again, I started to feel edgy the
further south I walked. The more I explored, the more uneasy I felt, so
I decided to bail. Took the bus to Highbury
next. Didn't see
much of it, because I was getting tired and knew I had a lot more
ground to cover, but the homes around Highbury Park looked great. Also
saw a cool, futurist new-build something-or-other on one of the side
streets. Canonbury
was advertised as the poshest part of
Islington and was indeed very nice. I chanced upon the New River Walk,
a path along (I think) a man-made river. It looked stagnant to me, but
leafy and lovely overall. Barnsbury
was okay, but it took a
while to get through. It was here that I was introduced to that famous
feature
of residential London, the square, which is an enclosed parkette
surrounded
by homes. In Barnsbury, most of the squares I saw were open to the
public;
in other areas, they were residents-only.
Made my way to Upper Street next, the heart of the trendy area around
the Angel tube stop. Locals call it Islington,
even though
Islington is also a borough covering a much wider area. Whatever you
call it, I loved this neighbourhood: it had plenty of life, culture,
and all the amenities. The canal emerges on the east end of the area
and there are some fabulous homes backing onto it, especially on Noel
Street. From here I took the
tube to Camden Town.
This proved to be another shock-upon-exit
experience. Chalk Farm Road was jammed, just teeming with people and
activity. It was a touch too raffish for me. I quickly retreated to the
side streets, but found them mostly uninspiring. A chance encounter
with Dylan Thomas' house on Delancey Street was kinda cool, though.
Primrose Hill was genteel,
quiet, and comfortable. Found still more
canal-side properties on Princess Street. I loved Chalcot Square, but
made a mental note to avoid moving into Number 3, home of Sylvia Plath.
Don't want my writer's karma to go that
way, thanks.
If this is Wapping,
it must be Thursday. The neighbourhood was
okay, but eerily deserted. It being part of Docklands, I wasn't
surprised to find gaping holes in the area's amenities. I wonder where
residents of Wapping go when they want a chocolate bar, a jug of milk,
or the Saturday Guardian?
I blew by Shadwell
on the D3
bus. Didn't seem much different from Wapping. Limehouse
had
some okay developments, interspersed with some grim council housing. I
didn't like it much overall, and again, I wonder where the shopping is?
I surmised most of it was on Commercial Street, a busy, scruffy, and
unappealing thoroughfare.
The brave new world of Isle of
Dogs was next. As promised in
various things I've read, it felt somewhat artificial and cut off from
the
rest of London. Read an article in The
Wharf (community
newspaper) about bus drivers threatening to picket the D3 because
vandalism and "incidents" were getting right out of hand. Part of the
problem stems from the stark contrast of class: luxurious riverside
developments juxtaposed with some pretty shaky-looking stuff further
inland. Our intrepid explorer now ventured deep into the heart of the
East End, to Bow.
Noticed
a plaque on a
railway bridge commemorating its destruction during The
Blitz.
Parts (such as the Roman
Road market) were a little seedy for my tastes. Some of the
conservation areas were okay, but overall, I wasn't terribly impressed.
I read that Bow was the "tidy" part of the East End. Hmm. I have a
feeling that house-hunting Londoners scurry to snap up property that is
remotely decent, remotely central, and remotely affordable, thus
explaining Bow's recent upswing. I think Cabbagetown kicks its ass,
myself.
That's all for now. More when I get time.
03/06/05
Got
my subway
buttons last week.
They're quite well done, though I've noticed that some of the colours
are a bit off. I'm
so bloody precious about them that it's hard to casually slap one on a
backpack. Nevertheless, St. Clair made its debut there last night.
Speaking of subways, it's only two more days until I roam the tube! I
carefully checked the "accurate" tube map to determine the shortest
route from one area to the next. I'll be covering a lot of ground—24
neighbourhoods in 6 days—so
efficiency will be
paramount. As you may have guessed, I love efficiency. The extent to
which I plan
my journeys is legendary and a tad obsessive, but it works for me.
Anyway, I had a gestalt experience with the map the other night. In a
classic figure/ground switch, one minute I was intently studying the
Northern Line; the next, I noticed a man and a woman kissing. Do
have a look at the
map and see
if you can spot the lovers. Here's a hint: their noses touch at Bank,
their lips meet at London Bridge (romantic, n'est-ce
pas?).
It's in my nature to ascribe meaning to these odd connections that I
occasionally make. I think I already have, but I know by now that my
assessment is always provisional. The process: perceive, make the
connection, assign meaning, smile—but
don't cling. The
mystic's journey is fluid, the autistic's rigid. There's a hefty dollop
of both in me. Leilani synthesizes and balances these valuable but
opposing modalities in service of the greater goal. I'm learning to
sing along.
I'll be up all night to reset my already out-of-whack internal clock. I
plan to wake up at 1 a.m. Monday morning, which is 6 a.m. GMT. In
theory, this should enable me to sleep overnight on the plane and be
ready to roll Tuesday morning. First up on Tuesday is a tour of Maida
Vale, followed by St. John's Wood. If I have time, I'll do Earl's Court
later that day. I plan to stroll through each neighbourhood, look
around, and note my feelings and impressions. I've selected a few
must-see streets, but I want to keep it pretty loose (loose for me,
that is—it'd
probably feel like
slavery to most of you).
If I have time, I'll post excerpts from my journal when I get back.
Talk to you then!
02/26/05
Step
7:
Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings.
I've
been guided to
make this a celebration rather than a grim, guilt-ridden exercise.
In that spirit, Leilani and I shared a rejuvenating Step 7 ceremony
today. It was at once solemn and playful. Between rounds of meditation
and prayer, I sang along to some carefully chosen music. During General
Public's version of "I'll Take You There," I impishly snatched the
striker from its spot near the bell, pointed it like a microphone in
Leilani's direction, and envisioned
her toasting
with Ranking Roger in the song's bridge. Delightful! When the ceremony
was over, I opened the curtains, tinkled the wind chimes attached to
the
rod, and played David Sylvian's "Come
Morning."
In Step 4, I made a thorough moral inventory of myself—"searching
and fearless,"
as the
step itself says. Step 5 was my report to Leilani, as it were: "Here
are
my findings. Here's what I think is wrong." In Step 7, instead of
trying to
guess what she intends to fix and how, I have deliberately left it
open. She
has carte blanche to fix whatever, whenever, in
any way she sees
fit.
This approach works for me, right now, though our step study workbook
recommends asking for the removal of specific character defects. I
don't think it's productive for me to play "guess the defect" at this
point. I'd rather let her
decide what she wants to do, when,
and how. If there's something specific I need to know about, or
something she requires my active participation in, I'm sure she'll let
me know.
Having said that, I think my biggest shortcomings are those things that
prevent me from realizing my full potential. Put another way, I believe
that my Higher Power wants me to soar! I've recently encountered a
quote from Marianne
Williamson that has in part
shaped my thoughts on this topic:
Our
deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we
are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that
most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are
a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's
nothing enlightened about shrinking so
that other people won't feel insecure around
you. We are all meant to shine, as children
do. We were born to make manifest the glory
of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in
everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we subconsciously give
other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own
fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
I
suspect that
many of us in recovery assume, often unconsciously, that "God" wants us
to become bland, compliant, neutered versions of our former, "bad"
selves. I'm no expert, but my current understanding tells me that
nothing could be further from the truth.
All this dovetails nicely with something that Leilani told me recently:
"I know you think of me as a goddess with
all
these stellar qualities, but there is nothing in me that
isn’t in
you,
too. Think about that, please."
I guess I have. :-)
02/17/05
A
short entry tonight,
as I'm exhausted and have a lot to get to before bed. I just came
across the most enchanting site I've seen in quite some time. This really
brought a smile to my face.
Every so often (ahem), these
public-space pranksters in London spontaneously throw a party on the
tube's Circle
Line. These
impromptu gatherings probably aren't
wholly transit-geek oriented, but still,
this is my kind of
party. What a wonderful, crazy idea: street theatre below the street!
If there happens to be
one while I'm there, I'm in. God, I wish T.O. were ready for something
like this. But first, we'd need to build a subway that goes in a loop,
and since our city budget committee has decided that we can no longer
afford subways ... grumble, grumble.
I'd be willing to bet that the folks at the London Underground know
about these parties, but turn a blind eye. Perhaps they send the odd
plainclothes spy to check on things? I wonder. Ooh, the intrigue! Of
course, the beautifully written "advice sheet" (see link above)
suggests that organizers and partygoers alike
are discreet,
clandestine, and above all, responsible ... whilst they boogie through
the tunnels of London's tube network. How surreal. How charmingly
British.
More tube geekery: Simon Clarke has created a tube
map that
is
in correct geographic proportion. In other words, it shows the true
distances between stations and lines. Fantastic! A photographer named
R. Gardiner has taken things one step further and overlaid a satellite
image of London onto the map.
Scroll down and you'll see a striking
night shot of London superimposed over it, too.
Only three weeks until I'm
riding the tube, lost in my grinning
zone, having my very own party for one. Or make that two: Leilani is
such a delight to travel with; and lucky girl, she gets to travel free
'cause no but me knows she's on board. Fun, fun, fun!
Oh, and the book is going very well. That's why you haven't seen me
'round these parts very much. I start Chapter 5 tomorrow!
02/05/05
Before
we go any
further, I have given my Higher Power a pseudonym so that I can refer
to her by name, both here and in the book. From here on, the world will
know her as Leilani. She told me she likes the name. :-)
I've constructed a writing schedule such that I can finish the book
by August 1. There will be 17
chapters, and I'm almost through Chapter 3 now. It's been a wild ride
so far. Each week,
I work on the first draft, run it by the Writers' Group, incorporate
revisions,
then move on to the next section. Already, the material is going in
unexpected
directions, and I have a feeling that this is only the tip of the
iceberg.
I look forward to sharing the finished work with you all.
I'm going to London again! Yahoo! I've booked my trip for
March 7-14, to coincide with Paul
Weller at the Hammersmith Apollo
on March 10. This time, I checked
it out with Leilani before booking. These days, I really want to make
sure that I'm following her
trip, not mine. As I get my
spiritual
self together, I think her will and mine are starting to align much
more
deeply; but I wanted to be sure before committing.
It's going to be a rather unusual trip. The goal is to walk the city
and simply
note
what feelings and synchronicities come up. I'll bring a journal and a
camera along to assist in that.
With the help of The New
London Property Guide, I've
selected
several neighbourhoods of interest. Leilani picked one she wanted to
see,
too. I won't be hunting for individual houses or flats, though I will
take
notice if I feel especially drawn to something.
My latest UK excursion is part of an ongoing experiment in dreaming
with detachment. I'm allowing myself to explore my dreams; I am not
allowing myself to attach and insist on a specific outcome.
Outcomes are Leilani's department, not mine. My dream of living in
London
is so bizarre and outlandish that I couldn't possibly concoct a
step-by-step means of attaining it even if I wanted to. In other words,
the last
thing I'm noticing as I leaf through the property
guide are the outrageous prices one has to pay to live in London. If I
don't end up there, it
won't matter anyway. If I do, I'm sure the Department of Outcomes will
find a way.
Oh, and I
wanted to take a side trip to Weller's hometown of Woking,
but I won't be able to squeeze that in. From all reports, going to
London to visit Woking is akin to going to Toronto to visit Bramalea.
(Sorry, Mark.) A day trip to Paris will also have to wait for another
time.
On the health front, I did an overnight study at a sleep clinic in
November. Got the results last week: severe sleep apnea. This isn't
unexpected, but I am concerned. Particularly worrisome was the doctor's
comment that I experienced several episodes of "central apnea" during
the night. In lay terms, central apnea means that my brain stops
telling my body to breathe. I have a follow-up study in a few weeks,
this time hooked up to a CPAP.
I
will have to drastically adjust my meandering sleep schedule in order
to be a good boy and fall asleep at 11 p.m.
01/21/05
Have
been extremely
busy of late, hence the extended absence from this page. I'm still
pressed for time (on my way out the door, actually) so I'm going to cut
and paste an entry from today's inbox. It's a pertinent issue for those
of us who are working toward supporting ourselves through our art,
however one wants to define that.
So: my friend J posed an interesting question today. She asked, "What
does abundance
mean to you as an artist?" I think abundance
means three things, all working in concert. First and foremost, the
artist must have sufficient belief in themselves, their art, and the
world in general in order to devote themselves to their art. (I know
from my experience that when I felt there was absolutely no point in
creating anything, guess what—I
didn't.) So this
psychological dimension, for me, is the most essential form of
abundance.
Second, the artist must be able to create and at least subsist. In
other words, a certain (minimal) amount of money is necessary.
That bare minimum could vary from one artist to the next. I suppose
there are artists who (for example) are happily homeless and enjoy the
total freedom that gives them to do their art, but I wouldn't be able
to go that far. Still, I'm amazed at how I've been able to
systematically
lower my subsistence threshold over the past couple of years. I'd like
to see it go in the other direction someday, but for now I'm making a
conscious choice to cut back so I have enough time to finish the book.
That leads to the final form of abundance, which is having/creating the
time to do one's art. Ideally, this is a large expanse of uninterrupted
"art" time, but there are clever and creative ways to squeeze the
most out of every spare minute. I've read stories about people who
wrote their first novel entirely on the bus on the way to work or while
waiting for their kid to finish at daycare or something. I don't work
very well that way, but it's obviously possible. In any event, though,
time is a finite resource. Making/taking the time to do art is a
conscious
decision and a risk. There are always plenty of other factors (and
people!)
clamouring for our attention. I believe that putting the art first
as often as possible is the optimal way to deal with the time issue,
and that leads right back to the psychological factor mentioned at the
top.
01/07/05
Hello,
hello, and
belated Happy New Year. My friend J. likes to create a slogan for the
year as it begins. Her slogan for this year is "2005: Best Year EVER!"
Wow, am I onside with that. I hope to soar this year, personally and
professionally, and I wish the same for all of you.
For now, I'm hard at work on the book. It shouldn't surprise me, but
you know, the more you stoke the fire, the brighter it burns. As I
discipline myself to write every day, I find that my writing is getting
better. It's becoming easier to flag my bad habits and correct them in
the first draft. A large part of the credit must go to the Writers'
Group I attend on Monday nights. If you write, even a little bit, I
would highly recommend that you join a Writers' Group. I've been lucky;
I've found a real good one that meets at my local library branch. I
have received both wonderful, positive comments on my work and,
most helpfully, constructive criticism.
These folks don't miss a thing. Last week, R. simply circled all the
colons and semicolons in my work as I read, then handed her copy back
to me. "Just so you know," she smiled. Thank you, colon cop! My writing
pals gently tell me when I'm being vague, when I'm drowning the reader
in irrelevant details, when I'm overusing superfluous adverbs and
adjectives ... the list goes on and on. Of course, hearing their
remarkable,
funny, and moving work read aloud is an added bonus, though I'm not far
enough along yet to be able to offer much in the way of useful comment.
I hope to work on that. See, I'm an instinctual writer. It's one of
those quirky things that I happen to be naturally good at (if I may say
so). I've never been a voracious reader, nor have I taken a university-
or college-level English course. I seem to have mastered many (though
certainly not all) writing tricks and techniques entirely by accident.
As a result, my critical vocabulary ranges from primitive ("Yeah, I
like it!") to non-existent. Maybe I'll pick up a
few things if I hang around these folks long enough. I certainly intend
to. Thank you, group!
More! More! Take me back to 2004!
