Things I ponder. Or: How to categorize a gorilla.

This question has popped up in a few conversations lately: What is your spirituality?

It strikes me, because I used to work with a guy that would always ask people what their nationality was, when he clearly wanted to know their racial and ethnic category. It used to drive me bonkers. I wanted to explain it to him, but he was beyond help.

So, when people ask me what my spirituality is, I guess they are asking to which religion do I subscribe.

I have given this a great deal of thought lately. I have read many texts. I have sought enlightenment from nearly every talking toad I seem to happen upon. And I guess what I have decided is that you can't put a label on me.

I am an atheist, I suppose. But as one says that, gasps aplenty are heard to charge through the room. To them, morality and goodness MUST be tied to belief in SOMETHING. "How do you decide what's right and wrong?" (Actual question.) "I use my brain." (Actual response.)

I find myself fascinated by the fact that people can't simply except what IS. To me, that which is right there for us to witness is far more amazing and intricate than any one being could ever imagine - let alone build. But still, they seem to think that because I am an atheist, and that I don't believe in a supreme being, that I am simply void of any belief at all. Period. And that couldn't be dumber, to be frank. They'll say, "You must believe in SOMETHING, though, right? Like, doesn't some religion speak to you, at least a little." Yeah, some do. Right up until the parts with magic. Again, the reality, I think, is far more beautiful.

But, still, I've been thinking. And here is some of the fruit of such thought.

Do I believe in a supreme being? Nope. A higher power? Possibly. For, what is nature if it is not a "higher power" to which we all, for real, 100% truly will lose. We are part of it, we effect it, affect it, change it, and try to understand it... but ultimately, we are fodder for it's greatness. So, yeah... okay. I worship the majesty of the Earth.

Do you believe in the afterlife? Kinda. Not in the super pretty, all-white spectacle of Heaven. Or Nirvana or whatever else. But if you look at Anthropology, there is plenty of documentation for the possibilities of afterlife. But before you get all riled up, let me explain further... See, we all have ancestors, and we all have memories. And, really, there is A LOT that we don't know about our subconscious minds. Here is my hypothesis: The afterlife, including ghosts, spirits, angels, entities and whatever else we may name them, do exist. But, and here is the part that would be left out if anyone ever tried to use this quote again' me... They exist somewhere deep in our subconscious. Someplace we don't fully understand where we can remember things with such clarity that they are there and they are very real. Then what about random hauntings when we don't have knowledge of the "person?" Same deal, I think. I think that if a real double-blind study was conducted, we would see that people "see" ghosts only after hearing stories of their existence in a certain locale. Now, undoubtedly, someone reading this is already shaking their head... and that's fine. You're talking to (or reading a monologue by, really) someone that has "seen" and "experienced" unexplained phenomena. But, again, the tangible is so magnificent, that I don't spend a lot of my time with the rest. I am a skeptic... which isn't a bad word. It just means I'm from Missouri.

Can't you at least agree that religion has provided some good things in regards to kindness and morality? Sure. But that stuff pales in comparison to the legion of awful, horrible s**t it has also given us. I love the materials that "Picture a World Without Religion." They say it much better than I.

What if you HAD, like absolutely, to choose a religion or face death? Honestly... Patrick Henry already summed up my feelings on this... but I'll humor you. Probably Buddhism. That's most closely matched with my personal attitudes and feelings about kindness and virtue, and its only real deity is knowledge... I can get onboard for that.

So, what do you believe? A lot.

I believe that the sky is just about infinite, and the way that it makes me feel small is indescribable. Same goes for oceans.

I believe that sunsets in the Sonoran Desert are as close as I have ever come to truly worshipping something.

I believe that the fact that our physiology is basically autonomous and definite is scary, but also very empowering and beautiful.

I believe that knowledge is power. Specialized skill is a super power.

I believe that children are perfect, no matter how they come out.

I believe that the most powerful medicine ever created is love. And I believe that it's sad that saying that has become cheesy and weird.

I believe in personal responsibility, and that being able to cognitively grasp that concept is divine.

I believe that our politics, how we organize ourselves, is meaningless squabble when compared with our need to apply equal parts tolerance and compassion. (And our ability to know the difference.)

I believe that we should all worry a bit less on what others believe, and spend some time thinking about what we, ourselves find important.

Most importantly - and this may require some pondering of your own - I believe that its way okay that I sleep with a stuffed chimpanzee sleepy pal.

Anyway - I felt like writing, I guess. I hope everyone is well.

A bit o' news. We've been ruled out as candidates for home birth with a midwife. We are a bit bummed by that - but we think we have the next best thing.

Love and peaches,

Jed

Like opening a clam with a wet bus ticket...

I think it's funny, or weird, or interesting, or something.... that when I express my fears of being a father, people always respond with, "You're gonna do great." Is this the natural response? Is it auto-speech? Like this old thing: "Hey, what's up?" "Pretty good." Raise your hand if you've ever done that.

The other day, I ran into an old family friend and while shaking his hand, said, "Nice to meet you." He was a bit peeved, and said, "I was at your wedding." It sounded really cool with his thick Salvadoran accent... but I think he knew I had made a flub.

I digress.

Why, exactly, do people always hit me with the "you're gonna do great" school of thought? Now, I'm not fishing here, but what is it that makes people think this? Are they actually thinking something else and saying this? Are they actually thinking, "Oh, F**k? That kid's in serious trouble." What qualities have they ever seen in me which might translate into being a good dad? And then I sort of realize, too, that it's so subjective. What's a good dad? It must be totally different to everyone, right? I think my dad is a good dad in many ways. He taught me how to be a hard worker and to be really and truly tough. I wish he'd given me his mustache-growing genes... but other than that, I have no complaints. So, really, I just keep wondering when I'm going to run into someone that's like, "You? Really? Are you sure it's yours?" Or something like that. Maybe that last bit's a little harsh - but...

I can't remember who I was talking to, but they said that they were thinking about trying to have a baby. I responded with something about how the only difference I can feel now that it's real is that I went from being theoretically terrified to tangibly terrified. As an adult, we become relatively comfortable with the idea of our lives. We become comfortable with our thought process and even our emotional responses. I am continually flabbergasted by the way my brain now works... and a little nervous too.



Scenario: 4 months ago - I thought: Man. I really want to go to Nicaragua and learn hot rod super Spanish. That would be awesome. Tracey can come too.

About 7 weeks ago - I thought: Holy F**king S**t. Holy F**king S**t. Holy F**king S**t. (Roughly translated - We're gonna have a what?)

Now - I think: I really want to go live in Australia and learn to harvest the perfect digeridoo. Oh, and learn to play it, like, really really good. That'd be dope. And Tracey can study homeopathic medicine with aborigines. Man, that is gonna be awes- Oh, yeah... baby. Can't.

And I'm not saying that I'm resentful or that I can't really do that, even with a baby... but it's definitely more complicated. And that's taking me a long time to get used to. And what worries me is that I seem to subconsciously forget that our peanut is coming. This is real. I know the peanut is there... but it's like some blurry image at the end of a very dim hallway. And I feel like I'm staggering my way there, arms outstretched, trying to grab one of those water wiggle things.

I believe that learning to ride a bike is a great metaphor for learning in general. As children, and sometimes as adults, we want nothing more than to be able to ride a "big kid's bike." We want to know how so badly that we watch the older kids and we picture ourselves doing it and we ask our parents ad nauseam when they're going to teach us, and finally we get our shot and... Well the story is really different for everyone there. Which is like learning. And for me, I just got fed up with asking and hijacked my brother's HUGE bike... and rode that son-of-a-bitch. And I didn't fall..

So, for me... learning is really a solitary process. I have all the books, and I read them. And I ask questions. I devour anything I can find on the subject... and I know that this too will be like learning to ride a bike. An amazing complicated, levitating, jet-powered bike*, but a bike all the same. I don't spend all my time worrying... but I guess I wish I could jump on the "gonna do great" bandwagon... but there are just too many variables...



*Credit to DK.

Sabado de paz

cinnamon rolls.
fresh squeezed orange juice.
weird weekend npr.
patio.
dog at my feet.
lazy mountain breeze.
orioles eating week-old sourdough.
goddess to my right.
baby in her womb.
so in debt, but so alive.
no need for capitals.


A cheesy poet still resides in my heart. We have our first midwife appointment on Thursday - turns out we stumbled onto the same midwife that delivered your friend's baby, Emery. The universe is mysterious indeed.

Our lil' guest cottage is being renovated a bit. I am told it will be quite nice. My head still vibrates from sonic nail guns.

Love and luck to all of you.

Riding turbo,
Jed

New days.

So, we made it to Flagstaff with very little trouble. My dad arrived in Tucson at about 7 am Saturday morning, and he and I had the horse trailer loaded with our meager belongings in about an hour. He went on up the hill while Tracey and I did a few rounds and made sure we were making a decent load.

Driving a little GMC Sonoma for 4 hours will always have a special place in my heart. That's sarcasm.

As we pulled into Flagstaff, all was well. I believed we were going to make it in one piece, and just in the nick of time, too. The massive mountain sky was beginning to turn it's ominous shade of summer black. My dad had been in Flag for about 30 minutes by the time we got there, and we had arranged to meet at a gas station in Cheshire, near our new pad... then I'd lead the way in. By the time we got to him, however, the sky was falling at a phenomenal rate. And my truck does not have windshield wipers that function at 100%. C'est la vie.

So, it was awesome to HAVE the horse trailer, because moving trucks can cost several hundred dollars. The bad part, though, is that the rain was able to freely infiltrate the openings along the top of the trailer. So, unloading it took on an air more to the tune of ripping open wet boxes to salvage photographs and family 'airlooms.' (I prefer such spelling.) To date, we have found no major damage - I am amazed.

And now, here we are. We have a modest one bedroom guesthouse (with a murphy bed in a den, hint, hint). Gracie is loving her romps throught the woods with no leash. She's pooping everywhere. There is an elk bed in the woods near the house, and she loves to roll in their ever pungent poo. We are relaxing nightly on our tree covered porch, listening to the gentle breeze and watching it tustle our prayer flags. We are smelling the ponderosa pine and watching the Ebert squirrels frolic. We are listening to the horrid squawk of the nearby jays, which the setting seems to make musical. We are thinking new thoughts and feeling new feelings, and though we have small pangs of longing for what was left behind, we are home now.

Our phone numbers will remain the same for some time... give us a ring next time you're in the 'hood.

Here's our address, though our generation seems to boycott real mail:

3165 W. Forest Hills Dr.
Flagstaff, AZ 86001

Ahem.

Buffalo.

No really - just... Buffalo.  Look at it for a bit.  It begins to take life.  It is, quite possibly, one of the strangest words.  At least graphically.

Now behold:

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

Apparently a grammatically correct sentence.  (Which that <---- was not.)

Seriously.  Check it out.

The plight of the educated...

...seems to be greatly deteriorating. I feel this way quite often these days. This comic illustrates my frustration. (It contains vulgarity.)

Random Unpredictability

Just a few things...

Tracey took me to see The Dark Knight yesterday. Now, normally, I don't really gush about movies. And let me say first off that the death of Heath Ledger really made me think that they hype was overly hype-ey. But, aside from being a tad too long (a necessity of editing, I think) it was great! And I hate jumping on band wagons... but Heath Ledger is outstanding as the Joker. I think he nailed it. I really think they were planning to keep the Joker in more movies, but alas, it was not so - this is why the movie really got too long, because they had to wrap up things they were going to use in sequels. Anyway - I recommend it.

My grandma broke her hip. That's rough. She just got out of surgery this morning. They replaced the whole g*ddamn thing with plastic, I guess. I think my mom is really worried, but she's holding fast for the family. I am getting to the point now where, more and more, I am seeing the generation above me dealing with the reality of taking over the senior leadership roles in our families and culture. That's strange on two levels. I still don't think of myself as old enough for any real responsibilities yet. And, thereby, I still see my parents as my protectors and mentors. I don't think that necessarily changes, but I guess more innocently, my parents are, to me, the same people they were in their 30's or 40's. It's odd to really reflect on the fact that, especially since I have a baby coming, I will be just about where they were at my age. And furthermore, seeing them have to go through that reflection with their parents is odd. My dad, maybe, dealt with it a bit differently. My Poppa died 10 years ago this August. And my dad seemed to accept the realities of that quite fast externally - even if internally it took a great deal longer. It must have been different with his mother, as he was only a tad older than I am now when she passed. My point there, I guess, is that I am starting to wonder if I should begin that treacherous mosey down the trail of reality too. The one where I start to realize that life's troublesome characteristic of being finite will ultimately apply to everyone - no matter how much I love them.

My house is filled with boxes. I suppose that's equal parts Small Apartment and Toll to the Moving Gods. Though, as an atheist, I shudder to imagine any god, albeit one so horrible. But, I am very excited about starting anew. I think it's irresponsible to say that... and you can't really start a new life - but I like the direction here. I am still scared about many things... but Flagstaff is a great ointment to me.

I think I have Carpal Tunnel. Most people don't really think about it... but my first grad schooling experience was really a glamorous ruse. It was 2 years of typing school disguised as and MFA. Alas, now my hands ache mightily with each stroke of the keys. Additionally, I am convinced that, equally, the experience ruined my once perfect eyes. I struggle to read street signs now that are mere feet away. Why bring it up, because I like to complain. And if I can't voice complaints unflinchingly through Hester, then what the hell good is spinning around?

Final thought for now: I am incredibly tempted... more and more... to chuck everything and go to bike school. I think maybe I have amplified the poetics of the life of a bike mechanic a bit... but it's sure hard to resist. Bikes don't talk back - or, at least, when they do, there is a beauty to it. Definitely. It's like being a surgeon without all the pretense and poo poo.

Maybe not.

Anyway.

Let's hear it for chimps,

Jed