"Dear Madoka,
I can't tell you how wonderful it was to have you around after so much time. Maybe it's the time and distance that set it up to be so precious, but it was just what I needed at this point. I love you dearly and I'm glad I've been consistent in your life and you in mine. To me, it means I can really trust you, not that there has been any real doubt about that. Any question (doubt?) of trust simply doesn't exist any more. I feel like I've been getting through a pretty dark period of my life and your visit finalized the end of it. It's a good feeling knowing you're out there and on my side.
love always, koji"
Madoka. Am I in love with Madoka?
Madoka visited this past weekend. I hadn’t seen her in over two years. Last year was the only calendar year since we’ve met that we didn’t see each other. I had started feeling that we were losing touch with each other’s lives and realities; and it’s true, we aren’t really compatible, our lives are very different. But that wouldn’t stop me from being in love with her.
If I’m not in love with her, why can’t I get her out of my mind? If I’m in love with her, why don’t I want to be with her for the rest of my life? That I love her is more than clear, but am I in love with her? I’m not sure. The love I have for her is so great that it obscures things, and my love for her is so deep that it evades the classification of being in love with her. It’s just an assumption that she’s arms-length away. Even if we did love each other independently, or if we did fall in love, nothing would ever come out of it. Neither of us would ever act on it because our lives are too different.
Madoka’s visit has changed things. For the first time in over two years, someone has entered my private space; forced me to accept someone in it. I was very anxious last week, I was apprehensive about her coming and being in my space. I think I needed her to come. Now I feel a little more open to having someone in my life, of physical intimacy – we slept in close quarters on a camping trip with Nobuko and Kate and held hands one night, and again on her last night here in my room, we were openly affectionate, holding hands, making physical contact. We could very easily have kissed.
Showing posts with label good as it gets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label good as it gets. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 31, 2001
Friday, October 06, 2000
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
I slept for 10 hours last night and went to work feeling rejuvenated. I felt for the first time that I'm really getting back to how I was like before Ritu died. I don't know how accurate that is, but I felt I was more cheery, for lack of a better word, than I've been in weeks.
Saturday, September 25, 1999
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
I had the greatest night tonight in years. I can hardly remember the last time I felt such wonderousness as I felt tonight. It was a rare reasonably warm day that melted into a rare reasonably warm night. I smelled Summer in the air, a scent that has occurred so rarely that I can’t even remember when I smelled it this Summer. Tonight was the full moon, the night that should be celebrated as the Moon Festival and being thankful for good fortunes. I felt I wanted to celebrate in my own way and find a way to be close to the moon.
I took off on my bike this evening for the Marin Headlands, doubting that I’d actually go all the way there, because whatever distance you go on a bike you have to be aware that you have to go that same distance to get home. I figured at some point I’d realize that if I went any further, the return trip would be too daunting to continue and I’d probably end up somewhere like Twin Peaks to watch the moon.
But I went, listening to the New Radicals CD that I recently got, and which turned out to be a perfect soundtrack for the ride. I headed down Church St., following the J Church tracks, did the zig-zag through the Duboce triangle area into the Haight and through the Panhandle and into Golden Gate Park. I took the 10th Ave exit and cut all the way through the Richmond District to Lake Street, turned left and then right into the Presidio on 15th Ave.
It was absolutely gorgeous, but then it started becoming glorious. There was a section in the Presidio where there were no streetlights and tall redwoods overhanging and enclosing the road. I couldn’t see the road and I only knew where to go by the clearing up ahead lit up by moonlight. Not a soul in sight and I felt like I was flying through space.
I kept going, down Lincoln to the Golden Gate Bridge, to the catwalk where I had to go through a gate that they close after 9:00 except for bicycles. I crossed the bridge, pausing briefly to watch the moon and its reflection rippling on the bay and the San Francisco night skyline. Right when I got to Vista Point at the other end of the bridge, the CD ended. It was glorious.
I watched the moon from Vista Point for a short bit, but it wasn’t very satisfying. There were too many people, too many cars, too many cameras. It was too low, too far away from the moon. There was only one place to go from there, so I headed up into the darkness of the Headlands.
There were cars going up, but not many, not enough to be disturbing or distracting and my fears that it would be too dark to see the road were quickly allayed by the moon. All the roads were as clear as day and it was soothing to watch the shadow of my wheel spokes whizzing in the moonlight. Then at the final ascent, the road was closed to cars and from there I was completely alone. I got to the top of the Headlands, well, pretty darn close and the spread was unbelievable. And it was all mine and it was only me.
It was prayer and homage to the moon. It was being on the top of the world, it was being out of the world and looking at my life and what it has been. I used to live there and there and there. That’s Sutro Tower, I now live down the hill on the other side of it. There’s the entire stretch of Golden Gate Park; I ride that entire length to the ocean. Ocean Beach and the Seacliffs, stomping grounds? My whole life in the Bay Area was spread before my eyes.
The ride home was a little hard, but rewarding. I felt like I had touched something I hadn’t touched in a long time. It is a feeling that I love so much and it feels like I’m living my life for that feeling. It’s a feeling of vastness and being part of the entire universe. It’s almost always on Summer nights that I feel that. I wonder if it’s a feeling from a past life. Maybe like in the Japanese movie, “Afterlife”, you take one memory with you from this life into the afterlife.
Not a great movie, but I can take that basic concept and run with it. You can take a memory from this lifetime, but not into the “afterlife”, but into the next lifetime. Well, kinda the same thing. In the next lifetime, you’re always striving to touch that memory, that feeling, again. Perhaps it’s not the same stimulus that would trigger the feeling. But when you feel it, it resonates and you know it’s something much bigger than all that your life is.
That would also be a part of the “life is suffering” notion of Buddhism. Because the feeling is momentary, it’s like an intense deja vu that happens and then disappears without trace. When you have the feeling, you feel like you’ve attained something, but then it melts away into something you can’t even describe, much less share with other people. That to me is true suffering.
I took off on my bike this evening for the Marin Headlands, doubting that I’d actually go all the way there, because whatever distance you go on a bike you have to be aware that you have to go that same distance to get home. I figured at some point I’d realize that if I went any further, the return trip would be too daunting to continue and I’d probably end up somewhere like Twin Peaks to watch the moon.
But I went, listening to the New Radicals CD that I recently got, and which turned out to be a perfect soundtrack for the ride. I headed down Church St., following the J Church tracks, did the zig-zag through the Duboce triangle area into the Haight and through the Panhandle and into Golden Gate Park. I took the 10th Ave exit and cut all the way through the Richmond District to Lake Street, turned left and then right into the Presidio on 15th Ave.
It was absolutely gorgeous, but then it started becoming glorious. There was a section in the Presidio where there were no streetlights and tall redwoods overhanging and enclosing the road. I couldn’t see the road and I only knew where to go by the clearing up ahead lit up by moonlight. Not a soul in sight and I felt like I was flying through space.
I kept going, down Lincoln to the Golden Gate Bridge, to the catwalk where I had to go through a gate that they close after 9:00 except for bicycles. I crossed the bridge, pausing briefly to watch the moon and its reflection rippling on the bay and the San Francisco night skyline. Right when I got to Vista Point at the other end of the bridge, the CD ended. It was glorious.
I watched the moon from Vista Point for a short bit, but it wasn’t very satisfying. There were too many people, too many cars, too many cameras. It was too low, too far away from the moon. There was only one place to go from there, so I headed up into the darkness of the Headlands.
There were cars going up, but not many, not enough to be disturbing or distracting and my fears that it would be too dark to see the road were quickly allayed by the moon. All the roads were as clear as day and it was soothing to watch the shadow of my wheel spokes whizzing in the moonlight. Then at the final ascent, the road was closed to cars and from there I was completely alone. I got to the top of the Headlands, well, pretty darn close and the spread was unbelievable. And it was all mine and it was only me.
It was prayer and homage to the moon. It was being on the top of the world, it was being out of the world and looking at my life and what it has been. I used to live there and there and there. That’s Sutro Tower, I now live down the hill on the other side of it. There’s the entire stretch of Golden Gate Park; I ride that entire length to the ocean. Ocean Beach and the Seacliffs, stomping grounds? My whole life in the Bay Area was spread before my eyes.
The ride home was a little hard, but rewarding. I felt like I had touched something I hadn’t touched in a long time. It is a feeling that I love so much and it feels like I’m living my life for that feeling. It’s a feeling of vastness and being part of the entire universe. It’s almost always on Summer nights that I feel that. I wonder if it’s a feeling from a past life. Maybe like in the Japanese movie, “Afterlife”, you take one memory with you from this life into the afterlife.
Not a great movie, but I can take that basic concept and run with it. You can take a memory from this lifetime, but not into the “afterlife”, but into the next lifetime. Well, kinda the same thing. In the next lifetime, you’re always striving to touch that memory, that feeling, again. Perhaps it’s not the same stimulus that would trigger the feeling. But when you feel it, it resonates and you know it’s something much bigger than all that your life is.
That would also be a part of the “life is suffering” notion of Buddhism. Because the feeling is momentary, it’s like an intense deja vu that happens and then disappears without trace. When you have the feeling, you feel like you’ve attained something, but then it melts away into something you can’t even describe, much less share with other people. That to me is true suffering.
Saturday, August 07, 1999
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
All told I’m pretty happy with where I am in my life. This is the start of stage II. All that has passed is stage I, and that all ended in April with ten years of journal entries written in this format. This format appears to be the most ideal, so nothing new here.
I’m not about to attempt to explain the significance of stage II. Suffice it to say that stage I was development and learning, a ten year period of personal growth; stage II I’m hoping will be more clarification and application, a continuation of personal growth, but more on a plateau than on an incline.
So first, a bit of recap.
Fiction is floundering and I need to find another project or another band. We haven’t rehearsed for two months because Josh supposedly hurt himself, but I don't think that's the whole story. He's been stonewalling any progress. Josh, as far as I’m concerned, is out of the band. No steps have been taken to get a new drummer.
I’ve wasted the entire summer pretending to look for a job. I’ve just been incredibly lazy and I’ve really gotten nothing done. I did apply for a few but didn’t get any of them. All summer I’ve been telling myself that I have to go to a temp agency, but it just never happened. I’m a big loser in the work department.
The situation with my housemates is satisfactory for most part. Rosalie and I get along really well when we spend time together. She is moody, though, and if she’s in a bad mood, the best policy is to just stay away. Otherwise, she’s totally sweet and funny. Mina has gotten increasingly annoying. All I’ll say is that her whining is overpowering, and I believe her now when she says she’s a total klutz.
As for me...
All told I’m pretty happy with where I am in life, unemployment notwithstanding. I look at myself and compare myself with people around me and I’m comfortable with who I am and where I am in life. Unemployment notwithstanding.
I think I’m doing a fairly good job trying to keep true to my nature. I think I’m doing alright as a Buddhist, not that “doing” has any meaning or significance, much less “doing alright”.
It’s so hard to convey because language immediately limits what I feel I’m experiencing. I’d like to say I’m making progress, but progress is not a goal. I’d like to say that it makes me feel good that I’m sitting everyday and my sitting is productive, but feeling good isn’t important, nor is being “productive”.
I like to think that I just do it because I do it, but even “I like to think...” is off the mark. It should be, “I just do it”. If it’s real, then that’s the reason one should do it; no thinking. I don’t think it’s the only reason I do it. There still is too much ego in my sitting.
I feel like I’m in the tail end of my life and I think that puts me one up on people around me; people who are at this age now and are dissatisfied with where they are in life because they feel that they should be at the prime of their life or at least on their way up, but are still struggling to get things started. Me, I’m at the end of my life, I have nothing to accomplish or prove. All I need is to be comfortable with who I am and where I am in life. I hope to be able to explain it better.
I’m not about to attempt to explain the significance of stage II. Suffice it to say that stage I was development and learning, a ten year period of personal growth; stage II I’m hoping will be more clarification and application, a continuation of personal growth, but more on a plateau than on an incline.
So first, a bit of recap.
Fiction is floundering and I need to find another project or another band. We haven’t rehearsed for two months because Josh supposedly hurt himself, but I don't think that's the whole story. He's been stonewalling any progress. Josh, as far as I’m concerned, is out of the band. No steps have been taken to get a new drummer.
I’ve wasted the entire summer pretending to look for a job. I’ve just been incredibly lazy and I’ve really gotten nothing done. I did apply for a few but didn’t get any of them. All summer I’ve been telling myself that I have to go to a temp agency, but it just never happened. I’m a big loser in the work department.
The situation with my housemates is satisfactory for most part. Rosalie and I get along really well when we spend time together. She is moody, though, and if she’s in a bad mood, the best policy is to just stay away. Otherwise, she’s totally sweet and funny. Mina has gotten increasingly annoying. All I’ll say is that her whining is overpowering, and I believe her now when she says she’s a total klutz.
As for me...
All told I’m pretty happy with where I am in life, unemployment notwithstanding. I look at myself and compare myself with people around me and I’m comfortable with who I am and where I am in life. Unemployment notwithstanding.
I think I’m doing a fairly good job trying to keep true to my nature. I think I’m doing alright as a Buddhist, not that “doing” has any meaning or significance, much less “doing alright”.
It’s so hard to convey because language immediately limits what I feel I’m experiencing. I’d like to say I’m making progress, but progress is not a goal. I’d like to say that it makes me feel good that I’m sitting everyday and my sitting is productive, but feeling good isn’t important, nor is being “productive”.
I like to think that I just do it because I do it, but even “I like to think...” is off the mark. It should be, “I just do it”. If it’s real, then that’s the reason one should do it; no thinking. I don’t think it’s the only reason I do it. There still is too much ego in my sitting.
I feel like I’m in the tail end of my life and I think that puts me one up on people around me; people who are at this age now and are dissatisfied with where they are in life because they feel that they should be at the prime of their life or at least on their way up, but are still struggling to get things started. Me, I’m at the end of my life, I have nothing to accomplish or prove. All I need is to be comfortable with who I am and where I am in life. I hope to be able to explain it better.
Thursday, April 15, 1999
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
I’m getting OK. I think I’m coming to a point of clarity, although I don’t discount that it may be weather-related; two days of 80 degree weather has me blissed out.
I had some break-throughs today. A band confrontation with Josh highlighted that I am different from other people and that I’m comfortable with my approach to life and conflicts. Some things have been reaffirmed such as my comfort and security in my sense of self and not having those things dependent or overly-influenced by what others think.
I recognize that there is a core of pain inside me that makes me somewhat unstable. That is, in fact, a part of me. I don’t have a desire to live a long life and I don’t mind dying. It’s possible that is a manifestation of unresolved issues, but that’s not absolute and I’m not convinced of that. I don’t feel any sense in being so attached to living when you understand the Buddhist principle that physical existence is fleeting and that it’s not all that there is. I appreciate and enjoy life as I’m living it, as it’s here, but the greatest bliss I’ve felt has never made me fear or wish to avoid death. The core of pain inside me is part of my appreciation of life.
I’ve figured out why I’m still a cutter. Cutting is the connection between me in the present and my own past. I don’t have any real reason or need to continue cutting, I do it just because I did it. It isn’t an indicator of lingering issues and problems, it isn’t even hurting me. But what I went through that led me to start and continue cutting is part of me and my identity. However, I’ve changed so much from who I was back then that it’s really important to me to not bury and lose that part of me. Cutting allows me to retain a present connection to my past.
It also serves as a notice to people around me that what they see is not all that there is. That’s actually an important point on why I still cut. It’s not good enough that I have the very noticeable scars on my arms and legs. Healed scars are a record of the past, but don’t say anything about the present and how the past has affected my present and how the present is a continuation of the past.
I was talking to Angie Chen, and we talked about our screwed up pasts and about being screwed up. I dived right into it like someone who knew what he was talking about. And I did know what I was talking about, but it wasn’t who I am now. In discussing those things, I was basically playing the part of what I used to be. And that was strange because that past is so much a part of who I am. There’s a big risk in losing touch with how I got to be who I am, cutting maintains the connection.
So the band is going through a crisis centering on Josh. He’s got some serious issues going on and he’s taking them out on us. He claims he’s unhappy and frustrated with the band’s direction, but all he does is criticize, and contributes nothing constructive. He’s convinced that we need to have a package to sell, but he roadblocks any plans to go into the studio soon. He says he doesn’t want to rush into something when we’re not ready. Who’s not ready? They’ve been together for two years, I’m ready to record. Readiness is not the issue. I’m predicting he’ll be out of the band by the end of May.
I had some break-throughs today. A band confrontation with Josh highlighted that I am different from other people and that I’m comfortable with my approach to life and conflicts. Some things have been reaffirmed such as my comfort and security in my sense of self and not having those things dependent or overly-influenced by what others think.
I recognize that there is a core of pain inside me that makes me somewhat unstable. That is, in fact, a part of me. I don’t have a desire to live a long life and I don’t mind dying. It’s possible that is a manifestation of unresolved issues, but that’s not absolute and I’m not convinced of that. I don’t feel any sense in being so attached to living when you understand the Buddhist principle that physical existence is fleeting and that it’s not all that there is. I appreciate and enjoy life as I’m living it, as it’s here, but the greatest bliss I’ve felt has never made me fear or wish to avoid death. The core of pain inside me is part of my appreciation of life.
I’ve figured out why I’m still a cutter. Cutting is the connection between me in the present and my own past. I don’t have any real reason or need to continue cutting, I do it just because I did it. It isn’t an indicator of lingering issues and problems, it isn’t even hurting me. But what I went through that led me to start and continue cutting is part of me and my identity. However, I’ve changed so much from who I was back then that it’s really important to me to not bury and lose that part of me. Cutting allows me to retain a present connection to my past.
It also serves as a notice to people around me that what they see is not all that there is. That’s actually an important point on why I still cut. It’s not good enough that I have the very noticeable scars on my arms and legs. Healed scars are a record of the past, but don’t say anything about the present and how the past has affected my present and how the present is a continuation of the past.
I was talking to Angie Chen, and we talked about our screwed up pasts and about being screwed up. I dived right into it like someone who knew what he was talking about. And I did know what I was talking about, but it wasn’t who I am now. In discussing those things, I was basically playing the part of what I used to be. And that was strange because that past is so much a part of who I am. There’s a big risk in losing touch with how I got to be who I am, cutting maintains the connection.
So the band is going through a crisis centering on Josh. He’s got some serious issues going on and he’s taking them out on us. He claims he’s unhappy and frustrated with the band’s direction, but all he does is criticize, and contributes nothing constructive. He’s convinced that we need to have a package to sell, but he roadblocks any plans to go into the studio soon. He says he doesn’t want to rush into something when we’re not ready. Who’s not ready? They’ve been together for two years, I’m ready to record. Readiness is not the issue. I’m predicting he’ll be out of the band by the end of May.
Friday, February 28, 1997
198 Shakespeare Street, S.F.
February 1997
OK, I’m starting to get back the feeling that I really don’t want to be here anymore and that I’m willing to do something about it. But typically, I’m thinking that I should hold out for another month so I can visit Madoka in Japan during Spring Break. Is that just another excuse to put it off? Probably, but it doesn’t matter, Madoka is the exception to any rules anyway.
I’ve been trying to be more positive about my life and to be less hostile to the people in the world around me. It wears thin sometimes. I get wrapped up in the nightmare of my own existence, and I just don’t want to be here. I don’t feel like I am here. Physical existence is only one level of existence and it’s frustrating as hell when it’s the only one we can recognize in our human form.
When I do focus on my undeniable physical existence, it’s pretty miserable. I have problems with my skin, of being in my skin; I hate this well-defined border of my physical existence. It does not reflect the feeling that my non-physical existence tapers off asymptotically, disappearing into infinity.
But I have skin, this flesh-bag that can be the source of pleasure or pain. Pain, which I’ve already negated as most people understand it. Pain for me is just another sensation, there is no qualitative value to place on it. It is not something to avoid or something bad. So when people ask if it hurts to cut myself - no. Of course I’ve never had smoldering slivers forced under my fingernails, so it’s not like I’ve experienced the outer limits of my pain threshold. As for pleasure, in regard to physical intimacy, I’m just not interested anymore. I can’t imagine that in my physical reality anymore.
I don’t like breathing. I don’t like air. I don’t like moving. I don’t like being. I don’t like the ground below my feet, the light and color of the world around me. I don’t like the physical world around me. I don’t like anything about my existence. Is there anything I do like?
***********************************
I was in the law library the other day and I experienced a very strange sensation. I don’t think I’d quite call it an epiphany. No, it wasn’t an epiphany. It was just a sensation.
I had this feeling that it was possible to convince myself that it is totally possible to transform the world around me and go back into my past; to use and focus imagination and it would actually transform reality. I imagined with all my might it possible to go back to my first year of college, knowing that I just switched dimensions and realities. Not being constrained by time and space. Not just a game of imagining what I would do different, but to actually make that leap. It wasn’t a hypothetical, it was completely transcendental.
Maybe I’m just crazy. Maybe this is all just pathological. When I kill myself, it will all be within the normativeness of this reality. They, whoever, will explain my death or disappearance according to only what they know, put pieces together as they logically fit. Can’t be helped.
***********************************
I need to get serious about dying again. All this putting it off is making it a joke. I just want to do it. There are no more considerations. It’s a personal given that I’m going to do it sooner or later. I don’t really feel the “bad” days too intensely, and the “good” days make me really uncomfortable. The discomfort is because they just don’t feel like they fit. They don’t feel real or concrete, I know that they are impermanent and transient.
OK, I’m starting to get back the feeling that I really don’t want to be here anymore and that I’m willing to do something about it. But typically, I’m thinking that I should hold out for another month so I can visit Madoka in Japan during Spring Break. Is that just another excuse to put it off? Probably, but it doesn’t matter, Madoka is the exception to any rules anyway.
I’ve been trying to be more positive about my life and to be less hostile to the people in the world around me. It wears thin sometimes. I get wrapped up in the nightmare of my own existence, and I just don’t want to be here. I don’t feel like I am here. Physical existence is only one level of existence and it’s frustrating as hell when it’s the only one we can recognize in our human form.
When I do focus on my undeniable physical existence, it’s pretty miserable. I have problems with my skin, of being in my skin; I hate this well-defined border of my physical existence. It does not reflect the feeling that my non-physical existence tapers off asymptotically, disappearing into infinity.
But I have skin, this flesh-bag that can be the source of pleasure or pain. Pain, which I’ve already negated as most people understand it. Pain for me is just another sensation, there is no qualitative value to place on it. It is not something to avoid or something bad. So when people ask if it hurts to cut myself - no. Of course I’ve never had smoldering slivers forced under my fingernails, so it’s not like I’ve experienced the outer limits of my pain threshold. As for pleasure, in regard to physical intimacy, I’m just not interested anymore. I can’t imagine that in my physical reality anymore.
I don’t like breathing. I don’t like air. I don’t like moving. I don’t like being. I don’t like the ground below my feet, the light and color of the world around me. I don’t like the physical world around me. I don’t like anything about my existence. Is there anything I do like?
***********************************
I was in the law library the other day and I experienced a very strange sensation. I don’t think I’d quite call it an epiphany. No, it wasn’t an epiphany. It was just a sensation.
I had this feeling that it was possible to convince myself that it is totally possible to transform the world around me and go back into my past; to use and focus imagination and it would actually transform reality. I imagined with all my might it possible to go back to my first year of college, knowing that I just switched dimensions and realities. Not being constrained by time and space. Not just a game of imagining what I would do different, but to actually make that leap. It wasn’t a hypothetical, it was completely transcendental.
Maybe I’m just crazy. Maybe this is all just pathological. When I kill myself, it will all be within the normativeness of this reality. They, whoever, will explain my death or disappearance according to only what they know, put pieces together as they logically fit. Can’t be helped.
***********************************
I need to get serious about dying again. All this putting it off is making it a joke. I just want to do it. There are no more considerations. It’s a personal given that I’m going to do it sooner or later. I don’t really feel the “bad” days too intensely, and the “good” days make me really uncomfortable. The discomfort is because they just don’t feel like they fit. They don’t feel real or concrete, I know that they are impermanent and transient.
Friday, January 31, 1997
198 Shakespeare Street, S.F.
January 1997
So I made it to 1997. Just like I didn’t want to do. So much for a symmetrical tombstone bearing the dates 1969-1996.
Do I regret not having killed myself before the year was through? Now, nothing has changed except...I don’t particularly feel like dying. I feel stuck in the misery of existence.
***********************************
I was in Taiwan for a week and a half. I went to visit Audrey and it was to my surprise and disappointment that she was not only unwilling to make time for me, but she didn’t even spend the free time she did have with me. I wouldn’t have gone there to inconvenience her brother and father, I went for her.
So it was a blow off, and I thought that was certainly the end of our acquaintance. I wasn’t going to let it show while I was there, but that would be it after I left. There was nothing more between us. But it turns out there was something between us and the reason for her avoiding me was acceptable.
Why do we meet the people we meet? Why are the people who enter our lives in our lives? In how many lifetimes have I met Audrey and in how many different relationships? How many types of relationships could we have been in to have gotten to where we are and become who we are now? What promises have we made to meet each other again and again? Maybe we’ve only met once before and have been searching for each other for god knows how long. Maybe our cycle of re-births are closer and we find each other every few lifetimes, maybe every lifetime. Attraction, gravity, extending to karma, pulling one another along with the other.
In this lifetime, we’re cousins, and for some reason, that is perfect. As cousins, we’re family, we always have that connection and can’t get away from it, but we also have distance, we can’t get too close. Maybe that dynamic is necessary because of something that happened in a previous lifetime. Maybe we need to heal something.
I thought it was Amina, she was central to this formulation. But what do I have with Amina now? Nothing. What do I want with her in any future lifetime? Nothing. Little. Nothing. Amina is nothing in the big picture.
***********************************
Amina. I came across some pictures of her that I still have. I’m glad that I didn’t throw away every picture I have of her. Every time I come across her image, I’m struck. Something hits me, something stops. Who is this in this image that I loved so dearly? That’s the effect she still has on me; that’s what she meant to me.
I stare long and hard at the image, taking in her face, her hair, her eyes; this woman, that moment. It was real, that moment existed and it was frozen in time by a camera from a single vantage point. Time stretches before that moment and after. I keep staring at the image until it starts to become surreal and unfamiliar; the way I sometimes stare into a mirror until I start becoming unfamiliar.
Certainly she has changed, certainly she is no longer the same person I loved. I don’t even know what I loved anymore. So. I love an illusion. My love is something that got frozen in time like a photograph. It is something that no longer exists, is no longer real. What I love now has nothing to do with the physical reality of Amina that exists somewhere now. What I love is something in myself which preserves the memory of her that I loved. But it is not currently real. I don’t love something that is real. I love something that is no longer real except in myself. What I love about Amina now only has to do with myself.
So I can let go of Amina now, can’t I? Even if I meet her again, it would be different, she would be a different person. I wouldn’t react in the same way as I reacted when we were at Oberlin. I could meet her now as a stranger and not have lingering memories interfere with what is before my eyes. The Amina I loved is gone from reality and only exists in my heart; whatever it and she was, I’ve internalized. She won’t last beyond this lifetime. When I die, she and everything she was before to me will be gone.
I have to teach my heart to let go of Amina. But I’m always wondering whether she will enter my life again somehow.
***********************************
Do I have promises with people to meet in subsequent lifetimes? To look for one another? If I do, do I have the right to unilaterally rescind them? If promises were made, they must have been based on something strong, something that transcends anything we might do in a single lifetime.
***********************************
I have this memory to haunt me. The 70's is an odd decade to reminisce about when they were your formative years, but maybe any decade is.
I remember the family had a brown Dodge. I remember it in Winter more vividly. I remember Winters more vividly in general, maybe because I was born in the Winter. Cold, transient, but with something to look forward to.
I remember driving out on Rte. 4, the entire family, brothers and me as children, still in need of decisions made for us, in the back seat, me in the middle being the youngest. We would be going out to dinner.
Our parents had found a restaurant with a Western motif in Garden State Plaza, before they covered it. They weren’t too much into experimenting. Once they found a place or had it recommended to them by some friend, they would patronize it. They’re still like that, and I do that now out of instinct, though I do try to resist it. I remember the name of the restaurant being, “Bonanza”. The price was right and the food was good as I recall. I don’t remember how often we went, but we went repeatedly, and when they came home or called ahead from the office and announced we were going to “Bonanza”, we knew precisely what to expect.
What did we look like to the casual observer? Family of five; young couple, three young boys. I remember there was often a line, sometimes short, sometimes long. I remember taking trays and silverware and telling our mother what we wanted, which for what must have been years was the same thing. We’d slide the trays along past desserts, soup, and whatever else, until getting to the service area, hot off the grill, and to the cashier. Parents paid; I don’t remember once paying attention to the price. Then we’d go look for seats for the five of us. What did we look like this memory?
So now, in some food joint, maybe I see a family, parents with children, maybe just parent and child. I imagine I’m watching a memory in creation. Where will they be in 20 years? Will this scene be remembered by either of them? Will that father recognize or admit what he’s done? Will he know what he has done to her, what she has gone through? What he could have prevented if he’d been more of a father or continued to be a father as she grew up? 20 years from now.
What is it like to forgive someone who doesn’t even know he or she has done something wrong, someone who has been the source of...such things that parents can be a source of?
All they have on their behalf is a memory like a dream. A memory of a family scene, of detached tenderness and cloudy kindnesses, of sacrifices parents make. A memory with which I can compare them against how they are now. Same person, the sameness manifested only by a continuity of physical matter.
From then to now, from there to here, I’ve grown older than they have and in ways, I dare say that I am older. But then I must always have been older.
When was the last time they received a gift from their children? My brothers must have bought them stuff through the years. I never did. In 1980, returning from our first trip to Taiwan, we bought them a lot of stuff. They told us that we didn’t have to buy them gifts, save the money. They always told us that. On birthdays, mother’s day, father’s day, Christmas. So I never bought them anything since.
Would it hurt now, the next time I go to New Jersey, to bring a little something, nicely wrapped for each of them?
***********************************
Normative matrixes. We are formed and informed only by our knowledge. Our knowledge is the extent and the limit to which reality exists. Our knowledge is the extent of our realities. A table isn’t hard because of the condensed matter that reality tells us it is, giving it density making it hard. A table is hard because that is the extent and end of our knowledge concerning it. It is an overriding belief and knowledge that pervades our existence from the moment we’re born. If it were possible to override that knowledge, to have a requisite doubt to question that knowledge, then a table might no longer be hard. My hand could go right through it, or it could be soft, or liquid.
It’s all Illusions. All normative matrixes, realities, are illusions except the normative matrix that recognizes and transcends the illusions. Then it wouldn’t be normative anymore. It wouldn’t be a matrix.
I can’t talk to people anymore. I can’t carry conversations anymore without getting bored. All my thoughts, the culmination of my experience and knowledge, has made my normative matrix, my reality, too different from other people. People make assumptions because of their normative way of perceiving the world. They make assumptions that I don’t make about my world, and it’s hard to talk to them because we’re not even starting with the same background experience and information.
Different normative realities. How many people can’t carry a conversation; who are anti-social? How many people are in mental hospitals because of their inability to accept and adjust to society and the normative matrix that the majority generally share?
I bought a book of suicide notes and the person commentating on the notes makes these very specific assumptions about what is the norm. It bugs me how he’ll comment on something, but how does he know what they know or don’t know or think or don’t think. The assumptions get tedious after a while. What arrogance to state that the writers of certain notes are not aware of the permanency and finality of death. What arrogance to state that death is permanent and final.
Most people live on this planet to live on this plane; to do stuff which entails living on this planet. I’m not here to live on this planet. I’m alive, but my purpose isn’t to do the things that entail “living a life”. That itself is a normative matrix. I’m not sure why I’m here. I’m just window shopping. I’m just an observer. When I’ve done what I’ve come here to do, I’ll go. If I’m still here, that means I haven’t done it yet.
I’m not living on this planet the way other people are living on it.
Oh my god. It just struck me that I’ve never held a job before because that is the way I want it to be. It has less to do with the ‘rents themselves. It probably has more to do with why I have the parents I have. The reason why I’ve never held a job may be because I do not want to occupy myself with some mundane occupation just to live from day to day.
My life is perfect the way it is. If I had a job, if I was earning my own money, I’d be completely different. I wouldn’t have this tension, this anger, this misery, this insecurity, all the things that identify this particular me that I’m attached to. If things were different, other things would identify me, but it wouldn’t be me. Maybe a different me, but that’s not me.
That’s so funny. The idea that my parents are perfect, and have been all along, is funny. It’s perfect that this realization comes as it is getting easier to tolerate them, to let go of everything that happened in the past. Last summer it happened that I felt free from their influence, no longer threatened. It just felt right to let it go and be civil towards them. I really should be grateful to them. Now I have a much better understanding why.
***********************************
So I talk to the ‘rents and there is communication, there is subject matter, there is dialogue. Whereas before I contributed nothing and made them struggle for any piece of information. Many uncomfortable silences. How do I feel about it now?
Something else in me is backlashing against this newfound familial harmony. Once the source of the problem is identified and neutralized, then there is nothing to blame the problem on. Then it becomes necessary to deal with the actual problem itself. The source is gone, the blame is gone, the problem still exists. The problem I have with existence. I still have to deal with this ocean around me. What would I be like if I wasn’t like this?
Someday I’m going to leave on my own terms. Sometimes I feel a touch of regret when I realize the ‘rents will be clueless as to why. It’s a little sad, but they have so much to learn. I think my regret partly comes from what I don’t know about them. I don’t know how hard their lives have been, I don’t know what impact my actions will have on them.
I was leafing through a book of photographs and there was a picture of a daughter at her mother’s funeral and she was in such grief. That is so out of my experience, I just don’t understand why death should evoke such a strong reaction of grief. I have so much to learn, too. Hopefully not.
I don’t know. This gets complicated. My reaction to death is pretty accepting, but what if I had married Amina and then she died. Then I can start to imagine such grief. Where would I plant her garden? So what happened between Amina and me was perfect, too?
So I made it to 1997. Just like I didn’t want to do. So much for a symmetrical tombstone bearing the dates 1969-1996.
Do I regret not having killed myself before the year was through? Now, nothing has changed except...I don’t particularly feel like dying. I feel stuck in the misery of existence.
***********************************
I was in Taiwan for a week and a half. I went to visit Audrey and it was to my surprise and disappointment that she was not only unwilling to make time for me, but she didn’t even spend the free time she did have with me. I wouldn’t have gone there to inconvenience her brother and father, I went for her.
So it was a blow off, and I thought that was certainly the end of our acquaintance. I wasn’t going to let it show while I was there, but that would be it after I left. There was nothing more between us. But it turns out there was something between us and the reason for her avoiding me was acceptable.
Why do we meet the people we meet? Why are the people who enter our lives in our lives? In how many lifetimes have I met Audrey and in how many different relationships? How many types of relationships could we have been in to have gotten to where we are and become who we are now? What promises have we made to meet each other again and again? Maybe we’ve only met once before and have been searching for each other for god knows how long. Maybe our cycle of re-births are closer and we find each other every few lifetimes, maybe every lifetime. Attraction, gravity, extending to karma, pulling one another along with the other.
In this lifetime, we’re cousins, and for some reason, that is perfect. As cousins, we’re family, we always have that connection and can’t get away from it, but we also have distance, we can’t get too close. Maybe that dynamic is necessary because of something that happened in a previous lifetime. Maybe we need to heal something.
I thought it was Amina, she was central to this formulation. But what do I have with Amina now? Nothing. What do I want with her in any future lifetime? Nothing. Little. Nothing. Amina is nothing in the big picture.
***********************************
Amina. I came across some pictures of her that I still have. I’m glad that I didn’t throw away every picture I have of her. Every time I come across her image, I’m struck. Something hits me, something stops. Who is this in this image that I loved so dearly? That’s the effect she still has on me; that’s what she meant to me.
I stare long and hard at the image, taking in her face, her hair, her eyes; this woman, that moment. It was real, that moment existed and it was frozen in time by a camera from a single vantage point. Time stretches before that moment and after. I keep staring at the image until it starts to become surreal and unfamiliar; the way I sometimes stare into a mirror until I start becoming unfamiliar.
Certainly she has changed, certainly she is no longer the same person I loved. I don’t even know what I loved anymore. So. I love an illusion. My love is something that got frozen in time like a photograph. It is something that no longer exists, is no longer real. What I love now has nothing to do with the physical reality of Amina that exists somewhere now. What I love is something in myself which preserves the memory of her that I loved. But it is not currently real. I don’t love something that is real. I love something that is no longer real except in myself. What I love about Amina now only has to do with myself.
So I can let go of Amina now, can’t I? Even if I meet her again, it would be different, she would be a different person. I wouldn’t react in the same way as I reacted when we were at Oberlin. I could meet her now as a stranger and not have lingering memories interfere with what is before my eyes. The Amina I loved is gone from reality and only exists in my heart; whatever it and she was, I’ve internalized. She won’t last beyond this lifetime. When I die, she and everything she was before to me will be gone.
I have to teach my heart to let go of Amina. But I’m always wondering whether she will enter my life again somehow.
***********************************
Do I have promises with people to meet in subsequent lifetimes? To look for one another? If I do, do I have the right to unilaterally rescind them? If promises were made, they must have been based on something strong, something that transcends anything we might do in a single lifetime.
***********************************
I have this memory to haunt me. The 70's is an odd decade to reminisce about when they were your formative years, but maybe any decade is.
I remember the family had a brown Dodge. I remember it in Winter more vividly. I remember Winters more vividly in general, maybe because I was born in the Winter. Cold, transient, but with something to look forward to.
I remember driving out on Rte. 4, the entire family, brothers and me as children, still in need of decisions made for us, in the back seat, me in the middle being the youngest. We would be going out to dinner.
Our parents had found a restaurant with a Western motif in Garden State Plaza, before they covered it. They weren’t too much into experimenting. Once they found a place or had it recommended to them by some friend, they would patronize it. They’re still like that, and I do that now out of instinct, though I do try to resist it. I remember the name of the restaurant being, “Bonanza”. The price was right and the food was good as I recall. I don’t remember how often we went, but we went repeatedly, and when they came home or called ahead from the office and announced we were going to “Bonanza”, we knew precisely what to expect.
What did we look like to the casual observer? Family of five; young couple, three young boys. I remember there was often a line, sometimes short, sometimes long. I remember taking trays and silverware and telling our mother what we wanted, which for what must have been years was the same thing. We’d slide the trays along past desserts, soup, and whatever else, until getting to the service area, hot off the grill, and to the cashier. Parents paid; I don’t remember once paying attention to the price. Then we’d go look for seats for the five of us. What did we look like this memory?
So now, in some food joint, maybe I see a family, parents with children, maybe just parent and child. I imagine I’m watching a memory in creation. Where will they be in 20 years? Will this scene be remembered by either of them? Will that father recognize or admit what he’s done? Will he know what he has done to her, what she has gone through? What he could have prevented if he’d been more of a father or continued to be a father as she grew up? 20 years from now.
What is it like to forgive someone who doesn’t even know he or she has done something wrong, someone who has been the source of...such things that parents can be a source of?
All they have on their behalf is a memory like a dream. A memory of a family scene, of detached tenderness and cloudy kindnesses, of sacrifices parents make. A memory with which I can compare them against how they are now. Same person, the sameness manifested only by a continuity of physical matter.
From then to now, from there to here, I’ve grown older than they have and in ways, I dare say that I am older. But then I must always have been older.
When was the last time they received a gift from their children? My brothers must have bought them stuff through the years. I never did. In 1980, returning from our first trip to Taiwan, we bought them a lot of stuff. They told us that we didn’t have to buy them gifts, save the money. They always told us that. On birthdays, mother’s day, father’s day, Christmas. So I never bought them anything since.
Would it hurt now, the next time I go to New Jersey, to bring a little something, nicely wrapped for each of them?
***********************************
Normative matrixes. We are formed and informed only by our knowledge. Our knowledge is the extent and the limit to which reality exists. Our knowledge is the extent of our realities. A table isn’t hard because of the condensed matter that reality tells us it is, giving it density making it hard. A table is hard because that is the extent and end of our knowledge concerning it. It is an overriding belief and knowledge that pervades our existence from the moment we’re born. If it were possible to override that knowledge, to have a requisite doubt to question that knowledge, then a table might no longer be hard. My hand could go right through it, or it could be soft, or liquid.
It’s all Illusions. All normative matrixes, realities, are illusions except the normative matrix that recognizes and transcends the illusions. Then it wouldn’t be normative anymore. It wouldn’t be a matrix.
I can’t talk to people anymore. I can’t carry conversations anymore without getting bored. All my thoughts, the culmination of my experience and knowledge, has made my normative matrix, my reality, too different from other people. People make assumptions because of their normative way of perceiving the world. They make assumptions that I don’t make about my world, and it’s hard to talk to them because we’re not even starting with the same background experience and information.
Different normative realities. How many people can’t carry a conversation; who are anti-social? How many people are in mental hospitals because of their inability to accept and adjust to society and the normative matrix that the majority generally share?
I bought a book of suicide notes and the person commentating on the notes makes these very specific assumptions about what is the norm. It bugs me how he’ll comment on something, but how does he know what they know or don’t know or think or don’t think. The assumptions get tedious after a while. What arrogance to state that the writers of certain notes are not aware of the permanency and finality of death. What arrogance to state that death is permanent and final.
Most people live on this planet to live on this plane; to do stuff which entails living on this planet. I’m not here to live on this planet. I’m alive, but my purpose isn’t to do the things that entail “living a life”. That itself is a normative matrix. I’m not sure why I’m here. I’m just window shopping. I’m just an observer. When I’ve done what I’ve come here to do, I’ll go. If I’m still here, that means I haven’t done it yet.
I’m not living on this planet the way other people are living on it.
Oh my god. It just struck me that I’ve never held a job before because that is the way I want it to be. It has less to do with the ‘rents themselves. It probably has more to do with why I have the parents I have. The reason why I’ve never held a job may be because I do not want to occupy myself with some mundane occupation just to live from day to day.
My life is perfect the way it is. If I had a job, if I was earning my own money, I’d be completely different. I wouldn’t have this tension, this anger, this misery, this insecurity, all the things that identify this particular me that I’m attached to. If things were different, other things would identify me, but it wouldn’t be me. Maybe a different me, but that’s not me.
That’s so funny. The idea that my parents are perfect, and have been all along, is funny. It’s perfect that this realization comes as it is getting easier to tolerate them, to let go of everything that happened in the past. Last summer it happened that I felt free from their influence, no longer threatened. It just felt right to let it go and be civil towards them. I really should be grateful to them. Now I have a much better understanding why.
***********************************
So I talk to the ‘rents and there is communication, there is subject matter, there is dialogue. Whereas before I contributed nothing and made them struggle for any piece of information. Many uncomfortable silences. How do I feel about it now?
Something else in me is backlashing against this newfound familial harmony. Once the source of the problem is identified and neutralized, then there is nothing to blame the problem on. Then it becomes necessary to deal with the actual problem itself. The source is gone, the blame is gone, the problem still exists. The problem I have with existence. I still have to deal with this ocean around me. What would I be like if I wasn’t like this?
Someday I’m going to leave on my own terms. Sometimes I feel a touch of regret when I realize the ‘rents will be clueless as to why. It’s a little sad, but they have so much to learn. I think my regret partly comes from what I don’t know about them. I don’t know how hard their lives have been, I don’t know what impact my actions will have on them.
I was leafing through a book of photographs and there was a picture of a daughter at her mother’s funeral and she was in such grief. That is so out of my experience, I just don’t understand why death should evoke such a strong reaction of grief. I have so much to learn, too. Hopefully not.
I don’t know. This gets complicated. My reaction to death is pretty accepting, but what if I had married Amina and then she died. Then I can start to imagine such grief. Where would I plant her garden? So what happened between Amina and me was perfect, too?
Friday, March 17, 1995
247 19th Ave., #2 San Francisco
I've come to fear Joy's reactions, so I don't communicate with her anymore. If there's something I get really excited about and want to tell her about, I'm afraid of her predictable reaction: deadpan. If something moves me, if my afternoon was simply beautiful and I want to share it with her, I'm afraid of her reaction: big smile and "that's great". No empathy; perceived feigned enthusiasm. I told her that I failed my Civ Pro midterm. I should have feared her reaction: absolute silence. Nothing. Void.
But I didn't fear that reaction, I expected it. I wanted her to feel that silence, I wanted her to notice the dynamic. I FAILED. She had no response. She didn't know what to do. I kind of enjoyed it. I think it's true - a relationship with no ripples has deeper troubles than is shown.
I stopped cutting because I didn't like the idea of her knowing what had happened since the last time she saw me. What do I care? What is she going to do about it? She's not going to react in any appreciable way. I'm going back to cutting. If she wants to discuss it, she has the right, if she doesn't, no loss to me. I stopped cutting, but there was nothing to replace it, nothing to take its place, and that made stopping really difficult.
We're going to break up. The only questions are when and how. Not soon. I don't think I can handle going through a break up at this point. So if she doesn't instigate it, I'll just wait. When the time comes, no games, I'm going to come right forward with it and tell her that this relationship has broken down.
This relationship is dysfunctional, that's not hard to admit. I go back and read what I wrote about Joy last Summer and I'm at a loss to explain those things. Our relationship is a sham, it's silly. But what I need to do is not torment her. I have to go against my common sense which tells me to distance, to let her know there are problems so that she can see a break up coming. That has never worked in the past. I'm not going to make the relationship miserable to build up to breaking up.
Today was a good day. I haven't had a good day since Amina. I'm having trouble counting those days when I met Joy and was getting close to her. Those don't seem real, those seem more like a reaction to Amina, a rebound.
When I got home from school, I decided to go for a run. I planned to take a bus down to Ocean Beach and then run back along the Sea Cliff. I went to Ocean Beach yesterday since it was sunny, but it was still chilly and windy. The winds were calmer today and it was reasonably warm, and when I got to the beach, it was just gorgeous. It was so pleasant that I walked along the beach for a while before doing the run. Today was a good day, and I wanted to share it with somebody. I didn't.
I'm back in phone contact with Shiho. She moved out of her parents' house and now has her own phone number. We've spoken several times. Any romance with Shiho would have been unrealistic. Through letters, it was possible to conjure a fantasy, but talking to her reminded me of the dynamic that kept me from falling in love completely when we were in high school. And when we fell in love in Osaka, that was probably years of history guiding our feelings, not present reality.
She has no idea who I am or what I'm about or the experiences that have shaped me. We can communicate, but I don't know how fulfilling it would be. I need someone with whom I can really connect. The big thing going for Shiho is that I would feel really, really comfortable around her, and it would be real.
But I didn't fear that reaction, I expected it. I wanted her to feel that silence, I wanted her to notice the dynamic. I FAILED. She had no response. She didn't know what to do. I kind of enjoyed it. I think it's true - a relationship with no ripples has deeper troubles than is shown.
I stopped cutting because I didn't like the idea of her knowing what had happened since the last time she saw me. What do I care? What is she going to do about it? She's not going to react in any appreciable way. I'm going back to cutting. If she wants to discuss it, she has the right, if she doesn't, no loss to me. I stopped cutting, but there was nothing to replace it, nothing to take its place, and that made stopping really difficult.
We're going to break up. The only questions are when and how. Not soon. I don't think I can handle going through a break up at this point. So if she doesn't instigate it, I'll just wait. When the time comes, no games, I'm going to come right forward with it and tell her that this relationship has broken down.
This relationship is dysfunctional, that's not hard to admit. I go back and read what I wrote about Joy last Summer and I'm at a loss to explain those things. Our relationship is a sham, it's silly. But what I need to do is not torment her. I have to go against my common sense which tells me to distance, to let her know there are problems so that she can see a break up coming. That has never worked in the past. I'm not going to make the relationship miserable to build up to breaking up.
Today was a good day. I haven't had a good day since Amina. I'm having trouble counting those days when I met Joy and was getting close to her. Those don't seem real, those seem more like a reaction to Amina, a rebound.
When I got home from school, I decided to go for a run. I planned to take a bus down to Ocean Beach and then run back along the Sea Cliff. I went to Ocean Beach yesterday since it was sunny, but it was still chilly and windy. The winds were calmer today and it was reasonably warm, and when I got to the beach, it was just gorgeous. It was so pleasant that I walked along the beach for a while before doing the run. Today was a good day, and I wanted to share it with somebody. I didn't.
I'm back in phone contact with Shiho. She moved out of her parents' house and now has her own phone number. We've spoken several times. Any romance with Shiho would have been unrealistic. Through letters, it was possible to conjure a fantasy, but talking to her reminded me of the dynamic that kept me from falling in love completely when we were in high school. And when we fell in love in Osaka, that was probably years of history guiding our feelings, not present reality.
She has no idea who I am or what I'm about or the experiences that have shaped me. We can communicate, but I don't know how fulfilling it would be. I need someone with whom I can really connect. The big thing going for Shiho is that I would feel really, really comfortable around her, and it would be real.
Tuesday, August 16, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
My last day of freedom before falling into the turmoil and surreality of law school; the constant grind of constant pressure and the annoying people. Evidence, Criminal Procedure, and Contracts.
Joy and I met in front of my school and we walked over to Yerba Buena Gardens to laze away the afternoon on a spot of grass. The breeze was warm and the grass was soft and thick. Other people were lying about, but we had a reasonable amount of privacy. It was really Joy, I amazed myself and impressed upon myself the short time in which we've known each other. And here she was, amazing me.
I am happy. I told Joy that I didn't think I could ever be fully and truly happy. So much of my life has been based on and motivated by struggle and anger that I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I were ever happy. Happiness is simply not something I desire out of life, it is not necessary, it is not something to actively pursue as a goal.
I am happy. What does it mean to be happy? What gauge am I using to make so bold a statement. It's hardly worth mentioning superficial, material things just to cynically illustrate what should not be major contributing factors to my happiness.
I'm content with who I am. I'm happy with the dynamics in my life and there's more than meets the senses about my drinking, my cutting, my low-points, my discomfort with myself, and my occasional difficulty dealing with myself and reality.
On some scale of happiness, I'm there. I'm somewhere some people will never know exists. I have a well-being and self-realization, I feel, that is beyond my immediate, surrounding situations. There are some seriously unhappy people out there who don't even know it.
I straightened things out with Joy at Yerba Buena. I tackled the cutting some more and I'm comfortable with what I told her. I don't know if she understands or can accept it, but at least she feels comfortable with and appreciates my struggle to explain it to the fullest extent.
Some things still scare me about getting close to Joy. I still have self-esteem/confidence issues. I don't see what Joy sees in me, and I still think that things could get complacent and boring for her.
There are still hurdles in my trust that I can't seem to get over. There is still residue from Amina. Trust is a lot more complicated than love. There was to some degree an automatic trust in getting to know Joy and falling in love with her. It grew to a degree that I thought impossible after Amina. Amina is now a symbol of betrayal.
I trust Joy despite Amina, but I certainly don't trust her as completely as I can. I can only work on it and try to move closer to Joy; intimate space mixing and the love being gradually exposed.
Joy and I met in front of my school and we walked over to Yerba Buena Gardens to laze away the afternoon on a spot of grass. The breeze was warm and the grass was soft and thick. Other people were lying about, but we had a reasonable amount of privacy. It was really Joy, I amazed myself and impressed upon myself the short time in which we've known each other. And here she was, amazing me.
I am happy. I told Joy that I didn't think I could ever be fully and truly happy. So much of my life has been based on and motivated by struggle and anger that I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I were ever happy. Happiness is simply not something I desire out of life, it is not necessary, it is not something to actively pursue as a goal.
I am happy. What does it mean to be happy? What gauge am I using to make so bold a statement. It's hardly worth mentioning superficial, material things just to cynically illustrate what should not be major contributing factors to my happiness.
I'm content with who I am. I'm happy with the dynamics in my life and there's more than meets the senses about my drinking, my cutting, my low-points, my discomfort with myself, and my occasional difficulty dealing with myself and reality.
On some scale of happiness, I'm there. I'm somewhere some people will never know exists. I have a well-being and self-realization, I feel, that is beyond my immediate, surrounding situations. There are some seriously unhappy people out there who don't even know it.
I straightened things out with Joy at Yerba Buena. I tackled the cutting some more and I'm comfortable with what I told her. I don't know if she understands or can accept it, but at least she feels comfortable with and appreciates my struggle to explain it to the fullest extent.
Some things still scare me about getting close to Joy. I still have self-esteem/confidence issues. I don't see what Joy sees in me, and I still think that things could get complacent and boring for her.
There are still hurdles in my trust that I can't seem to get over. There is still residue from Amina. Trust is a lot more complicated than love. There was to some degree an automatic trust in getting to know Joy and falling in love with her. It grew to a degree that I thought impossible after Amina. Amina is now a symbol of betrayal.
I trust Joy despite Amina, but I certainly don't trust her as completely as I can. I can only work on it and try to move closer to Joy; intimate space mixing and the love being gradually exposed.
Thursday, August 04, 1994
Englewood Cliffs, N.J.
It was a perfect week with Joy. I've never been good at expressing positive feelings or when I'm happy, so I won't try to describe how Joy makes me feel. Always the comfortable air. I have such clear images of her already. Her warmth, her smile, the empathy, and the communication.
We spent most of the past two weeks together. I'm glad for this New Jersey break to breathe and put it all into perspective. It was good to force a pause. I was concerned that it would get old for her, that she might get bored with over-exposure or would have to return to her responsibilities and priorities.
Not only to force a pause, but come to the East Coast. The sky and the air is so different here, not to mention the deeply embedded memories. It forced a reality check. There is my life there, but it is my past here. Being here where everything is so naturally and intensely familiar, while realizing that my reality, what Joy is a part of, is something completely different. The California sky and the California air. Not so intense, not so natural or familiar, but definitely real. It's mine, too. The 'rents have no idea about it. It's much more real than here.
Late afternoon, a sunny, hazy day, the sun still high in the western sky; the Berkeley marina, the calm waters of the Bay; the Bay Bridge stretching towards the San Francisco skyline. Rows of cars parked and people enjoying the marina. Joy and me. Sitting together on a rock, not saying much, not having to say much, sitting as close to her as I dare. I couldn't ask for anything more.
I visited Vikki in Boston and things were great. We have been developing our friendship into new grounds. More caring, more vulnerability. It's a little weird, but I like it this way a lot. It's hard to shake the form of friendship we've already carved with our teasing and tormenting, the joking which always ends up at her expense. She hitched a ride with me back down to New York since she got a call from her parents the day I was leaving, and she needed to come to New York.
Things have been satisfactory with the 'rents. I've barely spent any time with them. I haven't had to endure going out to dinner with them as I expected I'd have to. The one time we had set a time to go out, I couldn't get home in time from New York because of a fire in the 181st St. subway station. By the time I got to their house, they were all ready to scamper out to go dancing.
They pursue the usual questions and issues that bore me. My responses are always the same, but they still ask. To show they care? Whatever. Do I plan to move back East after school? I don't know (no fucking way). All you have to do is graduate and get certification. Yea, I know (right, fat chance).
I'll be glad to be going home tomorrow. It hasn't been so bad here. A little refreshing. A little disturbing at how familiar it all is; at how easy it was to adjust to being back here. It has been a nice little fantasy trip down memory lane. I can't wait to see Joy again. We're going to get together on Saturday morning for a couple of hours before I take her to the airport. She's going down to L.A. to visit her parents.
We spent most of the past two weeks together. I'm glad for this New Jersey break to breathe and put it all into perspective. It was good to force a pause. I was concerned that it would get old for her, that she might get bored with over-exposure or would have to return to her responsibilities and priorities.
Not only to force a pause, but come to the East Coast. The sky and the air is so different here, not to mention the deeply embedded memories. It forced a reality check. There is my life there, but it is my past here. Being here where everything is so naturally and intensely familiar, while realizing that my reality, what Joy is a part of, is something completely different. The California sky and the California air. Not so intense, not so natural or familiar, but definitely real. It's mine, too. The 'rents have no idea about it. It's much more real than here.
Late afternoon, a sunny, hazy day, the sun still high in the western sky; the Berkeley marina, the calm waters of the Bay; the Bay Bridge stretching towards the San Francisco skyline. Rows of cars parked and people enjoying the marina. Joy and me. Sitting together on a rock, not saying much, not having to say much, sitting as close to her as I dare. I couldn't ask for anything more.
I visited Vikki in Boston and things were great. We have been developing our friendship into new grounds. More caring, more vulnerability. It's a little weird, but I like it this way a lot. It's hard to shake the form of friendship we've already carved with our teasing and tormenting, the joking which always ends up at her expense. She hitched a ride with me back down to New York since she got a call from her parents the day I was leaving, and she needed to come to New York.
Things have been satisfactory with the 'rents. I've barely spent any time with them. I haven't had to endure going out to dinner with them as I expected I'd have to. The one time we had set a time to go out, I couldn't get home in time from New York because of a fire in the 181st St. subway station. By the time I got to their house, they were all ready to scamper out to go dancing.
They pursue the usual questions and issues that bore me. My responses are always the same, but they still ask. To show they care? Whatever. Do I plan to move back East after school? I don't know (no fucking way). All you have to do is graduate and get certification. Yea, I know (right, fat chance).
I'll be glad to be going home tomorrow. It hasn't been so bad here. A little refreshing. A little disturbing at how familiar it all is; at how easy it was to adjust to being back here. It has been a nice little fantasy trip down memory lane. I can't wait to see Joy again. We're going to get together on Saturday morning for a couple of hours before I take her to the airport. She's going down to L.A. to visit her parents.
Thursday, July 21, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
A few months ago, Tria said she felt comfortable with me and asked if I felt comfortable with her. It would have been so easy to say, "Of course I feel comfortable with you. Very comfortable." Instead I said, "Actually, I don't even feel comfortable with myself," implying that I couldn't feel comfortable with anyone else. That was about as serious as we ever got in a conversation.
"Dear Tria,
How thoroughly I've changed in the past half year. If we had met six or seven months ago, you would have met a completely different person. I feel so different now that I might as well be in a different skin compared to back then.
I might not have noticed how I've changed if I hadn't met you. From the first time we spoke, you made me feel . . . strange. It's clearer in retrospect, but I definitely recognized a strange feeling, even if I wasn't able to pinpoint and define what it was.
Being with you was different than being with anyone else I knew. It made me wonder why and what was going on with me. It struck me that I felt very comfortable with you, which meant that I must be feeling comfortable with myself to some degree, and I had stopped entertaining the possibility of that ever happening again.
I'm not sure I can explain it. Since meeting you my life has taken on a different feel. I've been kinda happy and uncharacteristically relaxed and calm. Almost to the point of amazement. I think I'm even different from a month ago, but looking at the past half year, I can trace a transformation that is almost complete.
Things aren't perfect and rosy, I still have my hard days, but I'm looking forward and I see challenges that I hadn't realized were there before. I told you about feeling comfortable about being alone. That's a facet of being comfortable with myself. I can deal with myself and I don't need to rely on someone else to locate myself within the framework of my own life."
I suggested to Tria that I wasn't comfortable with her. The irony is that without Tria, I would have completely lost my sense of humor by now. If it weren't for Tria, I would have been consumed. Being with Tria forced me to play a certain part that I wouldn't have otherwise; carefree, goofy, not serious. She skewed the bitterness that was growing and made it light. And the further irony is that without that, I wouldn't be able to be the person I am with Joy. I can let myself be happy and smile and not brood on the past.
Driving home from rehearsal last night with John. I think I am happy. I am happy. It means I can die any time. I can commit suicide and that's alright. That's it. That's all. I've told myself before that I would only commit suicide if I was happy. Despair and misery are bad states of mind in which to kill oneself. Committing suicide because you're miserable means being too attached to this world and this physical reality. Suicide while happy recognizes impermanence and that the state of being human is just a transient thing.
What if Amina and I stayed together? My life would be closed, complacent, boring. I would think I was happy just because I was with her. I wouldn't question it. I would have gone to Oberlin for her commencement. We would have had a good time, reunited, sense of togetherness and being a part of each other. We would have packed up her stuff and headed to California. We would build upon what we had built thus far, same jokes, same understanding of each other. We would stick with each other, do things together, be identified as a single unit. But Amina saw what was wrong with that picture first - I was willing to ignore it and cover it over just to be with her.
Now with Tria and Joy. Now with the way I feel about myself now. I wouldn't give any of it up to have stayed with Amina seven months ago. I didn't like who I was when I was with her. I don't like her anymore or what I remember of her. Bad taste in my mouth.
"Dear Tria,
How thoroughly I've changed in the past half year. If we had met six or seven months ago, you would have met a completely different person. I feel so different now that I might as well be in a different skin compared to back then.
I might not have noticed how I've changed if I hadn't met you. From the first time we spoke, you made me feel . . . strange. It's clearer in retrospect, but I definitely recognized a strange feeling, even if I wasn't able to pinpoint and define what it was.
Being with you was different than being with anyone else I knew. It made me wonder why and what was going on with me. It struck me that I felt very comfortable with you, which meant that I must be feeling comfortable with myself to some degree, and I had stopped entertaining the possibility of that ever happening again.
I'm not sure I can explain it. Since meeting you my life has taken on a different feel. I've been kinda happy and uncharacteristically relaxed and calm. Almost to the point of amazement. I think I'm even different from a month ago, but looking at the past half year, I can trace a transformation that is almost complete.
Things aren't perfect and rosy, I still have my hard days, but I'm looking forward and I see challenges that I hadn't realized were there before. I told you about feeling comfortable about being alone. That's a facet of being comfortable with myself. I can deal with myself and I don't need to rely on someone else to locate myself within the framework of my own life."
I suggested to Tria that I wasn't comfortable with her. The irony is that without Tria, I would have completely lost my sense of humor by now. If it weren't for Tria, I would have been consumed. Being with Tria forced me to play a certain part that I wouldn't have otherwise; carefree, goofy, not serious. She skewed the bitterness that was growing and made it light. And the further irony is that without that, I wouldn't be able to be the person I am with Joy. I can let myself be happy and smile and not brood on the past.
Driving home from rehearsal last night with John. I think I am happy. I am happy. It means I can die any time. I can commit suicide and that's alright. That's it. That's all. I've told myself before that I would only commit suicide if I was happy. Despair and misery are bad states of mind in which to kill oneself. Committing suicide because you're miserable means being too attached to this world and this physical reality. Suicide while happy recognizes impermanence and that the state of being human is just a transient thing.
What if Amina and I stayed together? My life would be closed, complacent, boring. I would think I was happy just because I was with her. I wouldn't question it. I would have gone to Oberlin for her commencement. We would have had a good time, reunited, sense of togetherness and being a part of each other. We would have packed up her stuff and headed to California. We would build upon what we had built thus far, same jokes, same understanding of each other. We would stick with each other, do things together, be identified as a single unit. But Amina saw what was wrong with that picture first - I was willing to ignore it and cover it over just to be with her.
Now with Tria and Joy. Now with the way I feel about myself now. I wouldn't give any of it up to have stayed with Amina seven months ago. I didn't like who I was when I was with her. I don't like her anymore or what I remember of her. Bad taste in my mouth.
Friday, February 11, 1994
Day thirty-one
Another day of practicing, running, cooking, and showering. My life is a total mess. I can't keep drunk enough. At the same time I feel that everything is perfect and just how it should be. One reality doesn't fade without another reality becoming more apparent.
Reality is unbearably constricting. The borders and barriers, every object in existence is plainly identifiable and separate. One day the borders and all they contain will break and dissolve and all substance will flow and fuse with all other substance like a raindrop into a brook, a brook into a stream, a stream into a river, rivers into oceans. Nothing will be defined by the borders that demarcate it.
Or is it a matter of phasing and frequencies? Realities existing at certain "frequencies", and things slightly out of phase are less real to one another. Things totally out of phase are in completely different realities.
Going insane is opting for another reality, one different from the norm. Dying is an extreme example. Dying is a trade of realities. There's nothing special about living this life here and now, it's just biological function and feeling with a variable of personality. There's nothing wrong with turning it all off and opting for something else. That we as individuals "exist" is a conceit. It's an attachment that feeds our desire to be here and gain materially.
So much goes through my head and gets interpreted in different ways. Has my self-confidence and sense of worth been shattered because of Amina? She simply phased herself out of my life by phasing me out of hers. What are these analogies of?
My life is in shambles, I'm a complete mess, and everything is perfect. I don't understand it. But I have confidence that I can do whatever I want now, even die, and that whatever force has been guiding my life thus far will know that if I choose to die, I have enough knowledge and experience to know what I want and to know what I'm doing. I know of the guidance, I know I've been in some way blessed, and if I choose to die, it is a decision under guidance.
Reality is unbearably constricting. The borders and barriers, every object in existence is plainly identifiable and separate. One day the borders and all they contain will break and dissolve and all substance will flow and fuse with all other substance like a raindrop into a brook, a brook into a stream, a stream into a river, rivers into oceans. Nothing will be defined by the borders that demarcate it.
Or is it a matter of phasing and frequencies? Realities existing at certain "frequencies", and things slightly out of phase are less real to one another. Things totally out of phase are in completely different realities.
Going insane is opting for another reality, one different from the norm. Dying is an extreme example. Dying is a trade of realities. There's nothing special about living this life here and now, it's just biological function and feeling with a variable of personality. There's nothing wrong with turning it all off and opting for something else. That we as individuals "exist" is a conceit. It's an attachment that feeds our desire to be here and gain materially.
So much goes through my head and gets interpreted in different ways. Has my self-confidence and sense of worth been shattered because of Amina? She simply phased herself out of my life by phasing me out of hers. What are these analogies of?
My life is in shambles, I'm a complete mess, and everything is perfect. I don't understand it. But I have confidence that I can do whatever I want now, even die, and that whatever force has been guiding my life thus far will know that if I choose to die, I have enough knowledge and experience to know what I want and to know what I'm doing. I know of the guidance, I know I've been in some way blessed, and if I choose to die, it is a decision under guidance.
Tuesday, March 02, 1993
Englewood Cliffs, NJ
How far am I going to take this charade? I finished my law school applications and sent them off. While writing my personal statement, I found myself actually convincing myself that I want to go to law school. One step back and, “what the hell am I doing?”. It is with utter contempt and disgust that I let this go on like this. All the hatreds resurface. I have to remember what I must remember and face how difficult this is, and think about California and that my life doesn’t start until I get there.
I haven’t written to Shiho since December. That in itself must tell her something about my doubts. I have to write to her now. I need to figure out what to tell her and what to withhold for the time being. I do have pangs of regret, of making things complicated, but I do think the facts are facts and that trying to make a relationship work would be futile.
And in the meanwhile, Amina and I just get closer and closer and the future with her looks so good. I want to say that everything is rosy and wonderful and all the gush that comes with love and lovers. But everything is rosy! Everything is great, and I’ve never looked so positively towards the future before. Except that I still don’t want to live to a ripe old age, I still don’t want to be condemned to that. Not yet.
I haven’t written to Shiho since December. That in itself must tell her something about my doubts. I have to write to her now. I need to figure out what to tell her and what to withhold for the time being. I do have pangs of regret, of making things complicated, but I do think the facts are facts and that trying to make a relationship work would be futile.
And in the meanwhile, Amina and I just get closer and closer and the future with her looks so good. I want to say that everything is rosy and wonderful and all the gush that comes with love and lovers. But everything is rosy! Everything is great, and I’ve never looked so positively towards the future before. Except that I still don’t want to live to a ripe old age, I still don’t want to be condemned to that. Not yet.
Thursday, May 21, 1992
224 College St., Oberlin
I’ve decided to stop drinking. In a moment, I had poured all the alcohol in my apartment down the drain. Alcohol had taken a symbolic position in my life, things ran in cycles and the times that I bottomed out and got smashed helped mark the cycles. I would plunge into life-threatening oblivion and wake up the next morning and find myself disappointed at still being alive.
At the same time I’d feel refreshed, I’d get on my feet and feel a sense of renewal. I could stand on my feet and it would feel so good that I was able to. I could be dead and I may still wish I had died, but I’m not, here I am, life goes on, start picking up the pieces of the previous night, day, or week. Go about my day and don’t let anyone know what had just happened. When things went too far, alcohol helped throw everything in the air so that things could resettle and restart.
But now I feel that alcohol has served its function. It helped me get through college and the type of stress college life brings, but that’s over. Now it’s life and alcohol is not going to help me function in life. I don’t need the anger it brings, not the depression, not the pain.
I was in bed and I couldn’t get to sleep, staring at the ceiling. I started thinking about every aspect of my life and everything in it. It was all so depressing. There wasn’t a single thing that didn’t frustrate me and seem futile. I realized that despite how real those stressors seemed, those feelings were being exacerbated by the alcohol that I had consumed earlier. The function alcohol served has ceased to be productive.
In a few days, my time at Oberlin will be over. It feels like it has been my whole life. Whatever happened before Oberlin is so inconsequential now. Everyone says “congratulations”, but I don’t see what’s the big deal. I didn’t have a choice in the matter, I was tracked into college, and completing the course work was inevitable. It wasn’t a huge challenge and I didn’t even find what I wanted to study until too late. Kind of a waste. But at least I got a lot out of the last year when I did study what I wanted to.
What I’ve studied hasn’t prepared me for the next step. I don’t know what I’m going to do next. I’m directionless with only a vague plan to go to Japan and find something there. I keep fading between realities. Sometimes I feel that the symbolic world really is all of reality, which is where most human beings seem to be. Sometimes I feel that I’m missing many simple things that other people are able to get, and therefore they are able to get more out of what they are doing than I do. Sometimes I realize the impermanent nature of the symbolic world and that is the basis of truth, the beginning of a journey that I want to be on. And that is the perspective I feel I’m leaning towards, that the symbolic world isn’t all of reality, but only that - symbolic of a reality that we can’t touch with our limited knowledge of life, reality and existence.
At the same time I’d feel refreshed, I’d get on my feet and feel a sense of renewal. I could stand on my feet and it would feel so good that I was able to. I could be dead and I may still wish I had died, but I’m not, here I am, life goes on, start picking up the pieces of the previous night, day, or week. Go about my day and don’t let anyone know what had just happened. When things went too far, alcohol helped throw everything in the air so that things could resettle and restart.
But now I feel that alcohol has served its function. It helped me get through college and the type of stress college life brings, but that’s over. Now it’s life and alcohol is not going to help me function in life. I don’t need the anger it brings, not the depression, not the pain.
I was in bed and I couldn’t get to sleep, staring at the ceiling. I started thinking about every aspect of my life and everything in it. It was all so depressing. There wasn’t a single thing that didn’t frustrate me and seem futile. I realized that despite how real those stressors seemed, those feelings were being exacerbated by the alcohol that I had consumed earlier. The function alcohol served has ceased to be productive.
In a few days, my time at Oberlin will be over. It feels like it has been my whole life. Whatever happened before Oberlin is so inconsequential now. Everyone says “congratulations”, but I don’t see what’s the big deal. I didn’t have a choice in the matter, I was tracked into college, and completing the course work was inevitable. It wasn’t a huge challenge and I didn’t even find what I wanted to study until too late. Kind of a waste. But at least I got a lot out of the last year when I did study what I wanted to.
What I’ve studied hasn’t prepared me for the next step. I don’t know what I’m going to do next. I’m directionless with only a vague plan to go to Japan and find something there. I keep fading between realities. Sometimes I feel that the symbolic world really is all of reality, which is where most human beings seem to be. Sometimes I feel that I’m missing many simple things that other people are able to get, and therefore they are able to get more out of what they are doing than I do. Sometimes I realize the impermanent nature of the symbolic world and that is the basis of truth, the beginning of a journey that I want to be on. And that is the perspective I feel I’m leaning towards, that the symbolic world isn’t all of reality, but only that - symbolic of a reality that we can’t touch with our limited knowledge of life, reality and existence.
Wednesday, February 12, 1992
224 College St., Oberlin
(All entries from December and January, as well as most entries from February, were lost due to a crashed disk. The events of this time period, which included breaking up with Hiromi, the return of Amina from Dublin and moving out of Third World House because of racial tensions, were dominated by a stormy relationship with Luyen which still continues. All of that has been erased. It was meant to be. Someone decided that these events and my reflections on them were not to be remembered and that decision was manifested in the disk crash. It has, in fact, been trying times. The surviving February and March entries were salvaged from a class assignment to keep a journal on spiritual happenings. Another Professor Morris seminar.)
Amina, January 1992, fresh back from Dublin.
My thoughts are a jumble and my emotions have been on a total roller-coaster. My life has been limited to just a few people. Every aspect of life manages to be elusive. I don’t understand a thing that’s been going on. My feelings are characterized by the season, this Winter that has been the harshest I’ve ever experienced. It’s cold and bleak, and this apartment I’ve moved into is drafty with windows like sieves.
Luyen, already looking troubled, the day I moved into my new place.
Last night was the first in a week that Luyen didn’t sleep over and it was peaceful waking up alone. I was dreading the thought of being alone, but the change was pleasant. I took my time getting up, left at my leisure, and since Amina had told me she had run out of coffee, I brought a package of my stock to her in Mudd. She is easy to find since she always studies on the second floor.
I found her on my way to my 11:00 class. She hadn't had coffee and was falling asleep on her books, so I offered her the cup I was bringing to class. At first she refused, which I expected, but then she changed her mind and accepted it. It made me so happy that she accepted it. I don't know why. It just made all the difference. You can take anything you want from me. The friendship we have, we give and take freely, no debts. It was trivial, just a cup of coffee, then I left and she gave me the sweetest smile. Just a smile and I walked away dripping.
I got my bass back from the shop with a new EMG pickup and the neck fixed as much as it’ll fix. I’m so happy to have it back, I love the feel and the sound of bass notes; rich, solid and big. I love plugging it in and feeling it boom - like the sound of the cosmos. So much to learn, so much to practice. How many years have I wasted? I first picked up a bass when I was thirteen, and not until almost ten years later am I starting to take it seriously. How much could I have learned in that time?
I’m not going to be discouraged. The last ten years weren’t a waste. I think I’ve internalized a lot in terms of bass aesthetics, and for the type of music I want to do I don’t need to be a virtuoso. I need to polish up what I know, develop technique and gain other basic knowledge. If I really buckle down now and practice my ass off, I could be reasonably competitive.
Amina, January 1992, fresh back from Dublin.
My thoughts are a jumble and my emotions have been on a total roller-coaster. My life has been limited to just a few people. Every aspect of life manages to be elusive. I don’t understand a thing that’s been going on. My feelings are characterized by the season, this Winter that has been the harshest I’ve ever experienced. It’s cold and bleak, and this apartment I’ve moved into is drafty with windows like sieves.
Luyen, already looking troubled, the day I moved into my new place.
Last night was the first in a week that Luyen didn’t sleep over and it was peaceful waking up alone. I was dreading the thought of being alone, but the change was pleasant. I took my time getting up, left at my leisure, and since Amina had told me she had run out of coffee, I brought a package of my stock to her in Mudd. She is easy to find since she always studies on the second floor.
I found her on my way to my 11:00 class. She hadn't had coffee and was falling asleep on her books, so I offered her the cup I was bringing to class. At first she refused, which I expected, but then she changed her mind and accepted it. It made me so happy that she accepted it. I don't know why. It just made all the difference. You can take anything you want from me. The friendship we have, we give and take freely, no debts. It was trivial, just a cup of coffee, then I left and she gave me the sweetest smile. Just a smile and I walked away dripping.
I got my bass back from the shop with a new EMG pickup and the neck fixed as much as it’ll fix. I’m so happy to have it back, I love the feel and the sound of bass notes; rich, solid and big. I love plugging it in and feeling it boom - like the sound of the cosmos. So much to learn, so much to practice. How many years have I wasted? I first picked up a bass when I was thirteen, and not until almost ten years later am I starting to take it seriously. How much could I have learned in that time?
I’m not going to be discouraged. The last ten years weren’t a waste. I think I’ve internalized a lot in terms of bass aesthetics, and for the type of music I want to do I don’t need to be a virtuoso. I need to polish up what I know, develop technique and gain other basic knowledge. If I really buckle down now and practice my ass off, I could be reasonably competitive.
Wednesday, September 04, 1991
Third World House, Oberlin
The summer was uneventful and numb, but it was swift. I’m OK now. I think something’s been wrong, but I can’t tell. It feels like a rug has been pulled from under me and I didn’t notice. I’m back at Oberlin and I kind of hate the place. I feel old and everyone else seems so young. Four years is a good length for college life and I’m stretching it to five. Five years and my life isn’t pulling together at all. I still feel dysfunctional, directionless, useless, and without potential.
On the other hand, returning to Third World House has the advantages of familiarity and company. I feel like I fit in and belong here, so that’s comfortable. I’ve been unusually social. I miss Amina, she’s added so much to my life, even in her absence. It’s like nothing can go wrong with her in my life, even if we’re slated to just be friends. Someone I noticed last semester has moved into Third World House. Her name is Hiromi and I’d like to find a way to engineer meeting her. Maybe Japanese lessons.
Shiho and I got through my doubts this summer and there isn’t any bad blood between us. I don’t think she would hold things against me. She has a good heart and there’s so much I love and admire about her. If I got mad at her, she’d be very straight forward and tell me her side of the story and I’d be disarmed at her honesty. But I can’t say that I know her, so I don’t know. It’s been such a long time. We are going to have to see each other, meet up and find out what we’ve missed. Probably too much.
On the other hand, returning to Third World House has the advantages of familiarity and company. I feel like I fit in and belong here, so that’s comfortable. I’ve been unusually social. I miss Amina, she’s added so much to my life, even in her absence. It’s like nothing can go wrong with her in my life, even if we’re slated to just be friends. Someone I noticed last semester has moved into Third World House. Her name is Hiromi and I’d like to find a way to engineer meeting her. Maybe Japanese lessons.
Shiho and I got through my doubts this summer and there isn’t any bad blood between us. I don’t think she would hold things against me. She has a good heart and there’s so much I love and admire about her. If I got mad at her, she’d be very straight forward and tell me her side of the story and I’d be disarmed at her honesty. But I can’t say that I know her, so I don’t know. It’s been such a long time. We are going to have to see each other, meet up and find out what we’ve missed. Probably too much.
Thursday, July 18, 1991
Fort Lee, NJ
Summer school began at the beginning of the month. I stay in the apartment above the ‘rent’s office and commute to the Village three times a week. There’s nothing special about the class, “Sociology of the Family”, a Women’s Studies course. It’s not difficult, not ground-breaking stuff, but it offers useful information and fresh perspectives in a non-challenging fashion.
It has so far been a well-balanced, serene type of Summer. Almost numbing. The tone of the Summer has been set by my own thoughts and feelings, which I keep to myself. When just left to thought, it gets a bit serious and somber, but also serene.
I go running frequently, and I have my stereo and my computer and it’s Summer. I have no complaints about this, it’s easy living. Occasionally I get together with Liz or Myung, who is in New Jersey for the Summer to spend some time with his newly discovered mother.
I like going into New York three days a week. I enjoy the mindless hour commute and deadpan faces staring into oblivion. I like playing the part of a consumer on a regular basis, getting my poppy seed bagel with cream cheese and coffee, cream no sugar, before every class. I love being nocturnal again.
I love the feel and the smell of Summer nights. There’s something mysterious and vast about them. It’s as if they’re stirring something in my memory. I can’t tell what. They remind me of some other place, a different time and different place, but I have no idea when or where. Something about the breezes, cool and silent. There’s something yearning and inviting in the Summer night sky. Something about Summer nights make me feel that this world is very much a part of the entire cosmos. And a certain flavor is given to the feeling when you’re missing someone far, far away.
My feelings towards Amina have warmed to a comfortable understanding. Whatever gets assumed from now will be what is already known. I’m not going to push anything. I know I love her and probably always will and I’m just glad that she is permanently in my life. What I’ve felt for her is real and always has been and now we know our relationship to each other and our limitations. It doesn’t change how I feel, but at least I know.
It was brave of her to use the words “I love you”, but then turn around and say “yes I do, but I’m committed, I’m sorry”. It seems she has always been honest and sincere and I greatly appreciate that.
I can’t say she did anything wrong. She didn’t lead me along, she didn’t deceive me. She gave me credit. She made a mistake but she could have waffled over it for fear of my reaction and that would have been worse. Instead, she stayed straight on the line and didn’t play any games. I should learn that, it might help me handle something in the future.
I’m trying to develop a new attitude towards the ‘rent’s. I need to be more tactful in getting what I want with the least losses and the least risks. The hate here is just not worth the energy. I do owe them. Regardless of the sluggish economy of emotions, they have financially sacrificed and invested. As for the return on the investment, I have no idea at this point.
It has so far been a well-balanced, serene type of Summer. Almost numbing. The tone of the Summer has been set by my own thoughts and feelings, which I keep to myself. When just left to thought, it gets a bit serious and somber, but also serene.
I go running frequently, and I have my stereo and my computer and it’s Summer. I have no complaints about this, it’s easy living. Occasionally I get together with Liz or Myung, who is in New Jersey for the Summer to spend some time with his newly discovered mother.
I like going into New York three days a week. I enjoy the mindless hour commute and deadpan faces staring into oblivion. I like playing the part of a consumer on a regular basis, getting my poppy seed bagel with cream cheese and coffee, cream no sugar, before every class. I love being nocturnal again.
I love the feel and the smell of Summer nights. There’s something mysterious and vast about them. It’s as if they’re stirring something in my memory. I can’t tell what. They remind me of some other place, a different time and different place, but I have no idea when or where. Something about the breezes, cool and silent. There’s something yearning and inviting in the Summer night sky. Something about Summer nights make me feel that this world is very much a part of the entire cosmos. And a certain flavor is given to the feeling when you’re missing someone far, far away.
My feelings towards Amina have warmed to a comfortable understanding. Whatever gets assumed from now will be what is already known. I’m not going to push anything. I know I love her and probably always will and I’m just glad that she is permanently in my life. What I’ve felt for her is real and always has been and now we know our relationship to each other and our limitations. It doesn’t change how I feel, but at least I know.
It was brave of her to use the words “I love you”, but then turn around and say “yes I do, but I’m committed, I’m sorry”. It seems she has always been honest and sincere and I greatly appreciate that.
I can’t say she did anything wrong. She didn’t lead me along, she didn’t deceive me. She gave me credit. She made a mistake but she could have waffled over it for fear of my reaction and that would have been worse. Instead, she stayed straight on the line and didn’t play any games. I should learn that, it might help me handle something in the future.
I’m trying to develop a new attitude towards the ‘rent’s. I need to be more tactful in getting what I want with the least losses and the least risks. The hate here is just not worth the energy. I do owe them. Regardless of the sluggish economy of emotions, they have financially sacrificed and invested. As for the return on the investment, I have no idea at this point.
Sunday, June 09, 1991
84 S. Park, Oberlin
Still in front of the computer working on an outline for my second paper for Modern Japan. I hate this.
Hours inside, lit by incandescent light, lit by computer screen, contemplating gender stereotypes and the post-war psychology behind them in a country currently very much in daylight.
And then I walk out the front door and awestruck by the waning crescent moon. How rare to see it, usually being asleep when it’s lit on the left side. So thin and the sky already a deep indigo and only the brightest of stars visible, yellow and looking so fake so low over the horizon. Thought of Amina far over that horizon.
Take my breath away to save that image forever.
Breath taken, image saved, what about samurai values still being expressed through mass media? Any connection with worshiping women’s feet? Hey, I’m onto something now.
Hours inside, lit by incandescent light, lit by computer screen, contemplating gender stereotypes and the post-war psychology behind them in a country currently very much in daylight.
And then I walk out the front door and awestruck by the waning crescent moon. How rare to see it, usually being asleep when it’s lit on the left side. So thin and the sky already a deep indigo and only the brightest of stars visible, yellow and looking so fake so low over the horizon. Thought of Amina far over that horizon.
Take my breath away to save that image forever.
Breath taken, image saved, what about samurai values still being expressed through mass media? Any connection with worshiping women’s feet? Hey, I’m onto something now.
Thursday, April 04, 1991
84 S. Park St., Oberlin
It was a beautiful warm Spring night, and I was walking back to my apartment when I heard wind chimes ringing in the distance. I thought how beautiful it sounded on such a night and how perfect they were. There was a slight breeze and the sound of the chimes were so delicate and they captured the slight drizzle that was falling.
There was something lonely about the sound, something reminiscent and far away. It was the sound of displacement being declared through memories and the reminders of where they belong and where they don’t belong. I tried to locate the source of the chimes and to note who put them up, but I couldn’t pinpoint where they were coming from. Then I reached the driveway of the apartment complex and looked up to my window and was surprised to see that I had left my window open and that they were my wind chimes.
There was something lonely about the sound, something reminiscent and far away. It was the sound of displacement being declared through memories and the reminders of where they belong and where they don’t belong. I tried to locate the source of the chimes and to note who put them up, but I couldn’t pinpoint where they were coming from. Then I reached the driveway of the apartment complex and looked up to my window and was surprised to see that I had left my window open and that they were my wind chimes.
Thursday, March 21, 1991
84 S. Park St., Oberlin
Buddhist truths are true for me because something in me intuits their truth, not because of what’s been taught or what’s in books - what someone else has said. Truth has to come from the inside. Otherwise they are just thoughts, ideas, facts, information. The problem with this formulation is when the outside sources, undoubtedly someone else's truth on the same topic, clashes with my own internal truths.
Samsara is the physical world, the suffering world in which we live as a result of our delusions. It’s a basic concept of Buddhism, not difficult to accept once you understand the first noble truth of Buddhism that life is suffering. And once you have the first noble truth, you get the three other noble truths: 2) suffering is caused by desire; 3) there is a way out of suffering; 4) the eightfold path is the way out of suffering. So the goal of embracing the Four Noble Truths is to escape suffering.
I recognize a conflict in my desire to die, since killing myself would supposedly just return me into samsara. And in my next life, I don’t know how much of the knowledge I’ll retain or have access to from this life. That’s the big risk. I don’t know if I’ll have the experiences that will lead me to the search that I hold so precious in this life. I’m dealing with something totally unknown to me. Without any personal revelations on the topic, maybe I should just listen to what the Buddhists say in case they’re right.
I may as well live out this life for whatever that’s worth, hoping at the very least that I might be better off than if I killed myself. The thing is that I’m not trying to be better off, which might be a faulty endeavor at best, and I’m not making getting out of samsara a goal of my life. Living my life to achieve that end doesn’t make any sense to me, that has less worth than killing myself and being true to my nature. Getting out of samsara isn’t a human desire I have, it’s just sort of a Buddhist fact that I can accept, like fish in a river. Just go where the river flows.
Previous karmic matter is added with this life’s karma and regroups and is reborn into another lifetime of suffering, another realm of samsara. Each lifetime resonates with reflections, ripples and repercussions of previous lifetimes.
I totally disagree with a white EAS professor who said there is no connection between a person in one lifetime who creates karma, and the reincarnated person in the next lifetime, born with the karma. Why would anyone care about karma if the results of their actions in their lifetime affects a future lifetime, but they themselves have nothing to do with that future lifetime?
What is so undesirable about samsara is knowing that the suffering will repeat, lifetime after lifetime, until you attain enough merit to transcend it. It’s a personal stake that makes it so undesirable. Without that personal stake, it’s OK to kill yourself because when your karmic matter regroups, it has nothing to do with the “you” that you know was suffering. And if the regrouped karmic matter doesn’t like it, it can kill itself, too.
The problem is that I’m arguing for a “self”, and “no-self” is also a lynchpin concept of Buddhism. But the “unidentified karmic matter” just doesn’t square. Maybe it all makes sense from an enlightened point of view, but it gets lost in translation when communicated to unenlighteneds.
But for people who are unenlightened, the self is necessary. Actually, I don’t think I’ll hear any argument against that, it sounds like ego-identification of the self and unenlightenment can be definitions for each other. But to argue for continuity, there are some things we just know, some things we just can do, some things we’re just not afraid of. I think that’s the result of continuity, karmic leakage from previous lifetimes. Continuity of karmic matter is a necessary part of the self. What happens to us in each lifetime is not the only result of previous lifetimes, but what we are is also affected by what we were in previous lifetimes. Each lifetime is informed by previous karmic matter and information.
So anyway, if I did kill myself or actively let myself be killed, I’d be reborn into samsara with more negative karmic matter. A simple, linear equation that probably isn’t right, but all I have to go on for now, and if I die now and am reborn, there’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to continue this path, much less continue the path with less torment and obstacles than I have now. So blah, blah, blah I should count my blessings and realize how lucky I am to have the karmic matter I have now. Now that’s good shit!!
This lifetime is a grand opportunity, I know what I know. Still, it’s so hard. I’ve been trying. I’ve been running so many options. And the option I’ve been taking is to just let my life run its own way. There are so many ways to practice, there shouldn’t be much room for discouragement.
Monastic life isn’t necessarily an answer, even monastic rites and rituals may be attachments and delusions. I have confidence that these daily frustrations of trying to find the right way to the Way will not be in vain and someday I will be able to realize what it is I must be to fall on that path.
Tomorrow Spring Break starts and I head east. I’ll be on tour with the Can Consortium (steel drum band). I’m driving to New Jersey first to take Ching Ching to New York, and then I’ll meet up with the band for our first gig in Ithaca.
Oh yeah, I sold my guitar.
Samsara is the physical world, the suffering world in which we live as a result of our delusions. It’s a basic concept of Buddhism, not difficult to accept once you understand the first noble truth of Buddhism that life is suffering. And once you have the first noble truth, you get the three other noble truths: 2) suffering is caused by desire; 3) there is a way out of suffering; 4) the eightfold path is the way out of suffering. So the goal of embracing the Four Noble Truths is to escape suffering.
I recognize a conflict in my desire to die, since killing myself would supposedly just return me into samsara. And in my next life, I don’t know how much of the knowledge I’ll retain or have access to from this life. That’s the big risk. I don’t know if I’ll have the experiences that will lead me to the search that I hold so precious in this life. I’m dealing with something totally unknown to me. Without any personal revelations on the topic, maybe I should just listen to what the Buddhists say in case they’re right.
I may as well live out this life for whatever that’s worth, hoping at the very least that I might be better off than if I killed myself. The thing is that I’m not trying to be better off, which might be a faulty endeavor at best, and I’m not making getting out of samsara a goal of my life. Living my life to achieve that end doesn’t make any sense to me, that has less worth than killing myself and being true to my nature. Getting out of samsara isn’t a human desire I have, it’s just sort of a Buddhist fact that I can accept, like fish in a river. Just go where the river flows.
Previous karmic matter is added with this life’s karma and regroups and is reborn into another lifetime of suffering, another realm of samsara. Each lifetime resonates with reflections, ripples and repercussions of previous lifetimes.
I totally disagree with a white EAS professor who said there is no connection between a person in one lifetime who creates karma, and the reincarnated person in the next lifetime, born with the karma. Why would anyone care about karma if the results of their actions in their lifetime affects a future lifetime, but they themselves have nothing to do with that future lifetime?
What is so undesirable about samsara is knowing that the suffering will repeat, lifetime after lifetime, until you attain enough merit to transcend it. It’s a personal stake that makes it so undesirable. Without that personal stake, it’s OK to kill yourself because when your karmic matter regroups, it has nothing to do with the “you” that you know was suffering. And if the regrouped karmic matter doesn’t like it, it can kill itself, too.
The problem is that I’m arguing for a “self”, and “no-self” is also a lynchpin concept of Buddhism. But the “unidentified karmic matter” just doesn’t square. Maybe it all makes sense from an enlightened point of view, but it gets lost in translation when communicated to unenlighteneds.
But for people who are unenlightened, the self is necessary. Actually, I don’t think I’ll hear any argument against that, it sounds like ego-identification of the self and unenlightenment can be definitions for each other. But to argue for continuity, there are some things we just know, some things we just can do, some things we’re just not afraid of. I think that’s the result of continuity, karmic leakage from previous lifetimes. Continuity of karmic matter is a necessary part of the self. What happens to us in each lifetime is not the only result of previous lifetimes, but what we are is also affected by what we were in previous lifetimes. Each lifetime is informed by previous karmic matter and information.
So anyway, if I did kill myself or actively let myself be killed, I’d be reborn into samsara with more negative karmic matter. A simple, linear equation that probably isn’t right, but all I have to go on for now, and if I die now and am reborn, there’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to continue this path, much less continue the path with less torment and obstacles than I have now. So blah, blah, blah I should count my blessings and realize how lucky I am to have the karmic matter I have now. Now that’s good shit!!
This lifetime is a grand opportunity, I know what I know. Still, it’s so hard. I’ve been trying. I’ve been running so many options. And the option I’ve been taking is to just let my life run its own way. There are so many ways to practice, there shouldn’t be much room for discouragement.
Monastic life isn’t necessarily an answer, even monastic rites and rituals may be attachments and delusions. I have confidence that these daily frustrations of trying to find the right way to the Way will not be in vain and someday I will be able to realize what it is I must be to fall on that path.
Tomorrow Spring Break starts and I head east. I’ll be on tour with the Can Consortium (steel drum band). I’m driving to New Jersey first to take Ching Ching to New York, and then I’ll meet up with the band for our first gig in Ithaca.
Oh yeah, I sold my guitar.
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