I Like You

This is the same place where, in the men's john, it is writ, "I love you is back." It warmed my heart to know that not only is love back, but liking is as well.

Cousin CC Gets A Sore Toe (A Story For Peter Kriss)

(Note: this is a guest post by my dad (Edmond Mosley) who passed to another place nine years ago.)

When Peter's great uncle Edmond lived in Long Beach, New York, in the early days, he loved to eat sandwiches. It didn't matter what was inside the sandwich as long as there was bread on the outside. A good excuse to get to eat a lot of sandwiches was to have a picnic.

The best place to have a picnic if you lived in Long Beach was over the bay to a little Island called “Bird Island” which was a bird preserve. Long Beach is on the Atlantic Ocean. On the west side of Long Beach there is a small bay. If you go about a half mile across the bay you get to Bird Island.

When I told my friend Seymour and his brother Martin (who loved sandwiches even more than I do if that is possible) about my plan for a picnic on Bird Island, Martin jumped with joy. Seymour, who was very philosophical because he had just finished reading all the works of the ancient philosphers including two or three of the modern ones, only snickered but agree to come. We planned to make forty Lwo sandwiches (twenty for me,.twenty for Martin and two for Seymour. We tried to be nice to Seymour and hoped that he would eat only one sandwich so that Martin and I could split the other ones.

One thing you can sure about cousin CC. If there is food around be is sure to appear. On the very day of the picnic, which was on a Saturday, CC appeared. He lived in Boston, quite a distance from Long Beach but somehow he got wind about what was going on. He asked to come with us and promised that he would not be hungry and ask for any of the sandwiches, “Well,” he said, “perhaps only three or five.” It was just like CC to skip "four"since he was not very good in arithmetic.

We liked cousin CC and did not begrudge him the food but we knew that every time he was around something strange would happen. It was to be no different this time. Anyway, we decided to keep a careful eye on him to see that we did not get into trouble.

Now to get to Bird Island we needed to rent a rowboat. When we got to a pier across from the Island, there were several rowboats for rent. We picked the largest and sturdiest looking boat. When we all got into the boat, cousin CC was the happiest. “See,” he said, “I have been with you guys for an hour and nothing bad has happened!” Martin said he would row and picked up the oars. CC said wait a minute. He told us about how when he lived in Cairo which is on the Nile river he was acclaimed as the best oarsman on the Nile and begged us to let him row. When Cousin CC pleads for something he rolls his eyes in such a way that it is difficult to refuse him. The right eye rolls clockwise and the left eye rolls counterclockwise. If you refuse him, he reverses the rolls until you give in.

We let him take the oars. If he was the best oarsman on the Nile, the others must have been a great disaster. The more CC rowed, the furthur from the Island we seemed to be. “Row harder!” we told him, which was a mistake. He rowed so hard that one oar slipped into the water. The current took it away from the boat. Cousin CC did not seem worried—in fact he began to smile. Whenever CC smiles there is more trouble.

Before we could tell Cousin CC how angry we were for his losing the oar, he told us that on the Nile he would never use two oars but he would row with one while standing in the rear of the boat. Before we could stop him, he slipped to the rear of the boat, stepping on our sandwiches, and began to paddle. His paddling was even worse than his rowing. All we did was to go around in a circle and as he changed his footing he smashed more and more our sandwiches. Not only that, but with every stroke he splashed water in the boat. Soon, our feet were soacked in water, let alone the smashed sandwiches.

Seymour began frantically to search his brain trying to recollect if there was anything that the philosophers have said that would rescue the situation. When we complained to Cousin CC about all the water he was splashing into the boat, he said not to worry. He walked to the bow of the boat and bent down. We thought he was searching for a pail. Strangely, Cousin CC had bent down , taken a small drill from his trousers and drilled a small hole in the bottom of the boat. “See,” he said, “now all the water will run out—just like in the bathtub!”

Cousin CC could not be more wrong. Tbe ocean water gushed through the hole. Our poor sandwiches were swept out to sea. Suddenly, Seymour remebered that Plato, a philosopher he admired, had sald something about the big toe having some useful purpose, or was it Darwln? Without wasting time to determine who said what, he ordered Cousin CC to take off his shoe and stick his toe into the hole. CC did as he was told, feeling proud that he was being noticed. It was a tight fit for the toe but CC squeezed it in.

The trick worked. The water stopped coming in. Martin grabbed the oar and paddled us back to the pier. Seymour, Martin and I scrambled out of the boat and called for CC. CC could not move—his big toe was firmly stuck in hole. His eyes began to do their roll. Try as we might, we could not pull the toe out. Cousin CC suggested that we burn the boat and then he could pull his toe out. This was a dumb idea, even for Cousin CC.

This time the solution came from Martin who was more practical than Seymour and myself even though Martin had built a boat in his garage that turned out to be to wide to be pulled out. He said that we should carry the boat with CC stuck in to the hospital and have a doctor operate on the boat. It was a bright idea, at least CC said it was. We turned the boat upside down and carried the boat on our shoulders. Cousin CC was dangling upside down, his big toe firmly in the hole.

We had to walk through the town to get to the hospital. No one we met acted surprised at seeing a boat being carried with a person hanging upside down because in those early days people were very polite and did not stare or laugh at uncommon sights. Things are different these days because of television. People laugh at everything now to become part of canned laughter.

When we got to the hospital Cousin CC asked for the most skilled surgeon on the staff. It was Dr. Sawbones. Dr. Sawbones took the boat with CC attached to the operating room. A series of x-rays indicated that Cousin CC's foot was stuck in a hole at the boat's bottom. Dr. Sawbones asked for two skilled assistants and for the hospital carpenter. We went to the viewing gallery. The operation took three hours and forty minutes. We could not really see what was going on but we did hear a lot of sawing and hammering. Cousin CC was given an anesthetic not because he needed one, according to Dr. Sawbuck, but because he started to criticise the way the operation was being done. Anyway, Cousin CC came out fine except for a little swelling in the toe. He said he had a great tlme at the picnic.

Note: This story is partly true. There is a cousin CC and Seymour and martin were my friends in long beach. There is also a bird island reserve which scouts were allowed to visit. The loss of sandwiches really happened when my Uncle Ted invited thirty people including myself on a fishing trip and forgot to bring the food. Cousin CC lived in cairo before coming to America at the age of eight.

CC is the guy in the middle of the women, with his thumb up. Click on picture to enlarge it.

Kim's note: Here's Seymour (http://merton.org/Research/Correspondence/y1.aspx?id=695), CC (http://www.ancientfaces.com/person/clement-saban/50155059), some mention of the Freedgood brothers (here) and Edmond (http://boards.ancestry.com/surnames.mosley/790/mb.ashx)

Crying

From Ruby's BBQ, men's rest room, Austin, TX

One of my eyes has been crying lately. Maybe it has been crying a long time and I just didn't notice. Sometimes I think this is a problem. Should I get it fixed? And then I wonder which eye should be repaired: the cryer or the tight-fisted “I'm not going to feel anything eye.” It is my right eye that cries. Normally, it is the left that is known to cry. Like most things, I have it mixed up.

It feels good to cry. I never was much good at it. My father told me to stop crying when my mother died. That wouldn't have been so bad except it was so hard to cry that I was glad I was crying—glad that I was feeling something.

But then, when he was dying, he got mad at me because I wasn't crying. He told me that this was a very somber moment and that I should be sad. But he was so beautiful in his acceptance of death that I laughed.

It is convenient to half cry because I can wipe my tears with one hand. Tears are kind of salty and cool. Maybe that's why they feel so good.

I suspect it is my body that cries. My mind looks at things very differently. It views the costs and benefits of the situation. A tree dies and I say to myself, “now the sunlight can hit the pond.” I don't feel much for the tree, until I feel this cool drip seeping down my cheek. Then I ponder, “Oh no, the grand tree is gone!”

P.S. As I read this out loud to my writing group, tears started coming from the left too. Someone handed me a box of tissues. That's a first for me.

P.P.S. Think I'll call the eye doctor, in hopes that it is my heart and not something less serious.

P.P.P.S. I have an eye appointment at 2pm. Stay tuned.

P.P.P.P.S. The eye doc said I have matted eye lashes and that I should wash them three times a day with Johnson Baby Shampoo, diluted 1:1, for a week. He was concerned that I didn't know what 1:1 meant. I told him that photographers know that. Of course, this disease has a cool name: blepharitis. He said I could read about it on the web.

A (Linguistic) Proof for the Existence of God ... or, God is Like an Apple

My wife and I were talking God at dinner and she came up with a very simple proof that it exists.

But first let's talk about an apple. An apple is the round fruit of a tree of the rose family, which typically has thin red or green skin and crisp flesh. If you find such a fruit then the apple exists.

Suppose we say that God is love and goodness. We don't deny that love and goodness exist. Therefore God exists.

I was referring to the idea of God being "just" a word. We would not call an apple "just a word," even if "apple" is a word. I bite into an apple and I taste it. It satisfies the conditions for something being real. I touch it. I can see it. I can smell it. I hear it squeak as I run my hand over it. As much as something is real it is real.

With God, it is the same. My senses all tell me that love and goodness prevail. I see evidence of them in every moment. If God is love and goodness, then it exists, just like an apple.

All things are "just" a word. What more can a thing be? The word "just" was unfair. Am I "just" a human being? I might be "just" a human being if I knock on a door and someone fears that a hungry lion is at the door. Then the word "just" is warranted. But that word doesn't make me less than a human. In fact, that may be all I can be. And "goodness and love" may be all that God can be ... and not a mean accomplishment either.

Strange Things are Happening

My friend Greg, and Moses both have spoken to God. I imagine that, if there were no God, some would still believe that they had met him. When we believe something, our mind can play lots of tricks. Some with prejudice against another actually flipped in their head who was attacking whom when shown some photos. Psychotic people imagine things, but also all of us "see things."

Likewise, miracles will occur from time to time. Unexplainable activities, such as a flipped coin landing on its head, appear to defy the scientific "laws." This is the nature of probabilities. Every once in while "strange things are happening" (to quote Red Buttons).



Some use "God" as the word describing such events as creation, goodness, and love. When "God" is more than a word I imagine that "it" is either physical and not. If physical, then one could theoretically find "it" if they combed through the universe(s). If not physical, then one could not find "it," but they could feel its presence and see its work.

One interesting question is whether "it" plays dice with the universe. I suppose those that believe that "it" does use the existence of miracles as their proof. And those that think "it" just set up life believe that miracles simple indicate our lack of knowledge, information or imagination.

It seems to me that the non-believers, like Bertrand Russel or Dawkins, use rationality to disprove "it." I find many contradictions in this approach. For one, much of our lives are immersed in the unexplainable, from love to life itself. And we don't do much with rationality if we believe that our unconscious makes decisions milliseconds before our (rational) consciousness believes that it does. Anyone who has made art knows that rationality is our enemy, not our friend. One teacher used the negative term, "pre-meditated" to criticize some of the art that "didn't make it."

When I asked a colleague if she would still believe in God if I proved that "it" didn't exist, she said, of course, "I've experienced it." I imagine that in a world without "it" we'd still have that experience.

So where does that leave us? I know we use the word "God" to mean many different things. "Is there a God?" is an ambiguous question. "Is there a God that plays dice with the universe, circumventing the laws of nature?" Maybe that's a better question. Or, "is there a god that created the universe with some degree of thought or consciousness?" Or, "is there a place "Heaven" (like Australia) where creature "God" resides and judges us by our deeds?

My suspicion is that "God" is, for some, a very pivotal, and perhaps useful, word.

50th High School Reunion Memory Book Page

I spent my life in school, much of the time believing that it wasn't the real world. I taught art in colleges for about 35 years and then became dean of liberal arts for three and a half years, my first real job. I thought being a dean would be a good opportunity to grow up and that maybe I could accomplish that in a year or so. Little did I know that it would only take a couple of days … and it would let me see the real world.

Retirement in 2007 was an interesting challenge. I had imagined that I would wake up one day and wonder, "what will I do today?" That hasn't happened yet, and it has been six years. Instead, I set a goal for myself: to prepare for another career as a teacher. But this time I wanted to know the truth. I decided to investigate Buddhism or Judaism—so I did both. I found two terrific teachers. I didn't like Judaism because it just seemed about the past, so I went with Buddhism, which I've been involved with for about six years. And I've become much more interested in early writing rather than contemporary teachings. Oh, and I also thoroughly enjoy a Torah study group which is taught by a number of rabbis, all of whom like to linger over the meaning of a word or phrase. That’s probably one of my favorite pastimes. And I've become totally uninterested in the truth, realizing that emptying my teacup is a far better way to embracing new ideas.

As a teacher and then college administrator I was aware of the power of students. Their only constraint is often that they don't know what they can do. Now I'm having fun as a student, especially with my interest and ability to change organizations. The one colleague who always butted heads with me complained that, "The trouble with Kim is that he has these ideas and then he does them." That sums up much of my life (and as I read about my classmates, most of our lives).

When I was young I had a speech problem when has led me up interesting mountains. I noticed in the yearbook that I never was in any "clubs." Once in grade school everyone in music class had to sing in front of the class, everyone, that is, but Kim. I was both relieved and insulted. In high school a bunch of guys came into Gordon's to get something to eat. One of them noticed I was sitting there and said they should invite me over. Another said, "Oh Kim, he has nothing to say." Then my senior English teacher told me I wouldn't pass Freshman English in college. Once I told Mom that I was doing something new, and she said, “Oh, you probably aren't any good at that either.” Even in a drawing class in college, my teacher (who loved what I did) said to the class, “Anyone can learn to draw. Then he looked over at me, and said, “Anyone, that is, but Mosley.” (That turned out to be blessing.)

But I had a very nurturing grandfather and some good friends. And the biggest hope came from a story my father told me about Demosthenes, an Ancient Greek who stuttered and was inarticulate. He put pebbles into his mouth and gave speeches over the roar of the ocean. Continuing with this practice daily he became a great orator. Though I loved pebbles I never gave a speech to the roar of the waves (except once when I was drunk), but I did find myself in situations where I need to talk in front of a crowd, starting with freshman English that was combined with a speech class. That morphed into almost finishing a degree in English, which was cut short by a French requirement (more on that to come). I finally earned a BFA. In my second teaching job I I realized that I had no idea how to sit with a room of peers and talk. I started joining all the committees I could and soon started leading them.

I think our greatest accomplishment is our ability to attend to this present moment in a wholehearted way. That might be the summation of this journey I've been on for 67 years. Marcus Aurelius said that we should leave each day as if we’ll be judged on that for eternity. That idea stuck in my head 50 years ago; I knew that there was something valuable there that I couldn’t understand yet. We each build all kinds of things in our lives: families, places, and relationships, but the real accomplishment is how manage the next moment. Between my Zen practice and my wife’s practice of Japanese tea ceremony, I’ve come to realize that nothing is more important than how we touch something or someone. That is why I now begin all emails with the word “Dear.” It reminds me how special we all are, and that I’m now going to show that I care for this person.

All that I have is my ability to contend with the challenge of this moment. And this moment moves into the next, and as I pass that moment, I face a new challenge. Today I was stressed because I had done something that one person didn't approve ... others did. It was a no-win situation. As I sat in meditation, I became aware that it was my body was sitting and breathing gently. The stress that my mind had created moved on as my breath went in and out. Then I could write this. I am thankful for the opportunity to struggle, to love, and to learn. What a privilege it is to be human, and how lucky to reconnect with so many of you.

Playing Possum

Wipe it On, Wipe it Off

Breathing the Four Seasons

Being born is kind of simple. I've read about schoolgirls going out to the woods during recess and delivering their baby before the bell rings.

I was surprised to hear Buddhists believe that birth is one of the four causes of suffering, along with sickness, old age and death. Why?

The world where the fetus grows is very different from its next environment. Are we then done with birth? Not at all—our life and our birthing has just begun.  We contend (over and over again) with not getting what we want, and getting what we don't want. This goes on and on until we grow old and die.

In the meantime, we experience sickness and old age. As we recover from one mode of suffering we start a new one. So why is it so special to be human?

As I sat tonight I went from spring to summer to autumn to winter in each breath. I'd watch my breath arrive and it was spring. Soon what was so pleasurable became bothersome, so I would breathe out feeling pleasure. Yet the grasping for another breath soon followed that relief, and the cycle continued … on and on.

We welcome each new breath as it is born and grieve it when it leaves us a moment later. The cycle continues. And this cycle replicates itself in every mode of life.

Relationships start and stop. What was once glorious is replaced by excruciating pain. My grandfather, after losing his last dog, said he couldn't endure the pain of losing another one. He had lost his wife (the love of his life) when he was in his twenties. “No more loss for me,” he said.

So why is it so special to be human? Because we can watch as we bounce back with each exhale and enjoy the next fresh breath that bathes our lungs, our blood, and our psyche. It is our ability to watch that separates us from other life forms. 

Grief

Favorite Child (More) and Art Saved by Prayer

Here are a couple more messages from Jesus today.

In ancient times, God would appear by placing a cloud over a tent. In Austin, he produces a little clump of snow.

Who Is My Favorite Child?

Where Am I?

Here's a workshop I took with Kokyo Henkel last weekend on mirror awareness in case you didn't know this was about a Zen teaching:

http://austinzencenter.org/teachings/audio/mp3s/kh042013p1.mp3
http://austinzencenter.org/teachings/audio/mp3s/kh042013p2.mp3

Or, if you don't want to spend three hours, then read this:

Song of the Jewel Mirror Awareness

The Dharma of thusness
Is intimately conveyed by Buddha Ancestors.
Now you have it, Keep it well.
Filling a silver bowl with snow,
Hiding a heron in the moonlight.
They are similar though not the same.
Side by side you can see the differences.
The meaning is not in the words,
Yet one pivotal instant can reveal it.
Move and you are trapped;
Miss and you fall into confusion and doubt.
Turning away and touching are both wrong,
For it is like a massive fire.
To depict it with complex words
Is to defile it.
In the darkest night,
It is perfectly clear.
In the brilliance of dawn,
It remains hidden.
It acts as a guide for beings.
Its use removes all suffering.
Although it is not created,
It is not beyond words.
It is like facing a jewel mirror;
Form and image behold each other.
You are not it; Yet it is you.
Like a newborn child,
It is endowed with five aspects.
No coming, no going,
no arising no abiding.
“Baba wawa” is there anything said or not?
In truth, this has no meaning,
For the words are not yet clear.
Like the six lines of the double split hexagram,
The relative and absolute integrate.
Piled up, they make three;
The complete transformation makes five.
It is like the taste of the five-flavored herb,
Like the diamond thunderbolt.
Wondrously embraced within the absolute,
drumming and singing go together.
Penetrating the source and traveling the way;
You cover the territory and embrace the road.
Complications are auspicious;
Do not resist them.
What is natural and inconceivable,
Belongs neither to delusion nor enlightenment.
Causes and conditions at this moment
Shine completely in the silence.
So fine, it enters nowhere,
So vast it exceeds all bounds.
A hairsbreadth deviation
And you are out of harmony.
Through the teachings of sudden and gradual,
Different methods have arisen.
Even though you master such teachings,
The truth keeps on escaping.
Sitting still, yet inwardly moving,
Like a tethered colt, a trapped rat.
The Ancestors pitied them,
And offered them the teachings.
According to their delusions,
they called black as white.
When delusions disappear,
The natural mind reveals itself.
If you want to follow the ancient path,
Please observe the Ancients of former times.
Some try to attain the Buddha Way
By gazing at a tree for ten eons
They are like a tiger with tattered ears
Or a hobbled horse.
With low aspirations,
You will see jewel pedestals, fine clothing.
And with a sense of wonder,
You will see black badgers and white bulls.
Yi, with his archer's skill,
Could hit the mark from a hundred paces.
But when arrow points meet head on,
How could it be a matter of skill?
When the wooden man begins to sing,
The stone woman gets up to dance.
This does not come by knowing,
Nor does it involve ideas.
Ministers serve their lords
Children obey their guardians.
Not obeying is not filial,
Failure to serve is of no help.
Practice invisibly, work intimately,
Be the fool with no voice.
For realizing true continuation
Is called ∞ the host within ∞ the host.

The Oracle of Delphi and Delusions

To Slowly, or Too Slowly?

You Can Never Move Too Slowly

Stepping on Jesus and Growing Taller

See NYTimes article: http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/04/15/stepping-on-jesus/
Dogen, thousands of years ago ... not quite. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dōgen

Overfilling the Cup

http://www.prairiewindzen.org/emptying_your_cup.html tells a story which I tried to tell, but since it was confusing I'm not sure if I was successful.;)

Going to San Antonio and the Myth of Sisyphus

First attempt at making a you-tube, after a full day traveling with mostly sweet women (Mark came too and he was the exception."

Privacy, Secrecy, and Transparency

Two strangers look at my artworks at the AMOA (click to enlarge)

When I hear everyone agreeing about something, I like to take the other side. Many of my neighbors are bemoaning the fact that Google is coming to Austin to connect the city (only the second in the country) with high speed fiber for Internet and TV. They fear a breach of their privacy.

I've been thinking about secrecy, which is what privacy may be about. We protect our secrets mightily. And yet, in the end, we all have the same secrets.

Here are mine (I told my wife that I was going to tell my secrets on my blog and that she could look at it. She said, "I just have a few minutes to finish what I'm doing before Charlie wakes up." I guess she knows.):

1. I've been greedy.
2. I cheated.
3. I robbed.
4. I hurt people.
5. I hurt animals.
6. I hurt plants.
7. I polluted.
8. I wished harm to others.

I could go on and on. Don't we all have these secrets? I heard of a therapist whose first question was, "what's your biggest secret." What a relief it must be to get that off one's chest. Yet, we all know everyone's secrets. They are on the list. And if you deny any of the above, you are to be congratulated (or you are "in denial").

Marcus Aurelius, the Roman Emperor who lived 2000 years ago, said that we should live each day as if it will be the one by which we are judged. I'm supposed to be writing what I've been doing for fifty years for my upcoming high school reunion. I thought yesterday that what I did yesterday was enough to write about. It was my greatest accomplishment. I'd like to say I did something grandiose. But, unfortunately, I don't think I did. I just did some little things that were possible because of the stuff I've done over the years. So insignificant were those actions that today all I remember is that they felt good. The details escape me.

I'm imagining a world that we may in fact live in, where there is nothing but transparency. My psychoanalyst sister would probably say that we need boundaries. Yet the reality is that we are moving toward a world without boundaries. I can see where you live, how much you earn (if you are a professor at a public institution), how much your house is worth, and much more. Suppose we live our lives as if everything we do is broadcast? Would we live a better life?

Sometimes when I taught I'd have an interpretor for a deaf student in my class. I found that I had to watch my diversions because the interpretor would get worn out. I tried to keep my explanations short. The interpretor acted as mirror/recorder to my actions. A video camera recording my reality would do the same (aka reality TV).

I asked my palates teacher today if she'd rather have a magazine with advertisements showing the products that she's interested in ... or an assortment of ads as they do now. She didn't answer, knowing better than to answer any of my questions. Instead we had a great session. 

So here's a plea for complete transparency, which, if we don't have now, we'll have tomorrow. Object if you want. I'm not sure it will make any difference. As they used to say in Chicago, "you can't fight city hall."