Hallelujah desu!

I’m sitting in my little condo in Kichijoji Japan, having just eaten a “duck in orange sauce” sandwich from Subway following a 90 minute shiatsu treatment at a local clinic. This following several hours of work, so I deserve this little bit of luxury me thinks.

Traveling, even traveling for work, opens my mind and my senses. Although this is my 4^th visit to Kichijoji Japan, a young, hip, Tokyo area prefecture, every moment when I’m out and about or working with clients, is fresh, alive, and often times challenging.

I’m no linguist, but I am trying to make the most of my tiny Japanese vocabulary. Following my massage, I tried to tell my masseur that I too am a massage therapist. “Watashi wa massage therapist desu”, which is supposed to mean “I am a massage therapist.” I figured the word massage would do the trick. My masseur looked at me like I had just spoken Martian. I tried pointing to myself, then making a massage motion with my hands, but realized the guy might think I’m a pervert who wants to massage him! So I gave up. Turns out if I had said “Watashi wa massageee therapisto des” I would have nailed it. Oh well, next time.

One thing I’m noticing is that I’m starting to find my bearings here. My sense of direction is usually nonsensical. Knowing that I look for markers – street signs, stores, and most helpfully, Kichijoji eki (station) and Kichijoji koen (park  – yeah I’m showing off, you bet ya!) so that now I’m able to verge off my well worn route to my condo and still find my way back home. Hallelujah desu!

Sometimes I have to pinch myself. Here’s me, this 62 year old guy from Bathurst Manor, a Jewish suburb of Toronto, living in Hawaii, traveling to Japan, and counseling clients, 90% whom are young women, who actually pay to hear what I have to say. And apparently it’s helping some of them, which I gotta tell you, is one huge high!

Still, I’m under no illusions. This is just a very temporary role I’m playing. Nothing in this world lasts. It can all change in a millisecond. Shakespeare said that life’s a stage and we are merely players on it. Well, for once in my life, this is one stage I’m happy to be on.

GRRRR!

I’m frustrated. Today I drove into town with 4 massages on my schedule and by the time I arrived at the clinic 3 had canceled. It’s the little things that get to me. Canceled massages, drivers who don’t signal (in Hawaii that’s pretty much a given), snooty sales people and oh gosh, I could go on but I’d just be feeding my frustration more.

Back to the canceled massages. It happens, albeit not often. So I took some deep breaths, gave my frustrations up to the gods and went shopping.

Huh? Yes, I know what you’re thinking. “You’re a typical heterosexual guy. What the heck are doing going shopping when you’re frustrated?  Guys like you don’t do that! You go for a workout or….something.”

True. For me shopping is a chore, not recreation. I go to the store, grab that pack of socks and briefs and get the hell out. But don’t worry jocks. I’m not abandoning the clan. What I bought, you see, were boy toys…an IPhone, Kindle, and a backpack to hold my laptop in when I leave for Japan next week. Nor did I linger. So sir not me! I got in, made my choices and skedaddled. Which is why I now have the time to vent before doing my one frickin’ massage of the day.

A close friend of mine has cancer. This is the second time around for her, and one would think she would feel scared, angry or defeated. She certainly has been scared along various stages of this journey. But the one thing that has struck me when we speak is how much gratitude she feels for her family and friends, and for the extraordinary love that embraces her during her daily meditations. I think it can be summed up in one thought she recently shared with me: “I’m happier now than I’ve ever been in my life!”

I know that’s counterintuitive. Yet I’ve witnessed similar feelings in others who have had to deal with cancer. Why is that? The best I can come up with is that cancer often gives people time to contemplate their lives. For some it means making amends, or completing their bucket list or who knows what.

For my friend, who has devoted herself to her spiritual practice for so many years, her cancer has apparently invoked the Divine. When faced with the possibility of death, perhaps we let go of our defenses, which then gives the Divine, Love, God or whatever you want to call It, the opening to enter and change us in ways we couldn’t have imagined.

I’m going to try to remember that as I shut down my computer and do that one massage. I’m going to attempt to give my client the best massage she’s ever had. After all, it’s not like I’m tired or anything, not like I would have been had the other clients not canceled and… breathe, Samo, breathe.

Much aloha to you.

That’s Life!

When I was at the gym a little while ago I noticed plaster peeling on the wall. That started me thinking about life’s imperfections, which led to me thinking about my protruding stomach and what I am doing to shrink it. Not a whole lot as it turns out. Sure I exercise, and no doubt my recent return to working as a massage therapist is helping to keep the pounds at bay. But I am addicted to carbs: Bread, pasta, rice, potatoes. Especially bread.

A couple of months ago I announced to my wife that from here in I would be cutting out carbs almost entirely and hoped she would join me in this holy pursuit, to which she agreed. I then proceeded to follow up on my good intentions with a trip to the farmers market each Wednesday to pick up a loaf of crusty olive bread baked by a local company. There’s nothing like it on a cool night. Toast it, slab on Irish butter and see if it doesn’t put a smile on your face, and a little weight around your middle.

Life is full of imperfections, some huge like our imperfect system of governance (don’t get me started!) and others small like peeling plaster, halitosis, clutter, Honolulu traffic, kidney-rattling potholes and airline customer service which, we all know, is a paradox.

There’s a word often used by mystics called “surrender.” Loosely explained it means to accept what is.  Eckart Tolle, who wrote The Power of Now, has said that if you’re faced with a situation you don’t like, you have just two choices. Change it, or if you can’t change it, accept it. Anything else is insanity.

I sometimes offer Tolle’s advice to my spiritual counseling clients at Sedona, usually when they are in a job or relationship they don’t like. But just because I subscribe to its message, doesn’t mean I’ve by any means mastered it. Not even close I’m afraid.

For example, right now I’m sitting in Starbucks. It’s a day after I began this blog, and I’ve just finished off a banana chocolate chip coffee cake to go along with my cuppa. I was going to exercise but it’s late and I had a choice: Exercise or finish this blog. I chose the blog. Just like I chose to scarf down the cake while trying to ignore its caloric side effects. By the way it was delicious.

And all this, mind you, after just listening to an interview on NPR with the comedy legend Sid Caesar talking about how he has cut out all sugar, fat and salt, and exercises daily (he’s 89 years old!) He then allows himself one corned beef sandwich every month or two and a slice of apple pie. I suppose, depending on your point of view, he’s either a mensch (mature/responsible) or a meshugana (crazy).  Well, he may sometimes have played a meshugana on TV but the guy’s definitely a mensch.

Okay, that does it. That piece of banana chocolate chip coffee cake I just ate is the last piece of cake I’m eating. Ever. Except for special occasions like birthdays. It’s not nice to insult the birthday celebrant by refusing a piece of their cake. And tomorrow I’m exercising no matter what. Then I’ll exercise every day for the rest of my life, except if I’m really, really sick, like in the hospital or something.

You just watch me. But not too closely please.

When it rains it pours

Boy, has my life changed! If you’ve been a regular follower of my blogs (thanks you two!) you’ll know that I’ve been complaining about not having enough to do or, more to the point, about not bringing home the fake vegetable protein bacon; not since I was laid off almost three years ago. It’s tough on the male ego to watch your wife heading off to the office in the morning while you’re left to empty out the dishwasher.

What’s changed? I’m now a member of the “run from the next job to the next to the next in order to make ends meet” club, which is so typical of life in Hawaii. Here are what my weeks look like now:

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons I perform massage at a medical clinic. Thursdays I continue my long–time gig as a psychic at Sedona Hawaii. Friday mornings I’m back at the medical clinic, and then I’m off to my usual Friday evening psychic work again. Saturday and Sundays I work the sales floor, again at Sedona. And all that doesn’t include my freelance writing work. Yep, NOW they’re calling me!

I’m not complaining. True, all this adds up to about one-third of what I used to make working for advertising agencies, but for now that’s okay. According to Chinese Astrology the upcoming year of the Dragon is going to be a banner year for those of us born in the year of the Ox, and I’m counting on it! Not so, apparently, for Dragons. I find that confusing. You’d think Dragons would be kicking up their heals during their year. But apparently, rather than a banner year, it could be a bummer.

Still, there is hope for all ye born breathing fire. Roosters. Turns out the Rooster is the Dragon’s best friend next year. So keep one close to you. It doesn’t have to be a real rooster. But hey, if you’ve got one all the better. My wife’s a Dragon. Believe me, they actually do breathe fire when they’re pissed. So I’m thinking, ahh, is it really going to be a banner year for me if it’s a bummer year for her? I don’t think so.

However, it just so happens that a real live rooster has made its home on our townhouse grounds, no doubt on account of the feral chickens. Our friend Maya, also a Dragon, (you can read her blogs here) has been complaining about its constant crowing, just outside her window. Now, she of Chinese ancestry, is happy to have it around.

I just hope she’ll be willing to share.

PS. In my previous blog “Honking for APEC” I said I’d address a question one reader asked regarding how I feel about an organization which many believe exploits the poor and robs developing countries of their resources. I’ve no doubt there’s some truth to the argument. But I also know that APEC does good work too. For more information check out their website here. Then you can form your own opinion. Aloha and happy holidays!

Honking for APEC

Last week I returned home from Toronto, the city I grew up in. Now that my mother is 91, I feel I should visit there as often as I can, for obvious reasons.

Knowing of my apparent ability to predict the demise of those who are “on their way out” the very first thing my mother asked me when I walked through her door was…
“Well, am I dying yet?”
“No mom, you’re still going to be around for awhile.”
“Oy, I thought as much.”

Toronto is a large, cosmopolitan city. In weak moments, when the sun is out and it’s a comfortable 60 degrees I fantasize about returning. In addition to my family being there, the food, theater, sports and relatively healthy economy, do hold a strong allure for me. But the winters are interminable, and my blood has thinned since living in Hawaii these past 21 years, and even if I could persuade my wife to leave the only place she has lived, come that first blinding snowstorm, sub-zero temperature and 4pm sunset, I might want to slit my wrists.

Toronto’s also gotten a little harder with age, or maybe it’s always been that way and I hadn’t noticed. One evening my brother, sister-in-law and I were driving to the theater. A taxi driver was attempting to make a left turn from a right hand lane and was waiting for the light to change to do it. Behind him, a woman in an SUV placed her hand on the horn and kept it there the entire time – at least a minute, and I’m thinking “Lady – this guy’s a taxi driver. Your @#$%^&%#@% horn’s not going to intimidate him so shut the @#$%^&%#@% up! I’m there just a few days and I’m already cussing like a local! Mind you this is Canada, so I didn’t actually roll down my window and scream.

In contrast, the only time we honk in Hawaii is when sign waving politicians are standing by the side of the road prior to elections and we honk to offer our support, or if the driver ahead of us seems to have fallen asleep as the light turns green. But even then we’ll wait, hoping they’ll wake up. And if we do honk, it’s of the apologetic variety, a squeaky barely audible fart, as apposed to a real ripper. Love, peace, aloha and all that.

Speaking of aloha, today I begin my first shift as an APEC volunteer. APEC stands for Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation. Leaders from twenty-one economies are meeting in Honolulu this week for non-binding discussions. (Note the word “economies” and not “countries”. Two attendees, Hong Kong and Taiwan aren’t officially recognized as countries for reasons I’m sure you can discern.) I’ll be hanging out with the international press. My job is to give them directions to meetings, bathrooms etc., check that they have the proper credentials and generally show them heaps of aloha.

I do a little writing for Hawaii Public Radio’s show “The Conversation.” When they learned that I’d be volunteering they wanted to interview me on the show, which they did yesterday morning. A star definitely wasn’t born, but if you want to hear the interview you can at The Conversation.

A couple of days ago a friend of mine asked me if I support APEC. He doesn’t. It’s a valid question considering my left of center political leanings and one that I’ll try to address in my next blog.

In the meantime, if you see us wearing our loud APEC volunteer aloha shirts (blue with square patches of flowers) and a large badge around our necks, feel free to honk. Very gently, of course.

Blow in her face and she’ll follow you anywhere

When I’m not lying under the covers, curled up in the fetal position with a pillow over my head, I find that the world can be a pretty funny place.

For example, today I learned that when announcing Ron Paul’s victory in the Texas straw pole, Fox News replaced raucous background cheering at the announcement event with boos, in a not so subtle attempt to brand the winner a loser. I found that hilarious. Of course, that could be because I don’t give a hoot who wins the Republican Primary. I’ll be voting for the socialist with the big ears and permanent tan.

A couple of days ago an advertising agency friend of mine sent me examples of old newspaper ads, many from the first half of the 20th Century. These are real ads, not fakes. My three favorites were “Let’s face it…you could get hit by a bus tomorrow. Go on…have a fag.” (referring to cigarettes and not a homosexual experience!)

A photo of a guy blowing cigar smoke on a woman’s face. “Blow in her face and she’ll follow you anywhere.”

And my favorite – a picture of a baby and mother with the following copy:

For a better life start Cola earlier.

Laboratory tests over the last few years have proven that babies who start drinking soda during that early formative period have a much higher chance of gaining acceptance and “fitting in.” So, do your child a favor. Start them on a strict regimen of sodas and other sugary carbonated beverages right now, for a lifetime of guaranteed happiness.

Naturally, that got me thinking. What if Republicans had their way with the American people – pun intended – and did away with all government regulations, thus giving corporations unfettered freedom. What kind of ads would we see today?

HELP END WORLD HUNGER. BUY A HUMMER.

In a stunning reversal, leading scientists revealed that global warming will actually benefit humanity by transforming frozen tundra into a paradise for farming, thus ending world hunger once and for all. So do what Saint Ronald (Reagan) would have done. Buy a Hummer. Not only will you feel more powerful than the other poor bastards on the road, you’ll be doing your part to help save the human race!

MICKEY DEE PORK RINDS. THE NATURAL WAY TO BETTER SEX AND HEALTHIER KIDS.

We all know that Mickey Dee pork rinds are delicious. But did you know they can help your sex life? Recent studies at a leading university showed that eating one ounce of our enhanced pork rinds one hour before sexual activity can stimulate your libido, giving him an erection that’ll make her swoon. Your marriage will be happier. And it’s a fact: Happier marriages make healthier kids!

And finally…

NEW BIBLE TRANSLATION REVEALS: UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE IS A MORTAL SIN.

We at Standard Insurance always knew that universal health care was wrong. But a sin? Even we were surprised to learn that a newly discovered passage in the Book of Revelations actually predicts the maniacal movement towards universal health care in America, calling it a mortal sin.

“In the 21st hundredth year after the resurrection of our Savior, a leader, black of skin and dark of heart, shall arise to proclaim an abundance of good health for all the meek on Earth. And the Lord shall declare it a mortal sin. For the Lord proclaimith thus: Blessed are the meek. For they shall inherit the Dearth.

Flat on my back grace

Grace is a relatively new concept to me. I grew up in a Jewish family for whom being bar mitzvahed was as much about helping ourselves to the dessert table as it was about celebrating a son’s entry into manhood. Religion was beside the point and grace was something those church folks talked about. Just the word, to me, sounded strange.

But years later I almost died inside a rusty Volkswagen Beetle on a pitch black Mexican country road, surviving only because “something” grabbed the wheel after I blacked out, saving my girlfriend and me from crashing into a very large cow and an oncoming car. Grace.

There used to be TV show called Saving Grace about a diminutive, down on her luck cop (played marvelously by Holly Hunter) who drank too much, swore like a sailor and slept around. She had her own personal angel, Earl. Despite his wings, Earl couldn’t save Grace from falling from grace at a per episodic pace. In the end she cornered the Devil incarnate in a barn, lit a match and set the whole place up in flames, thereby saving the lives many other people. You just knew that Earl was there to carry her up to meet his boss. Grace.

When my wife Mary and I met, I was recovering from a devastating relationship and I sure wasn’t ready to begin a new one. Then Mary asked me to go ice-skating with her. Though I’m not a very good skater, the Canadian in me couldn’t resist and off we drove to the Ice Palace. I’d just stepped on the ice and was trying to negotiate a turn when a young guy skated into me at full speed. My right leg went right while the rest of me went left. I felt the break just below my hip as I went down.

I underwent surgery and spent a week in the hospital. Then, for the next few weeks I couldn’t do anything but sit in my chair at home, zoned out on pain pills and watching TV. In the meantime, the apartment Mary was renting was being sold and she had to leave, so she moved in with me. I didn’t want her to, but if she hadn’t I’d have been shipped off to a convalescent center, so despite my resistance I gave in. Eighteen years later we’re still together, sharing a deeply spiritual life. Would we be together had I not broken my hip? Hard to say. But I do know this:

Two nights before the ice-skating accident I’d had an unusually vivid dream. In it, I was confined to a wheelchair, then was on crutches. I’d completely forgotten that dream until I was lying on the ice, flat on my back. Had I remembered it, there is no way I would have gone skating with Mary and we might have gone our separate ways. Grace.

Excuse me while I jumpstart my battery

It’s been a while since I’ve written and, to be honest, I’ve been in a rather large funk. When I’m in a funk, I have difficulty finding the energy to write. I look for the inspiration, but it isn’t there. Still, rather than wait for yet another week or two until something inside me shifts, I thought I’d try to jumpstart my battery.

I’m sitting in the psychic’s room at Sedona, waiting for my next client to arrive. And lo and behold, I’m not in a funk right now. I’m in a peaceful state, a place of acceptance. A place where my nervous need to be productive isn’t there. This calm acceptance of the moment is rare for me. Usually my mind breaks the silence with something I should be worrying about, which is often around work or more accurately, the lack of it. I’m also aware that just by writing about it creates an opening for my mind to re-enter, and with it that nervous edge again, which I’m feeling right now in my gut. Ay ya!

I can understand why mystically oriented people might choose to join a monastery where they can meditate much of the day without having to worry about paying for rent and food. It’s all taken care of. Do your meditation, perform your daily chores and focus on God.

I used to think that was a cop out, that the true test of an awakened soul is his or her ability to remain awake in the midst of chaos. And I suppose that if our awareness was to be tested, placing us in the middle of a chaotic situation, a battlefield for instance, or trying to quiet a screaming toddler in the middle of Walmart, could certainly do the trick. But who decided there should be a test in the first place?

Ever since we were booted out of the metaphoric Garden of Eden, our world has been chaotic. Do you really see that changing? So why not escape to a monastery if that’s what floats your boat.

My teacher once said that many years ago he asked the Dalai Lama how long he meditates each day. Five hours, he said. Five hours! Why so long? Because he’d witnessed so much death and hardship, it took him that long to reconnect to his inner peace, and thereby give hope to the many who seek him out for solace.

Well heck, if the Dalai Lama needs that much time to prepare for his day, imagine what we mere mortals need. No wonder anti-depressant drug sales have gone through the roof.

Drug profits aside, America doesn’t take kindly to folks in a funk. Depressed people are a downer. And besides, they interfere with corporate productivity and bottom lines. So pop that pill, straighten your shoulders and get back to work. Assuming you have work.

What’s the answer? If I knew that I’d be rich and famous. But I do know what it isn’t. It doesn’t lie with better drugs, or in expecting someone else to “fix” us. I’m pretty sure the answer doesn’t lie outside of ourselves at all. It lies within, as the mystics say. And begins and ends with Love.

I find that when I’m able to love myself, even and especially when I’m feeling depressed, the depression eventually transforms into peace. Just like the peace I described earlier. This peace, while delicious, is subtle and easy to miss unless we’re paying attention. That’s because in America, we’re used to being ramped up and ready to go. Being in a quiet place, one without an edge to it, can feel like a waste of time.

I’ll tell you something. When I’m in that place, I don’t need or want for anything. I’m perfect as I am. Unfortunately it doesn’t last. But that’s okay. When I’m ready, I’ll return to it again. Even if it takes me five hours, or five days or five weeks to find it again and lasts for only a moment.

But ooh la, la, what a moment!

Price on the left, Perry on the wrong.

Here I go again. Just when I was determined to walk my talk about living in neutrality, I read an article in Civil Beat, a local online news source, about Honolulu radio personality Michael Perry. If you live in Hawaii, you are probably familiar with the phrase “Price on the left, Perry on the right” which one assumes refers to where they are seated while performing their popular morning radio show “Perry and Price.”

Apparently the term goes deeper than that. Perry, it seems, is a right wing conservative, and proud of it. Each morning he shares his views with little or no comment from Price who, according to Perry, is “all over the place” politically. Fair enough. We all have a right to our views and far be it from me to criticize Mr. Perry for sharing his.

The content of his sharing is another matter, and while reading Civil Beat reporter Chad Blair’s account of Perry’s opinions, I actually started to feel nauseous.

The article is lengthy, so I’ll just take issue with one point. To the read the article click here.

Perry believes that increasing taxes on the rich is class warfare. Really? If we want to discuss class warfare let’s look at the fact that real wages – adjusted for inflation – have remained stagnant for the last 50 years! While at the same time the wealth disparity in America has been dramatically widening. Since 1979, the top 1% have seen their share of America’s income more than double, while the bottom 90% of us are falling far behind.*

In fact, as of 2005, our income gap was the widest among the 33 member countries in the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD).* The gap between the top 1% of Americans and the rest of us hasn’t been this bad since the roaring twenties.* And we all know what happened after that.

When in the richest country in the world, where the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness is written in its Declaration of Independence, income disparity is the widest of any industrialized nation and getting wider, clearly something isn’t working. When a country isn’t working, the people tend to get antsy and rebel. Look at the Middle East.

The answer doesn’t lie with some tea party, or with balanced budgets, or smaller government or an unregulated private sector. It requires a re-evaluation of our priorities. Do we really want to live in a country where the wealthy live behind high, brick walls, guarded by security guards and broken glass, while the rest of us scrounge and fight over leftovers.

Think it can’t happen here? History teaches us otherwise. Do they still teach history in schools? Besides, it’s already happening here. Forty-six million Americans need food stamps and 15 million children live in poverty. This, in what is still, although perhaps not for much longer, the wealthiest nation in the world.

Yes, I agree with you Mr. Perry. There is a class war raging in America. And the wealthy are winning it. Big time!

* Source: Business Insider

Sacred Sweat

The other day I was riding the exercise bike at the gym while listening on my IPod to a talk by my spiritual teacher.

He was speaking of the concept of Oneness, the notion that there is no individual outside of ourselves; that we are all part of the One. This isn’t a concept that our minds can understand – at least mine can’t – so I don’t even ask it to try.

Nevertheless I am familiar with this idea and at times have even dropped into a moment of no mind where I am able to steal a glimpse of the truth behind the illusion of separateness. But in a gym, where we are focused on our heart rates, biceps, pecs and abs, or my case, gut, the very notion that the grunting thick-necked lifter or tattooed teenager with the ring in his lip, could in some way be “me” seems ludicrous. Yet like the mathematical theory that attempts to explain the mystery behind everything, if it doesn’t hold true all of the time, then it must not hold true at all.

I looked up at the scene in front of me. Muscular young men and firm, scantily clad women (oh joy!); skinny men trying to build muscle and flabby folks trying to loose weight; Hawaiians, Samoans, Filipinos, Japanese, Caucasians and “mixed-plates.”

While my legs continued pumping on the bike, I softened my gaze. And for a brief moment my reality shifted and I understood this: how I usually interpret what I am seeing – completely separate individuals linked together only by their membership to the gym – was just that, an interpretation. I felt like I was looking at a movie that was being projected in front of me by an unseen source. God? The One? The Big Kahuna?

Right now I’m sitting at my local Starbucks, sharing the large table at the back with a couple other people. Just now I softened my gaze again and looked around. And again this oh so subtle shift in reality happened and my body shivered. Could it be that easy? Under the right circumstances, could simply softening our gaze open us up to some parallel reality? Are we really that close to crossing the boundary between this dimension and some other, each one emanating from one single source? I suspect the answer is both yes and no, depending on factors both in and out of our control.

Oh well, I must go food shopping. I wonder. If I shift my gaze at the checkout counter could I enter a reality where a couple of bags of groceries cost under five bucks?

I could deal with that.