Dissatisfied - Cultural Critique

When I look at my life, I see a pattern of addictions not dissimilar to those I see every day, but that are more apparent. Take, for instance, the man walking down the street with a bulging gut, at least 75 pounds past “obese”. The man most probably has an unhealthy relationship with food. At a minimum he eats the wrong kinds of foods in the wrong quantities. The kind of obesity that he has, however, is not about a donut a week, or even a day. It’s not the donuts that are acting inappropriately. I submit that this man’s underlying problem is the word, “enough”. Now, I am not judging any man in particular, and I know that there are people in the world with health issues such that they are unable to regulate their weight. And if you’re one of those people, I am not talking to you…yet. Let’s leave off this man, and go to another segment of society, the adrenaline junkie. I think this disorder gained popularity with the MTV crowd in the mid 90’s. Suddenly, more speed, X-Games stunts, Jackass antics and crazier daredevil “sports” such as slacklining, free-climbing, flying suits and base-jumping, not to mention ultra-marathoning, extreme water sports, mountain biking and ever-wilder snow sports became standard fare for young people. Suddenly it wasn’t enough for Travis Pastrana to flip his motorcycle in the X-Games, he had to double-flip it to win, at the peril of his life (by his own words). I have known many young people, myself to a lesser extent included, that didn’t feel “alive” unless they were performing yet another death-defying – or serious injury inducing – stunt. Think about that. They / we didn’t feel alive…unless we were doing…something…other than…what we would normally be…doing. In other words, my “non-doing” state is inferior to my “doing” state. This feeling often chased me when I was just spending time with my children, I shamefully admit. What is the message when we as individuals or as a culture are under this burden? It is that this (life, or the current moment) is not enough. We crave more, just like the donut man. And, like the donut man, since we are generally talking about “adults” there is no one to stop us, other than responsibilities, and sometimes not even those. Until we die of a heart attack or lose a spouse or a job (or start one too many wars), the addiction just grows.

I became acquainted with meditation on a general basis in 2008. As I worked into it, I began to see some disturbing trends in my own mind. I began to see that, although I had dedicated my life to what I “knew” was a valid spiritual path, I was constantly dissatisfied, that an answer to my prayers or desires were never enough. I saw that as soon as one prayer or desire was answered, even in the affirmative, I was off to the next desire, sometimes with barely an acknowledgement of the first one. During meditative journeys, I saw my mind from the third person, jumping wildly from one “thing” to the next. I perceived that this mind could never, ever be satisfied, worlds without end. I extrapolated this condition to the world around me and came to the conclusion that everything, from our lust for power (petroleum, electrical, financial, sexual and governmental) to our lust for “the biggest burger” to our lust for violence, extreme games, et al., was a result of a dissatisfied mind; a mind that said “not enough” or “something else”, all the time. I noticed that if I had the self-determination to meditate for only 30 minutes a day, 15 minutes in the am and the pm, I could gain just a little control over that mind and that constant dissatisfaction, merely by noticing that it was there.  It was the importance of this truth to me that helped push me away from my of way of thinking about religion into a new way. If I wasn’t being taught this there, what else really mattered? Suddenly I saw the beauty in small things; raindrops on leaves, people walking to work, a deep blue sky, a withered old tree, a resting dog. I began, just a little, to not need as much stimulation.

Unfortunately, I also learned that this practice was not a cure-all; that I was being held accountable without excuse, for all I thought and did. I saw that if I quelled one “desire” in one area, another just as strong popped up in another. It was like trying to squeeze a lump out of a balloon; no matter where I squeezed, it popped up somewhere else. So if I controlled my temper that day, if (and only if) it had been a struggle, I found myself overeating like a mad dog, unconsciously, just before bed. Or if I meditated in the morning, I would often decide to skip it in the evening and just watch a movie instead, sparing myself the work because it was “not enough” to make me satisfied. I had not, and still have not, learned to be still in every instance- or even very many.

That is where I am today, and I don’t know anyone well that is not in the same boat to one extent or another. I do feel like I have made some progress on this path to satisfaction, to contentment. I can unplug far more easily than I was once able to in situations that would once have pushed me right over some edge. But all too often, I take the way that is easier because I want, because I desire, because I haven’t had “enough” yet. The balloon still bulges, the craving for something other than what I have still tugs.

Now where are those donuts?  Or should I grab my meditation pillow? That is my struggle.   

Committed (Poem)

Committed

I stood alone

With the opportunity laid before me.

I understood it

I comprehended my own situation

And I saw the risk -

The gap

Between the reward

And the moment.

And I, as a cliff diver

Stepped to the edge of the rock;

And I, as a soldier

Kicked in the door;

And I, as a surgeon

Took the scalpel in hand;

And I, as a man in love

Looked into her eyes;

And I, as a surfer

Paddled for the wave;

And I, as an addict

Put the needle back down;

And I, as the keynote speaker

Walked to the stand;

And I, as a peer

Said “no”;

And I, as a patriot

Stood in the assembly;

And I, as a writer

Hit “send”;

And I, as a seeker of a better way

Committed.

--Eric Marley

May 2011

Bang For Our Bux?

Karzai said that his country would back Pakistan if the US were to engage in war with them. Let me say that again...Afghanistan president Karzai said that his country would back Pakistan if the US were to engage in war with them.

Exactly what are we getting for the lives of our young men? Didn't Pat Tillman die over there? Didn't we mourn him? What about the hundreds of other men and women who have died in this conflict, or been otherwise irreparably harmed?

Here's a thought. Get the living hell out of world politics, US; at least militarily. The world is a complex place. Our government wants it's citizenry to believe this is 1942 all over again; the big bad (insert big bad -and possibly once supported by the US - "terrorist organization" or state here) have invaded another country, killed it's own people, farted in our general direction or some other unforgivable sin. Therefore we send our properly propagandized young men over there to - insert Texas drawl - "take care of some biddness" (spit tobacco now...good boy). Once we have defeated the other side, with a minimum of casualties and only a small amount of meaningless "collateral damage" (forbid the press from covering the bombed schools or hospitals or crying mothers), we will march back here while our Commander in Chief flies a jet to the conquered nation to be greeted by hoards of squealing fans and an adoring, cooperative, non-farting new government. Our young men come back to get jobs because, after all, they joined the military to "protect OUR freedoms" and gain an education that is immediately transferable and marketable. At least that's what the nice recruiter told them. (see http://www.veteransbenefitsgibill.com/2011/07/19/veteran-unemployment-rates/; http://www.stltoday.com/business/local/article_ffb4747a-9842-5e9e-890d-30ab51732c4c.html; NOT CNN, MSNBC, FOX, etc.)

Look, I'm not going to pretend that this is anything but a rant. This covers far too many beefs and is barely coherent. But the deal is this: it is, once again, the utmost in arrogance for us to believe in this day and age that there are cut and dried military missions of this scale, other than protecting our own borders against attack. For us to invade another country, even one under siege by it's own despots committing indescribable acts against its own people with the idea that we will replace this ruler with another and that it will be ok, is ridiculous. For us to do it in the name of oil is even worse, and far more common. Are we to turn a blind eye towards such things? Nope. Of course not. But we need to find other ways to support people in these situations, including setting up and funding decent, well-stocked refugee camps in countries bordering the troubled ones, and helping people from there. Is this perfect? Nope. I would LOVE to be able to solve the world's problems, but we are not going to, ever. And in the process, we spend billions, damage the lives of our own and go broke in the process, while our own people stand around unemployed, homeless, in prison and uninsured. We can't do it all. And in the end, we look more like the world's slaves than the world leader, until we are not even that (already happened).

Let's find other ways to assist those who would like to live in a democratic society. Let's stop invading other countries, setting up governments and pretending that this is anything other than a grab for real-estate that has oil under it's sand. Let's instead put those resources to work buying back the technologies that were bought up and buried by big auto-makers and big oil; let's incentivize innovation with regards to fuel types, sources and technology. Let's stop relying on once-ousted rulers - which Karzai was - to be loyal to us while the blood of our young men bleeds into their sand. We can do better. We deserve a better return on our money, and our blood, than this.      

And suddenly, the war ends...

Anyone else see a connection between the Occupy movement and the seemingly sudden declaration by Obama to bring the troops home by the end of the year?

I'm sure it's just a coincidence.

Depth, The Story of a Man (Prose...true story)

Once I experienced a vision wherein I saw a man walking up and down mountains, valleys and plains with a heavy burden on his back. I felt the depth of this man's loneliness on so many levels that I believed (and still do) that it was me in some other plane. The man had no one in the world. If he ever saw another human being it was from a distance. His job was to wander, to live, to survive.

I wrote this poem to illustrate to an extent what I felt.

Depth, The Story of a Man

He sat alone

With his back to the mouth of a cave.

The cave, new to him,

Was in the middle of a cliff

Halfway up the face

Of a rock wall

Inhabited only by wild sheep

And eagles.

It was early evening

In early autumn;

A fire cast a warm glow

Behind him

So that

If human eyes were to look up

From the valley

Far below

They would see

The silhouette of a man

Illuminated by the fires

Of hell.

But human eyes would never see

This man.

The clothes the man wore

Slung across his back

Were the same the elk wore

When it was alive

The teeth the man wore

Around his neck

Were the same the bear wore

When it bared them at the man

For the last time.

There was a sense of Depth

(For that was his name);

Of unending

Space-like

Loneliness? 

Not exactly…

Emptiness?

Not exactly…but closer

Which pervaded his very Being.

The man

Silhouetted by fire

Enshrouded by increasing dark

Smelled the flesh

Of the yearling he had killed

On the way to the cave.

The smell was his company

It made him feel

Not lonely.

It was enough.

And it was not enough.

Under hooded eyes

The man saw the last of the

Evidence

Of the sun

Sucked down greedily

By the mountain on the other side

Of the impossibly deep canyon

Out of which

He had breathlessly climbed.

Somewhere inside of himself

Something wilder than he

Gulped a deep, throaty

Lungful of air

And howled.

But Depth, the man

Was barely cognizant of the anguished howl

Of the thing inside him.

Instead, he removed something

From under his cloak;

It was a piece of cloth

A sash, dyed with blood-

The blood of a human-

And he looked at it.

There had been a woman, once

She had been his match in many ways

She had been greater than he in others.

For She heard things

Before he even knew

They existed;

A bird, a wolf, an oncoming storm…

For instance,

Depth would be walking like he did

On feet wrapped in many layers

To soften his step

With She next to him

Barefoot.

Depth would notice

That he was suddenly alone

And would look for She

With a degree of consternation.

And he would find her

Making a fire

And cutting branches for a shelter

Under a crystalline sky.

At first when this would happen

Depth would stand silently nearby

And frown.

But more than once

The sky opened

And fire flashed across

Great growling, boiling clouds

And water came from all directions

But not so much

In the shelter…

So Depth had been grateful

For her wisdom-

The wisdom of She.

She had said that the Earth and the Sky

Told her things

Many times

That only a silent person

Could ever know.

Depth had often wondered what she meant

Since he seldom spoke

But he never heard

What She heard.

Now She was gone

And his thoughts raged

And tore.

Depth had wandered

For seventy three years

After the passing of She

Before he found the new cave.

He never saw another human being.

He ate roots and raw meat.

His voice descended into growls.

If he used it at all.

The whites of his eyes

Turned red.

His grey hair stood on end.

His scars ached

And multiplied.

The night he found the new cave

He lay down in it

And

Slept

Hard.

When he awoke, it was dark outside

And the fire was low

But it was light in the cave where he was.

In the light was She.

She said nothing

But waited for him

With her arms outstretched.

   

He felt peace for the first time.

Depth’s bones still lay in the new cave.

If you were to find them

You would see the teeth from the bear

And the teeth from the man

And you would find

Somehow preserved

The red sash

That had been dyed with her blood;

The blood

Of She.

--Eric Marley

October 2011

Natives, The Dominant Race, and Now

It occurred to me that there is probably a reason that Native people were to be approached with caution by Old World explorers. I mean, they might kill you, maybe even eat you. That's reason enough. The question is, why would they do either? They are human beings, presumably acquainted with human qualities such as love at least towards one another, compassion, capable of rational thought. So if I, as the captain of a ship anchored offshore, step onto the sand of an unknown beach from my skiff and brown-skinned people appear from the forest... why would I have reason to fear retribution for that act?

Maybe it's just that they are human, so they fear the unknown. OK, so they don't know what the hell the new guy is wearing on his head, why he's so pale, and what he drove to the beach.

"We should kill him and find out what he is and do a little autopsy on him. And then roast him up while the drums pound."  

Fear is no excuse for that kind of behavior, native dudes. Or is it?

Maybe they have things "just so" and don't want to mess with a situation that has served them and this is a potential threat. Still not enough reason, in my opinion. Then again, maybe they've heard that new visitors in the area have carried disease, been violent morally as well as sexually, disrespectful of native mores and religion. They've destroyed lives and livlihoods and environments. Maybe whether or not the new guy lives or dies is literally a matter of life and death, of "him or me/us".

Is that rational? I don't mean to us, I mean to THEM. It depends on their frame of reference, what they know and have experienced, doesn't it? From a human perspective, if they have never heard of a "dominant race" other than themselves as dominant over most animals -often not sharks or pumas; if they are just killing because this is a different "thing that has appeared", I don't know that that is rational, even for primitive people (of course I am not connected with their spirituality, legends and mores, and I've never been a primitive person...well that's up for debate maybe). BUT...the first time they have heard horror stories of what the "white man" has done to neighboring villages, and we all know the stories, suddenly they look like idiots if they DON'T stick the explorer's head on a stick, don't they? I mean, why subject your children and yourselves to that kind of abuse when things are fine the way they are (not to the white guy's standards, but to native ones)?

What does this have to do with what is going on in the world right now?

I'll let you figure it out.

Welcome To My Nightmare...

This is about the stupidest, most random blog you'll ever read. It's just my own thoughts when I get them and have time to write them down. I am doing this on a public forum (potentially), so I can be held accountable philosophically.

I am a radical person in damned near every way. Spiritually, financially (take huge risks that pay off - used to - or not.) and politically and environmentally. I have views that would get me locked up via the Patriot Act, guaranteed. I don't care. I will not be silent. Sometimes I will write a sentence, sometimes a poem, sometimes a rant. This is not for anyone other than myself, but I will let people know it's out there so I can get commentary if people can actually read this stuff.

Good luck.