The Ark

Fifty-four years ago a Frenchman named Vanier turned heads pulling two developmentally challenged adults out of a standard institution and bringing them to live with him in a small house. There they improved their lives, demonstrated their worth, and grew the community they called the Ark, building a workshop and art studio along the way.

Today there are Ark communities in forty countries including two hundred - significantly larger - homes in Canada; some forming the Scooterville chapter, where core members live under the same roof as the staff who are dedicated to helping them live productive lives.

To me, this represents harmony; the most laudable goal of humanity.

“Would you ever consider returning to the traditional workforce if the employer had goals compatible with your own?” World Citizen asked me a couple years ago.

“Of course,” I said, “If I were convinced it were true.”

Days ago I applied for a temporary part-time Admin Assistant position - not at an Ark home but at the Scooterville community office: two days a week for a year or so; a perfect arrangement to commit to in order to test a possibly integral component of my life-goals/income solution.

And given I am well-acquainted with the Scooterville community director - we volunteer together at Circles - I figured myself a shoo-in for an interview at least. I thus went light on the successes portion of the resume, preferring all that to come from my own mouth, and concentrated on a list of forty significant and relevant job skills which just about runs the gamut of the admin environment, and a bold, perfectly truthful mission statement:

To help manifest harmony wherever possible, through ongoing self-directed and charitable projects and if applicable: by working within a like-motivated organization.

I was surprised when they declined an interview, citing “many qualified applicants” and stating that “…sadly we will not be continuing at this time with your application…”

Well darn. I didn’t intend to make anyone sad! I’m certainly not. My goal was to help the Ark land the best new member for their team; myself if applicable. I did not want the job for myself regardless. There is no harmony in that. I just hope they haven’t made a mistake, passing me up prematurely.

I responded that I was actually happy that they had garnered excellent candidates (my word, not theirs, but the logical assumption).

At circles events I appropriately dress down in order to fit in with the membership and I do not go out of my way to shave. Does the director assume I would not groom appropriately for an office gig? Am I not the traditional shape or gender for such a role? I would assume a more forward thinking mindset here.

Was my objective perceived contrived? I am aware that my truthful circumstances are very unlikely. But the director has glimpsed many insights into my past when I’ve spoke at functions. Though I also wonder if she had nothing to do with my resume’s appraisal and too if our connection was not even known by the appraisers.

As I release more resumes must I dumb myself down a bit and produce something more normal?

Meditation

Today I attempted to meditate and I intend to do so daily as an integral routine. This not the first time I’ve taken a shot at it but it’s the first time I made a serious go if it.

That it is lauded in excellent Hindu literature and by distinguished associates Neo and World Citizen (not to be confused with the dubious organization Global Citizen), reflects poorly on me. I have been intending to make this commitment for years and simply procrastinated, putting it off another day for some hundreds of consecutive days.

I definitely have improvements to make. I found my mind wandering frequently and reigned it in quickly each time. I found myself slowly slouching and picked myself up straight several times. I slightly adjusted position otherwise a couple times due to growing minor discomforts.

I found myself breathing very gently after awhile and I’m not sure if that is precisely the goal with regards to breathing. I also found myself making other observations regarding my own bodily functioning which provoked thought which I then tried to let go of.

It has become clear I need to go back and brush up on the objective and approach to meditation and clear up my perceptions as they have become weak on the subject. I have garnered much testimony on the subject from many sources over the years which may have broken down in my memory - or else may have come from different schools of discipline and thus may be self-conflicting.

I also found myself drifting into thoughtless states which invited waking (half-waking?) dreams - or dreamettes I tend to call them - which tells me I may have been in the process of falling asleep. It so happens I got the best night’s sleep of the year so far, this past night, so if I can’t achieve wakeful meditation after that performance then I don’t much like my chances at succeeding on a “normal” day where I’m somewhat sleep deprived.

Of course this is all a reminder that I must create a new normal where good sleep is the rule, thus I should be devoting all my useful productivity each day, first to my roster of sleep-helpful to-do’s ahead of everything else. As I pleaded to Aqualad just yesterday: No matter what you wish to achieve in this world, the effort begins with a proper night’s sleep.  

On a good note: When I quit the meditation session (or attempt thereof) I expected to find that I had been at it for about five minutes. In fact it had been sixteen minutes. So it must have gone a little better than I thought.

I must elicit advice from Neo on this. 

How doth the city sit solitary…

…that was once full of people.

I remember many occasions sitting in my Streetsville apartment looking out the big window, contemplating at great length and seeing all these structures and machinations of society: I had never felt so alone; so utterly alien. At the time I regarded this with some degree of emotional peril; not as much as you’d expect, but more than I later would. My yawning separateness was to some degree just another observation; another new important revelation in a long roster of them. It was then that I found some comfort in that opening line from the book of Leviticus and then that I began reading the Christian bible for the first time since grade school, and then that I began finding wisdom instead of nonsense; wisdom which few priests would, so far as I imagined, ever interpret much the same way I was. It was then that I began to sense that much of this “religious” material must have been borrowed from other sources and that much of it was not intended at its roots to be a tool of Christian doctrine at all.

That alien feeling persisted for a long time, varying in intensity.

I remember a long night wide awake in my attic eyrie which I rented from Long Time Companion; the friend formerly known in blog space as Peter Pan. I’m pleased to say that he has come a long way, finding some peace, and considering that when we were breaking up years prior to this rental arrangement and I’d threatened to murder him (and possibly meant it) in a fit of outrageous jealousy - I guess I’ve come a long way too.

That night I’d felt the weight of this threshold; this decision; this gateway to… what? Enlightenment? This reckoning that I’d found no one yet who was willing to take my hand and proceed with me.

It was that night when I strummed the guitar and the song The Line came out: a simple three-chord ditty in which I tried to voice this conundrum; this great step in evolution (or so it seemed to me then) and my concern that I was becoming too alien from everyone around me and that I was losing the capacity to relate and thus to communicate and thus the potential to teach or to guide.

I did not want my learning; these immensely powerful and useful understandings to benefit me alone!

What I don’t remember is any conscious decision; any intention to back away from that threshold, but indeed that is what I did; not ready to give up on others; and not feeling any confidence that I’d ever be able to reach anyone again if I took this step and launched too far into another realm.

I remember being surprised to so easily embrace a reverse-pretentiousness, how easy it was for me to “play dumb” in a way, to reveal no insights in day to day circumstances where I was wise in relevant terms but wise enough, also, to know that what I had to say would not be understood or not be embraced and so I remained quiet and nodded like some very simple man. I was surprised how easily I could keep my ego in check.

I remember feeling lonely at times because I had no one I could be completely myself with. I literally had no secrets. This is a huge statement to make. I doubt it can rarely ever be honestly said. I had no secrets but yet I had to keep quiet about some things, not for shame (I could admit any flaw or fault I was aware of) but for other people’s comfort. I had no energy or any mandate to challenge everyone’s illusions all day every day.

When I met Neo and observed what astounding mental freedoms he possessed, I knew he was very special and that I had to make myself available to him. And with the brainstorming of excellent associate JazzLion, I began writing a novel in which I tried to plant all my most important and relevant understandings, with the thought that if he read it (along with others if it got published) and was of the kind of mind I had been crediting him with, then as an adult he might unearth that book and look me up. I did not indulge in any romantic notions about such an encounter but in essence I could imagine him saying, “Dude! Remember me? I understand what you’re saying here! And I thought we should talk I don’t imagine you’ve been expecting many people to get it…”

Instead Neo took such an immediate interest in me that we became associates when grade school graduation should have otherwise separated us.

In hindsight, maybe that was all for the worse. Another regret? Should I have finished the damn book instead, and put it in his hands and said goodbye?

One of the joys in our association; call it friendship; call it mentorship, whatever, was that I had someone I could be one hundred per cent myself with. I regarded him as completely trustworthy. Not trustworthy in that I could trust him with my secrets (because I felt I had none) but trustworthy in that I trusted him to be able to handle the truth; to be able to handle the things I had to say.

For the first time in quite a while I had someone I did not feel alien with.

This is the crux of my broken-heartedness.

Imagine being a human but growing up on some far away planet where everyone is wildly different than you and finally you meet another human; the only other human on the planet, and you just feel so at home finally, and your friendship blossoms and then after eight years he just says, yeah I can’t do this anymore bye. 

Sometimes these days I think surely we’ll get back together again. Surely he’ll come to his senses.

But sitting here, trying to be a little present; a little wakeful, I think: How carefully have I monitored this alien issue over the last eight years?

Am I sure that no one else is capable of letting me be me, without me having to be concerned about scaring them off?

I know that the Ponderer and Skeeter Willis are frequent readers of this blog (god knows why; it is so scattered and indulgent) and I must ask with honesty; not to flatter, are they not willing and capable?

I wonder too, about Dog Whisperer and Earth Writer and Aqua Lad. I barely knew them eight years ago. Have we not developed an almost familial bond?

On that note what about my mother and my brother?

Surely JazzLion and Renaissance Kid and Global Citizen; though they live rather out of the way to varying degrees, so to rely on them regularly would be difficult.

And the Earnest Chef too. And The Healer. Thinking about them now, are they not slam dunks? Have I not already felt free with them and just not done the accounting?

Perhaps even the Thoughtful Educator. Haven’t all these relationships broadened and solidified over these years? Have I failed to give some special people fair credit?

And then there’s Dr. Lock of course. I’m surprised as I think about this now - how many friends I am able to consider in this regard

Perhaps I need to sample the waters; open up to more people the same way I did to Neo and see how it goes; if they are comfortable or not.

It would help, I’m sure, if I could be my gentler self with them. Which would happen naturally I’m sure if I could bring myself to be more present; more mindful. I might not be ready though. Let me cradle myself in the writing for now.

With regards to that evolution, I suppose this is another regret: When Neo asked, But why wouldn’t you want to embrace enlightenment if you could? Why ever choose otherwise? For some reason I gave him a cryptic answer that was more about my remaining addictions; my susceptibility to identity, instead of a straight answer. God knows why. It just happened.

I should have told Neo the more simple and sincere perspective: that I was waiting until he was ready to go there with me.

November salvation

I have been slipping away.

In the workplace a subtle distance has grown between my associates and I. “I hope you stay with us,” they sometimes say. It is apparent that my thoughts of leaving have been passed on, likely out of benign concern and not as gossip, from the pal I trusted with them. Meanwhile the associate I was closest to, one of just a few who works night shifts with me, has retired as of yesterday. We traded emails and intentions.

My current work schedule is light but very unfortunate. It hampers my hiking schedule and my time in nature with excellent pal, the Healer.

And it hampers my availability for the community functions of the volunteer organization which runs our Circles of Support. Simultaneously Grandpa Munster’s circle has ceased to meet as a circle currently. We are only meeting him one–on–one. That whole community is falling away from me except for Munster himself.   

And it conflicts with the December-through-October write-in schedule with my excellent writer pals while the internet filters at work deny our group’s online forum. I am slipping away from them too.

My delightful, creative new Dungeons & Dragons group has seemingly evaporated, hopefully to return if Aqualad gets a better handle on the challenging new University experience compiled with an overly cumbersome girlfriend relationship.   

The Earnest Chef has evolved his career and finds himself more fully rooted in The Big Smoke and estranged from Scooterville.

Dog Whisperer and Earth Writer have also seemed less accessible.

And that whom I love most dear has been far removed of late and less inclined to communicate with me, though still has nice things to say on rare occasions.

I have been uninspired and critically lazy; perhaps alarmingly so. Look at this blog, ignored now for a month. It’s a near-perfect thermometer, this blog. Ninety per cent of the time its level of activity is a reliable measure of the health of my journey; my pursuit of goals.

The one exception is family, who delightfully, I have visited with five times in the last two months. I missed a sixth due to illness and plan to be healed enough to attend a modest family reunion with a minority of my many cousins, including Renaissance Kid, on the coming weekend (But not World Citizen who is currently mucking about in Indonesia). The impetus behind increased family activity, I shall reveal shortly. It is one of the many blog pieces I have began writing of late and not finished and not posted.

About all these dear connections which have been fading, I must say though: There are no reasons why any of them can’t be turned around again.

And as for my own mental decrepitude, bordering on emotional, there is perhaps a light at the approaching end of the tunnel!

National Novel Writing Month began yesterday and though my start is late, due mostly to illness, and likewise I have been missing the live gatherings thus far, I do feel the presence of my writer pals, both online and in my heart, and the important writing habit I have neglected is revving up again; super-charging.

I have been smart about my plans; going back to basics to draft a critical non-fiction project which I should have done years ago and which should accomplish much, regardless if it ever is published. The very process of it will organize my head in such a way that I may be enabled to finish some of my abandoned novels and/or to begin new ones with a new confidence and better groundwork.

It should also provide a great tool for Neo and I, should we ever finally get together and attempt to accomplish something profound; something I strongly feel is within our reach.

And part of the NaNo plan is to blog every day and to make that process permanent, through December and beyond! There is so much to ruminate on, dear diary. You might soon get sick of me!

See you tomorrow.

Now or never, once again.

A colourful sunshiny landscape constructed primarily of Smarties candies with vague cartoony characters leaping around and diving into colourful pools. A giant mouth - the one from the Scream mask, perhaps. moving forward through a dark tunnel, threatening to consume everything in its path. What else? That's all I can remember. I was sleep deprived today, as usual lately, and so I experienced many waking dreams which I call dreamettes. They're always lightning quick. Do other people get those? I presume you do. Though if you don't experience sleep deprivation then they probably don't register consciously.

I haven't slept well for a couple weeks due to illness, which struck about the same time I found out that the Liberal Theologian has not triumphantly defeated her cancer after all. Wave One took a beating from the chemo, surgery and radiation, but here's a surprise second wave and Wave Two is - What can I say? Wave Two will not take a beating. Docs will do what they can to slow it down. My friend and excellent housemate will suffer until the end. And I can't do a thing to stop it.

The nice thing about sleep deprivation is that the brain doesn't function very well so it's rather easy to mentally procrastinate. My brain doesn't want to deal with this business right now and so it doesn't. L.T. has been in the hospital the whole time and I can't visit for all the coughing so... no pressure to deal with it.

She could finally be home tomorrow. So I'll have to start dealing with it, which is good. There are a lot of people in my life right now that I need to be strong for. Like Dog Whisperer says. I have to look after myself first, if I'm gonna be useful to others. She's right of course. When the cabin depressurizes, it's your mask before your child's. I know that. And that means taking care of my health. And that's gonna be a lot of work.

I can't take any more holidays from life. Do I have what it takes to get this train back on the rails? I have serious doubts. I have a bad record.

One step at a time? I need a plan. And I need inspiration. Here's a good sign maybe: Neo, World Citizen, Jazz Lion and the Thoughtful Educator have all come out of the woodwork just lately, wanting to get together. Good timing guys. I had one date, scheduled two more and expect to see Neo some time soon. And Dog Whisperer was very generous with her time tonight. I've been receiving wise advice lately. And the poets speak to me too. Discipline, they say. Not my strong suit. But I'm blessed with the finest associates; these and others. My love for them is really the only thing that keeps me in the game. And if I ever start winning, it will be to their credit.
  

Avitable Scramble Time

13 thoughts in thriteen minutes. No editing...! GO!!

1. Did I say no editing? I'm allowed to edit for spelling. So there. I haven't done an avitable scramble in what? Years? It's surely not good blogging but some of my friends are probably wanting to know what's going on PLUS -- I need an easy way to break the ice and get blogging again.

2. I was on vacation in the muskokas for two weeks hence the absence here. Mind you I got back a couple weeks ago. Same cottage. The Want-n-While. Gifty McBrainchild was my guest and his love for board games - or games of any sort - rubbed off on the rest of us. The annual retreat was a lot more social than usual with constant bouts of Catan, Hearts, Boggle, Speed and stack of other games. I didn't write a single poem or compose a single song.

3. The Big Empty Warehouse Sunday nighters have dried up; my choice recording location. Since moving into the home of the Liberal Theologian, I have relied on the warehouse as my guitar venue. I have very quiet instincts which I must resist if I am to get back into the composing habit. For the first three years of the music experience I would always feel on edge; a little out of sorts any time I went a couple days without picking up the guitar. That seems to have worn off. Not sure whether that's good or bad. Haven't thought about it really.

4. I've got Ye Olde Security Guard Company's brass with their knickers knotted and the manager of the corrections centre going to her regional director for consultation re this little old obscurity guard intending to qualify for Circle Of Support volunteer status so that I can work with some of those emerging from the criminal justice community more closely. That both roles - guard and volunteer - are entirely compatible in terms of interests in public safety and in successful reintegration efforts, is pretty obvious to me. God forbid any of these leaders actually climb down from their pedestals to talk to me personally so I can explain my position and intentions and put their precious minds at ease. I'm far from the first figure of supposed authority to work in such dual capacities. It really is mind blowing to contemplate the incredible volume of work that goes into blocking human kindness from penetrating this twisted knot of a society on the part of fear and lawyers and insurance companies. Look around people. Find a room where there is no grimmacing lawyer or insurance agent present and guess what? They're present alright.

5. I have a fish screensaver. Little animated fish. They all look the fucking same. Little Borg fish. That's right. I said fucking. There's nothing noble about swearing whatsoever. But then there's nothing wise, intelligent or sane about fearing "swear" words. They're just a stupid noise that comes out of humans' mouths along with a shitstorm of other stupidities. There are a thousand far more harmful and offensive things that people do and say without having a shred of awareness for the harm they do. So there. Fuck a duck. Quack quack.

6. I really should be doing laundry. First day back at the Princess Of Schools tomorrow and I've ought to wear.

7. What time did I begin this exercise? That would have been a fine thing to remember.

8. Eight rhymes with plate. Am I hungry? Discuss...

9. Nine rhymes with tine. Fork a duck.

10. I have a feeling I've been at this more than 13 minutes.

11. I've been giving Gifty McBrainchild a lift to the bus stop on certain mornings when I'm coming off night duty and he has early morning band practice. He and his super-excellent moms live just around the corner from Corrections Heaven. I love their company. They remind me that not quite everyone is addicted to, and enslaved by, the bullshit of instinctive mind and societal structure. I need the company of people like that; higher order people... World Citizen, Rennaisance Kid, JazzLion, Neo, Matman. These are the people who keep me going. I am nothing without them. They inspire me to do the good work. and yet - why do I not arrange to see them more often? 12. Gifty McBrainchild? What a terrible nickname. Hey, it was spur-of-the-moment. I'll think of something better. Promise.

12. My brother is now engaged to a wonderful human being of the female persuasion. They've been shacking up for quite a while. The big event is in two years. I'll be in the wedding party. I'm certainly not big on traditions but this will be pretty cool. I'll get to make a speech for one thing. I'll be expected to welcome the bride to the family. I'm sure I'll do something out of the ordinary though. Maybe I'll read passages from Dante.  

13. Yeah, I'm sure time was up a while back.

song: The Line

Not my newest song but a recent one. Like the many primary stages in life and life's endeavors that I have initially skipped but later returned to, experiencing them from an atypically mature standpoint, I missed the whole major G-C-D chord phase through my first two years of songwriting exploration. Lately I have been enjoying its lively simplicity. After catching a little flack for using 'I walk the line' as the song's chorus, I considered changing the title to "Johnny Cash Can Kiss My Ass" but settled finally on simply "The Line." I have a proper USB mic now which improves the sound quality very much and reveals the ample imperfections of my sorry excuse for a singing voice quite sufficiently. ...................... ................................. ............................. ..................................

A new friend. New strength.

I spent this past Sunday with my cousin, World Citizen, on the eve of his 30th birthday. I had not seen him in many years; ten perhaps. He was probably between missions to Nepal and Ecuador at the time. This spring he moved to Toronto after a long stint in India, home of an experiential environmental education centre of which he remains "the impetus" and a central stakeholder.

He spoke of challenges, of opposition, of earthquakes and masked gunmen and the difficult internal reconciliation when the offering of love evokes a response of hate.

He spoke of activism and a plan under which every motorist in the world might trade in their cars for investment into the environment and the future.

He mentioned that he too, writes, and like an ass, I never got around to asking him about the nature of his writing, and now I'm dying to know.

He spoke of meditation and how it ceased to be a prison and became the greatest ever experience of self-discovery. Traditional meditation, that is; not simply the solitary ardent contemplation which I have made an indulgent habit of labelling meditation.

He spoke of his humble introduction to international charity when the cutest girl in his high school raised her hand to volunteer and his own hand couldn't help but follow.

He spoke of time management and in an off-hand way, as if saying shave or pick up mail he listed among his daily agenda items: "beneficence."

He spoke of that yearning for pilgrimage common to many of us.

He spoke of seeing that which he was not, so to glimpse of that which he is.

He spoke in a voice quiet and firm; one softened, I perceive, by confidence, integrity and - I dare say - love. Love as a state of being, that is.

As we watched the departing sun turn the trees on the too-close horizon into black lacy silhouettes, he spoke of the city and the omnipresent trade of absurdities between its' peoples and he mourned his separation from those natural landscapes he'd made home, and the logistical barriers that isolate his dreams and goals from one another; a dilemma that I, and many, know well.

And concerning his previous home; a place to which I must decide if I will journey, he gave me solid advice; concise, direct and very insightful - not just in terms of his knowledge but in terms of understanding the root of my inquiries.

I do not state this lightly: I perceived our long conversation as being one of perfect honesty and openness and trust; an experience shatteringly rare.

Without a doubt the specifics of his priorities and mine currently differ, but so far seem entirely compatible. I sense we may each have found a valuable associate. From my perspective, he is easy to trust and put faith in, because in terms of promoting harmony, he has accomplished more than I might ever - and all prior to an age at which I was still a dull idiot, consumed within my own greed, lust and reputation, and a host of petty dramas.

I look forward to making my self of use to his endeavors. I look forward to talking to him again soon. There is still so much to discuss.
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