BAPS Swaminarayan Temple

Spent an afternoon at this place:
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Been reading the Bhagavad Gita, core writing of the Hindu faiths, and finding it wildly fascinating. I figured this temple, with it's new 40 million dollar Mandir addition, might be an interesting, if not useful environment in which to further explore the work. I was not disappointed.

Whatever dogma necessitated I leave my shoes in one of the couple thousand numbered cubby holes in the entrance area, I'm grateful for it. From a practical standpoint, it makes for a quiet environment with so many visitors padding about on stone floors.

I hadn't realized my visit would coincide with the one-year anniversary of the opening of the Mandir. The occasion drew large crowds. The main meeting hall, filled not with pews, as this former Catholic might have assumed, but with vast rows of comfortable chairs, presented the most welcoming working space but I didn't want to take up a valuable seat with so many faithful present who might understand the language of the orange-robed clerics who addressed the congregation from the couches that shared a high stage with many spectacular statues of Indian deities.

Instead I set up shop in the stunning stone and intricately carved Italian marble Mandir - a meditation hall. I sat on the floor, off to the side, back against the wall and studied, hoping that such an activity in such a place contravened no rule or custom.





The many gated alcoves held brilliantly crafted and adorned figures; strikingly lit likenesses of Krishna, Vishnu, Ganesh and a host of other divine personages. They were the focus of much prayer from the many worshippers not otherwise engaged in cross-legged meditation.

The sacred syllable, 'OM' issued always from surrounding speakers.

A couple short years ago I would have felt awkward or intimidated to be here; like an intruder perhaps, but not now. The connection I've made with this book is profound. It describes rather involved processes perfectly which I have myself experienced in these last couple years of purely organic exploration; things I do not hear from my living associates.

I also read things in here that are of concern and alarm but I must be very careful not to judge the Gita. My connection here is not with the Gita or its creator(s) but only with a collection of words that have arisen through multiple translations; first a paraphrasing from Sri Aurobindo; a Guru/Yogi/Philosopher that you will undoubtedly hear me speak more of; and then a translation to English by one Anil Baran Roy. I profess no thorough understanding of the work.

It is amazing though, that in rejecting all religion and embarking on a journey of truth-seeking; one dedicated to the evidence of first-hand observation and regard to scientific process, that the core revelations emerging from these explorations two years onward, so profoundly mirror some of the original poetic testimony of religions and quasi-religions, despite what fallible human priests may or may not have done with their institutions over time; for better or, much more apparently, for worse.



Interior photography is strictly prohibited here. I yanked these photos from their web site; surely the lesser of two evils.

The World According to Steve-o

As usual -- random snippets from the roommate; his songs in italics:

I visited my mom today. Sometimes I try to be a good son. But it's not easy when SATAN COMMANDS YOUR SOUL!! MWUHAHAHAHA!! ARRRRGGGHHH!!

Mr. Furley, that's my name.
That name again is Mr. Furley.
Mr. Furley, that's my name
And you can call me MISTER FURLEY!

Every time a bell rings Jesus gets his wings.

Jazz! Who doesn't like jazz? Acid Jazz.

Yesterday
All my potato farmers seemed so far away.
All my potatos were made out of clay.
Oh yesterday was heroin day...

What, are you fucking with me? You can't smell the cigarette smoke on him? It's like the smell of baby oil on a child molester.

Everyone loves the danish.
Who doesn't love the danish?
Danishes come in a can
From a factory down south.
I eat my danish every day.
I'm moving to the danish.
Gonna eat my corn of plenty.
Potato makes the dairy.
Everyone loves the dairy.
Potato makes the dairy.
Who doesn't love the dairy...?


This Polish beer's delicious. It tastes like Poland. I had a Polish friend once. I regret not licking her more.


How much is that window in the doggie?


Everyone loves Magical Trevor
Who doesn't love Magical Trevor?
Everyone loves Magical Trevor
Except for the cows.
Cows cows cows cows cows.
And maybe Bill Gates. Cause he's a cow.
Cow cow cow cow cow cow…

Heavy Water

(2000) Martin Amis

Maybe I've just been spoiled lately - by the likes of TC Boyle and Atwood and Neil Smith. Or maybe Amis and I just don't share a compatible sense of humour.

I got very little out of this collection. The title story, Heavy Water caught my attention. Bravo. And Janitor of Mars was somewhat intriguing but whatever wisdom went into these stories - I didn't catch it. Two stories are cheap simple inversions I wish I hadn't wasted my time with, two others I had to bail out of half way through and 'What Happened to Me on my Summer Vacation' is a literary train wreck. Unreadable.

If these are supposed to be highlights of his short-story career then yikes. Stick to novels please. What you do with the pen, the typewriter or keyboard is important but what you do with your mind and what it is you have to say to the world - is far more important. Unfortunately the only message I heard was, "Look how easy it is to be published when your dad's a famous writer."

I hope I'm being too critical. I hope there's all kinds of good stuff in there and I just missed most of it.

FWG

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Movie: Wanted

Director Timur Bekmambetov may have killed actor James McAvoy's career. He's forced to whine, groan, scream, cry, sniffle, drool and hyperventilate for the first solid twenty minutes of the movie; twenty minutes of intense irritation for this viewer who never wants to see McAvoy's face again.

The remainder of the film is entirely shot in red. As in blood. Everyone takes enough punches, bullets and knife wounds to kill them twenty times over but they take regular baths in some kind of special healing sauce that makes them all better so they can run right out and get torn to ribbons again.

Cineplex bills this a thriller/fantasy/action movie. It is in fact a comedy but one to be laughed at, not with, if at all. And I couldn't, being too nauseated by the most gratuitous violence since Kill Bill and by the thorough distaste from tolerating heroes neither likable or moral.

This film is a triumph in pure unbridled idiocy to be loved and adored by pure unbridled idiots.

Okay. I'm done.

Aequitas: Fallen

Several things were revealed to me

But I turned a blind eye, refused to see

What was there, awaiting and alee.

Home was not where I thought it was,

Instead it was elsewhere, and all because

I turned my back on those in need,

Succumbing instead to lust, and greed.

And I think I know of all my flaws;

Sins, weakness, and disregard for law,

And so the pit opens and I fall into the maw.

I've fallen before, but never this far,

My dignity lost, and my presence barred

From where I want to spend my life,

And all I can do is whine and gripe.

And the failure I feel seems so unreal

Except for the loss of one so costly,

But mostly I feel that you weren't there,

Frigid, distant, without a bit of care,

And stealing from me was something unfair.

For you, I feel spite, but never despair,

Because you have hardened my heart.

Breakfast with an incredible shrinking woman

I hadn’t seen her in many years. Her little adopted son is now a university freshman with all of the dilemmas that teenagers invariably create for themselves.

Of all the coworkers I immediately lost touch with when the ops centre closed down, she was low on the list of people I thought I’d see again. We were both different people then. I had sensed conflict around her and shied away from that.

But bumping into her on facebook.com, I asked how she was doing and her answer compelled me.

I’m not well. But that’s okay...

I picked her up at her modest old home. She’s a fraction of the size she used to be but her eyes have not changed and that’s enough to recognize her. She brought her parking tag with us so we could park at the restaurant door.

I had been very familiar with the little charity organization she’d created. She financed insulin pumps for diabetic children in need while lobbying the government health insurance to assume this much-needed coverage.

I learned today that she succeeded a few years ago. Now no child in Ontario needing an insulin pump will go without one and Ministry of Health literature recognizes her efforts to this end.

She remains tight with the ministry, providing a buffer of reality between they and the self-interested, self-promoting national diabetes organization and all of their spin, while still lobbying, now for like coverage for adult diabetes sufferers – a service she currently provides to the best of her growing charity’s capability.

She’s allergic to insulin but takes a small amount, a calculated compromise, in effort to stretch her mortality a little further. She declares herself a medical wonder to have survived this long.

Each morning that she awakes to, is a bonus day for which she’s grateful and which she tries to make the most of – by logging onto the computer and dispensing vital counsel and assistance to fellow sufferers.

She ardently praises her husband. They’ve shared a deeply satisfying marriage built on unconditional love and tolerance. She worries about he and the boy and how they’ll deal with her absence. She begs that there be no funeral.

“If too many people come he won’t be able to handle it,” she says. “And if too few come, he’ll be hurt. If people want to pay respect, they know where the house is. They can drop by.” The lump in my throat silences me. “Don’t be sad,” she says to me. “It’s all okay.”

But I already know it’s okay. In essence I do not pity the sick and the dying. To suffer and die are the natural states of all life. I understand this intrinsically. I will desire no pity when my time for suffering or death comes. My pity goes to all those millions of people who are not celebrating their circumstances; their privileged health and wealth and security and who squander it; having no real understanding of their own lives and no connection to real happiness. I pity all those who are wasting their lives away – as I did for thirty-seven years.

“Tears don’t always mean I’m sad,” is all I managed to say.

These days I am easily overcome by any of a great many emotions, including, I now know, intense admiration.

FWG

http://www.sugarcharity.org/

Mr. Grill

Walked into the restaurant and was immediately greeted by a man wearing a name tag reading Sunset Grill. Now, his name may indeed have been Sunset Grill for all I know. I have little doubt that one or more persons named Sunset Grill actually exist given the vast population of the world and the rare-but-not-too-rare frequency of humorous naming activity that has made Ima Belcher a reality along with a brother and sister combination named Gonora and Syphilla and of course numerous occurences of both Santa Clause and Douglas Fir Trees.

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But this restaurant is called Sunset Grill so I'm thinking we're asking for way too much a coincidence here.

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I was sucked into this place by the promise on their sign reading World Famous All Day Breakfast - but wait. I'm sorry. Assuming you live in the same world as I then you must surely already know about their breakfast. So I'll get to the point. Here is the dialogue from this encounter:

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Man-who-may-or-may-not-be-named-Grill: Hello. How are you today?

FWG: Excellent, thanks. How are you?

MWMOMNBNG: Table for one?

FWG: Yes please. And how are you today?

MWMOMNBNG: Inside or patio?

(three seconds of silence)

FWG: I volunteered how I'm doing today when you asked.

(two or three seconds of silence)

MWM-etc: Yes?

FWG: Inside please.

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What can I say? The man is an enigma. He may be named Grill or he may not. He serves breakfast all day as all the world is aware but how he is doing today, the world may never know.

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FWG

Stuff on Claudia's Cat: Potato salad with apples

That's right. With apples! And here's a note to all you bastards who won't listen to me when I tell you that apples is the most important ingredient in any potato salad. You're all going to burn in hell. That's right. Hell. And Satan is gonna serve you the most boring potato salad every day; five meals a day. Potato salad with no apples. And way too much paprika. Oh - you will all regret your ignorance! You'll rue the day!

FWG's nature safari

I went on a wilderness tour down Mississauga's Credit River valley trail. Figured I was much overdue to get back to nature and journey this untamed wilderness paradise I'd been hearing about. Check out the highlights:
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Ah, So there is a river down here!

. Where's the Bridge out sign?

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Wow. Look at that sheer surface. If I was a tenth level thief with dexterity 16 I could climb that sheer surface - oh - 96% of the time, I'm guessing.
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Hmm. Something's missing from this scene. I guess they couldn't come up with a good sign idea. How about: WARNING: Trees and green stuff ahead.

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Took this photo just as the mega-dark clouds rolled in. Had to photo-shop the buhjeezes out of it to lighten it up hense it looks like crapola. Then the rains avalanched on me. I then dodged lightning for three miles and got home looking like I'd gone swimming in my clothes.

Fun stuff.

Who doesn't love a parade?

I survived the Umpteenth Annual Streetsville Bread and Honey Festival.

Here are the top ten highlights from the parade. You'd better sit down for this. Our parades are very very exciting. I don't want you to get overstimulated and fall down.

Counting down:

10. Some dude in a company van. Ooooh! Ahhhh! But wait. It gets even better.

9. Girl Guide cookies made out of real girl guides.

8. The Bread and Honey mascot. We thought a bee might be appropriate but we couldn't afford a bee suit so we borrowed this bear suit instead. From the Royal Bank. He's called 'Royal the Bear'. I guess. Okay, I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about.

7. Inflatable cake. This was just before they tried to light the candles. That didn't go down well at all.

6. Pooch doggies! everyone loves the pooch doggies!

5. Pillow people. These folks each had a pillow with either the word, Love or Peace embroidered on it. They spent half the time showing peace and love to the crowd and half the time beating each other senseless with the pillows.

4. The spikey-helmet people. You can't see the spikes on their helmets 'cause I'm a shitty photographer but trust me, they're there. They had to be kept away from the inflatable cake.

3. The Streetsville Rapist.

He's a bug-eyed sonofabitch, that Streetsville Rapist. But sort of a nice guy. Quiet. Keeps to himself.

2. Wrong Way Bicycle Club.

And the number one most intersting feature of the Streetsville Bread and Honey parade:

1. The dreaded Streetsville Smudge. Okay, I think I might have licked my camera lense by mistake.

Ohmygodmygodneverneveragain

Fallsview Hilton, Niagara Falls, Ontario. Annual company meeting. The agenda:

Breakfast: Everything doughy and unhealthy you can imagine.

Guest speaker: Forty-five minutes of jokes in order to ‘warm the audience up’ and fifteen minutes inadequately glossing over something called emotional intelligence. Or was it emotional quotient? I forget. Whatever it was it must surely have changed my life.

Team-building event: Photo scavenger hunt: Tramping all over Niagara Falls with Polaroid cameras and GPS devices, pissing off merchants and frightening small children. I made a ridiculously stupid face in every photo. A different one every time.
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Stuff: Talk. Applaud. Repeat 800 times.

Check-in: Showered. Felt – and smelled – human again.

Cocktails: I had seven. Yes, seven.

Dinner: Five wine-drinkers at our table. We drank five bottles of wine. You can bet I pulled my weight and then some. You see where this is going, don’t you? Oh, and I also had a beer and then another on the way to the…

Evening event: Slutty Olive Restaurant and Booze Festival – or something like that. They had a strictly awesome band. Danced like a freak to Beatles and Stones songs for hours. Had four drinks on the company tab. Bought myself drinks. Drank drinks bought for me by other people. Appropriated unknown persons’ abandoned drinks (God, how I wish I was kidding). Inexplicably avoided hospitalization and/or death.

Lost my credit card. Lost my debit card. Received credit card from the coworker who found it.

Told a big-wheel VP, when he asked about my career aspirations at Ye Olde Information Company, “To get a severance package” and then declared my “calling to a higher power.” I’m totally not kidding.

He was intrigued, bought us some vodka shots and invited me to make us a lunch appointment through his secretary and “Do you like sushi?”
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The unofficial wee-hours event: While most were either in bed or at the casino, I asked a cabby to take me to Denny’s. He pointed up the street, not a block away, and said, “It’s right there.”

Went to Denny’s. Ordered the chicken shwarma. Couldn’t figure out where all the tables and chairs were. Was told this wasn’t Denny’s but a chicken shwarma stand. Inhaled chicken shwarma. Went next door to Denny’s. Inhaled a lumberjack grand slam. .


The tomorrow-has-come-too-soon event: Asked cabby to take me to the Hilton.

“Under ten bucks. Cash only,”

“I have no cash,” said I, laying back head and closing eyes, demonstrating that I wasn’t going anywhere and would be perfectly happy to sleep in his cab instead.

He drove around the corner to the 7-Eleven and told me there was a cash machine inside. I went in, discovered debit card was still missing, inserted credit card and discovered I still do not know my credit card PIN number.

Went back and told the cabby to do ten dollars worth of driving around. He drove around the corner to the hotel and gave himself a five-dollar tip. I thought about puking in his back seat but decided to be a super nice guy instead.

Went to bed at 4AM. Woke up at 7 with something akin to a brain aneurism. Couldn’t go back to sleep because I was convinced that the pillow was chewing on my head.

Had three Advils, two coffees, three glasses of grapefruit juice and three glasses of water for breakfast at the 33rd floor restaurant overlooking the falls. Nice view. If only I hadn’t the ardent desire to leap through the glass and plunge to a watery death.

Took the bus back to the office. Emailed Big Wheel’s secretary and made the sushi appointment for July 1st. And sushi is the perfect food because I can’t eat it without dripping gallons of soya sauce on myself. How ever my end to full-time career comes – I’m sensing it may be soon and spectacular!

FWG
Days since becoming an alcohol abstainer: 1
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