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Why Do We Grasp for Dead People’s Possessions?

I never understood why, when someone dies, people flock to the scene to claim possession of the trinkets of the deceased.  I just don’t get it.

I remember when my grandmother died and four people were fighting for her punch bowl.  A fucking punch bowl!  When the hell are you ever going to need a punch bowl?  Is there a Happy Days-themed prom you’re expecting to have at your house?

“Oh, it’s a family heirloom.”  From the old English, “loom”, meaning tool.  And heir, of course meaning, the next family member to lay rightful claim to that “tool”.  A punch bowl.

I’ve heard the argument that “it’s” something to remember them by.  Um, if you need a tool to remember them, then I’m guessing they didn’t mean much to you in life and if that’s the case, why do you want to remember them now?  By the way, Walmart sells punch bowls. I don’t know why, but they do.

For many years, following my father’s passing, his brother believed that my dad threw away their mother’s pocket bible.  Maybe he did.  No one knows.  No one.  He couldn’t let go of this.  Still hasn’t.

Maybe two or three times a year, we’d talk for a few minutes on the phone and no matter what the conversation was about, he’d have to mention it.  “Your dad threw away your grandmother’s pocket bible.”

Okay, so what do you want me to do about that?  It was always an accusatory tone and it got old very quickly.  He was blaming my deceased dad for something he may not have even done.  My uncle wanted that pocket bible as if his life wouldn’t be truly complete without it.  He’d never find contentment without fulfilling this attachment.

No Santosha without Aparigraha.  Just sayin’.  

It’s just a book!  A very small, mass-manufactured version of the bible by some now-defunct corporate publisher.  It’s nothing.  God, however anyone wants to define “God”, is NOT in that book.  My grandmother is not in that book.  It’s just words on cheap paper.  He’s clinging to this object as if it’s some kind of talisman.

And then, this happened.

A few weeks back, I was cleaning out our garage and came across a box of old photos from my parents.  As I was going through it, I found a pocket bible.  On the back, inside cover, was my grandmother’s maiden name and signed by her.  “I found it!”  I put it in a cinch bag with a note to my uncle and mailed it to the other side of the country.

And … nothing.  No call.  No message.  Two weeks went by.  No response whatsoever.

Out of concern and to make sure it arrived, my wife called him.  Yep, he got it.  He was quick, because he was busy, but said, “That’s not the bible.  Bob (my dad) threw away the one I’m talking about.”

Okay then.  And that was pretty much the end of the conversation.  No thanks for the thought or anything like that.  Not that I need thanks or appreciation to validate what I did, but still.  You know what I mean.  Maybe acknowledgment; I don’t know.

So, I don’t do the anger thing.  Maybe I’m weird, but I don’t hold grudges or get angry with things like this.  Grudges are heavy, weighing like sandbags on our shoulders.  I don’t want to be hunched over when I’m 100.

I do get disappointed though.  Hey, I’m human.  But, this wasn’t even disappointment for me.  It was a realization about my “relationship” with my uncle.  There really isn’t one.  He doesn’t know me, nor I him, really.

While I don’t misplace value in inanimate objects, like a punch bowl or pocket bible, I do value people and the relationships I have with them.  My fathers efforts, hard work, tolerance, wisdom, and guidance he provided on my behalf is what I value.  I can never forget that.  Possessing his microwave isn’t going to keep him with me.  Like, every time I make popcorn, I would feel his presence.  No, I sold his microwave to help pay for hospice.

Anyways, the value my uncle places in this book and the negativity associated with its mysterious disappearance, permeated whatever little contact we had.  Ugh.

And for that reason, I’m out.  Sometimes, you just have to give the microwave away, because its too heavy to keep moving around.  Besides, I make my popcorn on the stove top.

Peace.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

The Number of the Universe

When I was in Yoga teacher training, I thought it would be cool to pick up a Mala necklace.  Yeah, I’m calling it a necklace.  A string of beads in a circle, we wear around our neck.  Necklace.  Anyways, I figured why not; you know?  I already have the bracelets, so why not the necklace.  I had no idea what it was about.

Then, I learned that there were specifically 108 beads or stones on the string, just like the Catholic rosary.  At first, I didn’t give it much thought.  Whatever.  Still, to this day, I haven’t worn it.  I don’t feel right with it.  I’m not sure I’m that guy.  I put it on, look in the mirror and … nope, not today.

Then I’m thinking, if I’m ever going to wear this thing, I should know something about it.  And if you already know this stuff; cool, but as I dug into it, I found it fascinating.  Maybe you will too.

For instance, this number connects the Sun, the Moon, and the Earth. In fact, the average distance between the Sun and the Earth is the diameter of 108 Suns.  And … the average distance between the Moon and the Earth is the diameter of 108 Moons.  The diameter of the Earth, multiplied by 108 is the diameter of the Sun.  But, 108 isn’t just related to our solar system:  there are 27 constellations in our galaxy, and each one of them has 4 directions. 27 x 4 = 108.  108 covers the whole galaxy.  Maybe the Universe.

And speaking of the Universe, it is one (Uni). It is a great void (represented by zero).  And it is everything (infinity).  So, one, zero, and the numerical symbol for infinity; eight.

One thing. Nothing. Everything.  108.

Vedic mathematicians viewed 108 as a number of wholeness of existence.  Add the numbers together and we get nine, which is divisible by three threes and three represents wholeness, completeness, and perfection.  Three is the number of time (past, present, and future).

The Sanskrit alphabet is over 4,000 years old and it had 54 letters.  Each letter has a Shiva (masculine) and Shakti (feminine) energy.  54 x 2 = 108.

Stonehenge is over 5,000 years old and its diameter is 108 feet.  In fact, the Mayan High Temple of Lamanai was 108 feet tall, which is the same exact height of the funerary Tikal temple in Guatemala.  And … many Buddhist temples have 108 steps.

We knew the significance of 108 thousands of years ago, all over the world, throughout different cultures and belief systems.  How?  Maybe that’s an episode for “Ancient Aliens”, I don’t know.

Thinking of all of this is a bit scary, right?  The sun, the moon, the earth, the universe.  Stonehenge and temples!  I’m starting to sweat, just thinking about it.

By the way, did you know the human body’s vital organs begin to fail from overheating when our core temperature reaches 108 degrees?

Photo by Chelsea Shapouri on Unsplash

Why is Reality a Hard Sell? 3 Questions

While I was studying athletic training at Temple University, one of my mother’s friends came up to me and asked, “Hey Rob, what can I do to get rid of this?”, flicking her triceps fat, while eating a donut.  Hmm.  Very attractive.  As I got into the real answer, she interrupted me with, “No, I just want to get rid of this”.  Again, with the flicking of the fat.

She wanted the result; the destination without the journey. I couldn’t help her, because well … I’m not a warlock.  And even if I was able to do magic, there was much more to it than flabby triceps.  She would have looked very odd.  Funny though.

The thing is … there’s very little value in the result without the journey.  Fantasy is a cheap sell and after its purchased, whatever little value it had, is quickly diminished.

Three questions:

Why is the buying and selling of the fantasy so easy?

Because, reality is not easy.  It’s hard to sell hard.

The fantasy is wearing $90 yoga pants at the mall, while drinking a smoothie with a wrist full of mala beads.  It’s taking a selfie at the top of Mount Everest.  It’s six-minute abs, how to become a millionaire in three easy steps, and a guaranteed black belt with payment in full.  Easy money.

Why is reality such a hard sell?

Because its packaged wrong; focusing on the destination, instead of the journey.

Sell the journey, not the destination and package difficulty as something desirable.  The real rewards are in the climb, even if we don’t reach the summit.  Through effort, pain, strife, focus, determination, introspection, practice, training, breathing, and going inside ourselves, seeing who we are, we’re rewarded with some very rare knowledge.  We gained wisdom, we didn’t die, we’re fitter and more flexible, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  And as a byproduct; yeah, maybe we summited.  Maybe we became a martial artist, became a yogi, and even uncovered those abs.

Should either one be sold at all?

No.

When the value of the journey is presented well enough, people will buy.  No one likes to be sold, but we all love to buy.

Buying reality takes acknowledgment of the truth.  The truth of what is.  Reality is freedom, self-awareness, and empowering.  It can hurt and it can abolish pain. It can bring us through the sadness to true happiness.  Its not always easy, but the rewards are real.  It’s an amazing place, but it’s not for everyone.

Don’t try to sell everyone.  But, for those who are ready to take the journey, let them buy.

Photo by Michael Clarke on Unsplash

I See Human Beings

My apologies.  I know I’m taking a risk here, but I posted this the other day and then I took it down.  I’m torn.  I want to leave the past in the past and so I thought I’d put it out there and let it go, but then I thought, by putting it out there, it regains energy.  I had a great conversation with a wise person, who told me its okay to put it out there, let it go, and be done with it.  So, here it is again.  I will not take it down. Namaste.  

Charles Bukowski once said, “I walked around the block twice, passed 200 people and failed to see a human being.”

The block I grew up on was pretty bad.  I walked around it countless times.  I witnessed and experienced things I shouldn’t have at an early age.  At any age, really.  I greeted the prostitutes on the corner as I walked by, witnessed horrible violence and incredible kindness.  A bloody lifeless body on my sidewalk and a two-year old boy innocently playing with a toy truck.  I went to sleep to the cacophony of gun shots, sirens, the elevated train, people yelling and screaming, and … a dog barking.  You get used it.

I learned street diplomacy in my single digits, got into and out of violent confrontations and maintained a delicate relationship between decent people and the criminal element.

Mentally, physically, and psychologically processing that stuff has its effects.  For so many, the atmosphere becomes them and I completely understand.  The pressure to align with this group or that group, because standing alone is dangerous.  So is aligning with a group.  Catch 22.  What does it mean to be a man?  As a young teenager, successfully navigating that atmosphere was next to impossible.

Due to the surrounding violence, my dad enrolled me in martial arts when I was twelve.  Real martial arts.  Not kiddie karate.  Blood, pain, injury, and a bit of Zen.  I could have gotten three of those on the streets at no cost.  Actually, I did.  Something I asked my dad was … “Can’t we just move, instead?”  But that wasn’t in the cards.

That neighborhood heightened my sense of awareness and information processing speed.  My decision making skills are quick and quite decisive.  I learned to read situations, verbal exchanges, tone, demeanor, mood, movement, and things that just don’t feel right. I don’t recommend it.

And the martial arts?  That militaristic dojo taught me how to embrace the suck, get comfortable with being uncomfortable, and focus.  It helped me to see myself.  And because of that, it helped me to see the human beings.

Back to the Bukowski quote.  I saw the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful on that block.  I saw the humans.  All of them.  A person.  A life.  I think that’s what helped me navigate those streets.  I genuinely saw the person and they saw that I saw them and so … they saw me.  Some didn’t, no matter what.  That’s just the way it goes and that relationship got handled differently.

Whatever, whenever, and wherever the block; literal or metaphorical, seeing the human beings helps a lot.  It can hurt sometimes too.  But, the alternative is just going through the motions.  No feeling to it.  No soul.

I know what Bukowski was trying to say and I get it.  Life, atmosphere, circumstances, and shitty people can cause us to lose our faith in fellow humans; jaded, frustrated, guarded, and disheartened.  It happens and we all have our days, but we can’t live there.  That would be a miserable existence.  No joy.  No peace.

I see human beings, but I first had to truly see myself.

Photo by Fredy Martinez on Unsplash 

An Absolute Doorway to the Soul

“The cold is an absolute doorway to the soul.” – Wim Hof, The Ice Man

I’ve run four Tough Mudders and five other obstacle course races.  Why do people do this?  Everyone has their reasons, but for me, when I’m in the freezing ice-water, crawling through claustrophobic pipes half filled with water, jumping off platforms into more cold water, crawling through mud, getting electrocuted, and pushing my brain and body through 12 miles of that shit, it’s a vacation!  A vacation from the mundane and the rigmarole of distraction throughout our daily lives.  The chatter, the multi-tasking, the dishes, dinner, laundry, phone, news, work, the lawn, traffic, and wait … what’s for lunch?  All that goes away and you’re there, completely engaged with the universe.

I’ve trained and worked with MMA fighters and many will say this about being in the octagon: When you’re in there, everything else goes away. It’s not office politics or life drama.  For that short period of time, you’re there; completely.  All that outside noise is gone.  It’s liberating and refreshing.

As for training with Wim Hof, it’s not something I’ve done.  Not yet.  Maybe not at all; I haven’t made up my mind.  I’ve read his books and follow the method on his website.  I love the breathing and concentration part.  I hate the freezing cold water part.  So, we’ll see.  But as he says, when you’re in that cold water, all you can focus on is survival.  Your mind, body, and soul are all engaged in the same place and it’s an amazing thing to experience.

So, if we don’t want to get our face kicked in, get hypothermia in a lake near the north pole, or use our body as the bottom of a twenty-foot tall human ladder, while eating someone’s muddy Adidas, what can we do to get this same feeling?

Binge watch Game of Thrones?  Stranger Things?  Billions?  No, that’s not it.  But yes, watch these shows.  It’s not yoga, but not everything needs to be.  Sometimes it just feels good to see what The North is going to do next.

Run a 5k?  A half-marathon?  A whole marathon?  An ultra- … wait; no, just stop.  I’m not running that far.  Ever.  After two miles, my brain strobe-lights content due to the boredom.  I’m everywhere, but “there”.  Ugh, running sucks!  But, for those people who immerse into the run, it’s their yoga.  The breath, the rhythm, the trance.

The gym?  Yeah, because wearing earbuds with our face in a cell phone between sets, sitting on a machine, surrounded by TVs is total focus, right?  No.  But, there are some people who lose the world around them, during that squat and for them, that is their yoga.  The focus, the technique, the effort.

Yoga means union.  Union with the universe, where our brain, body, spirit and focus all come together as one with our environment.  Whatever our yoga is, it should be an absolute doorway to the soul.  For me, it’s yoga.

Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash

 

Trust: What’s the Matter?

Trust is not something that can be earned.  It is only given or lost.

In the movie, A League of Their Own, there’s a scene at the train station where Jon Lovitz is waiting for two dairy farm workers, played by Gina Davis and Lori Petty, to get on the train.  They’re reluctant to board and so Lovitz’s character says, “See, the way it works is, the train moves, not the station.”

The train moves, not the station!  That one gets me every time.

It kind of works the same way with trust, if trust is the train and the person is the station.  The train can only be let go (given) to go where it has the potential to go.  That’s what its built to do.

Maybe the train goes off the rails.  Maybe it breaks down.  Maybe.  But, mostly it takes everyone where they need to go.  To do that, it must be let go from the station.  Trust must be given.

If the train had to be inspected, over and over again; checked and re-checked as if having to prove its worthiness and never actually let go from the station, because no matter what it does while sitting there ever earns actual trust, it goes nowhere and does no one any good.  And the train deteriorates.

The train would never be able to become what it needs to be, do what it was meant to do, without being given trust.  It can’t prove a damn thing sitting at the station, one way or the other.

When someone says, “you have to earn my trust”, it means they don’t trust you.  It does.  I mean you either do or you don’t and if we haven’t “earned” it yet (as if it would happen sometime in the future), it doesn’t exist now.  So, no trust.

We either give someone our trust or we don’t and if we don’t, we don’t trust them.  It’s just the way the math works.  And that’s okay, depending on the circumstances.  There are things to consider, of course.  But that train (employee, partner, spouse, friend, etc) will never perform at its greatest potential if not trusted to leave the station.

Like most things, we can’t give trust if we don’t have it.  If we don’t trust ourselves, how can we trust others?  We can’t give something we don’t have.  Maybe we need to be honest with ourselves.  If someone broke our trust, it hurts; emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, physically, and even financially.  But, that was that person, not everyone else.  And when someone breaks our trust, especially in the worst ways, the real damage is on them.  I know it doesn’t seem that way and maybe they don’t even feel it.  But, their soul does.  It’s just a bad train.

And let’s not confuse trust for competency.  That train will not take me to the door step of my destination.  It doesn’t do that.  My trust is that it will do what it does; stay on the rails and take me to my destination station.  Nothing more, nothing less.  I’ll need an Uber to take me from the station and hmm, let’s see; get into a stranger’s personal car …

But we do it every day, don’t we?  It’s a matter of trust.  Trust that is given.

Photo by gavin_s_wilson on Instagram.

A Joyful Explosion of Humanity

Right around this time every year, I’m riveted, mesmerized, and lost for about three hours in front of my television.  No … not that show.  Not that one either.

This show is an eclectic mix of genres, backgrounds, and styles, mixing together like a well-blended cocktail of only the best unrelated ingredients served in a chalice that is the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony.

It tastes refreshing and makes you feel good.

The atmosphere is one of love, respect, and positivity.  It’s a nullification of boundaries, lines, divisiveness, hate, ethnicity, religious beliefs, politics, and human drama; which is all based on bullshit, as far as I can tell.

Is it the soulful words in acceptance speeches?  Is it the introduction speeches, because they’re written and given by a fellow artist who just happens to be a big fan of whom they’re speaking of?  It’s not just some presenter and a teleprompter, you know.  In Brian May’s speech, when he was inducting Def Leppard, he said, I wouldn’t let anyone else do this. He’s a fan and a friend.

Is it the music?  Yeah, I turn that shit up to eleven.

But, that’s not what captivates me.  Actually it’s all of that, along with an appreciation of the artistry, talent, skill, effort, writing, sacrifice, tragedy, triumph, risk, and the drive to keep going, producing beautiful music in the face of all adversity.

No, that’s not quite it either.

It’s what I see that could be.  I see Janelle Monae genuinely enthralled by the performance of Def Leppard; dancing and smiling.  It’s when I see Stevie Nicks hanging on every word of Janet Jackson’s acceptance speech.  I see an audience full of highly accomplished artists, all in their own right, cheering for one-another with appreciation and respect.

That time when Tom Petty, Jeff Lynn, George Harrison’s son, and Prince all played together, performing “While my Guitar Gently Weeps”.  Or when Bono, Mick Jagger, Fergie, Will-I-AM, and The Edge all performed “Gimme Shelter” together.  Harry Styles performing with Stevie Nicks.  Brian May, Susanna Hoffs, Steve Van Zandt, and Ian Hunter of Mott the Hoople (what?!) performing together, “All the Young Dudes.”

Yes!  It truly is a joyful explosion of humanity.

It’s like Robin Williams once said about music; “… a harmonic connection between all living beings, everywhere, even the stars.”

Photo by Israel Palacio on Unsplash