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Monday, June 30, 2014

Zen - Chop Wood, Carry Water

Zen - Chop Wood, Carry Water


A common misconception in following a spiritual life is the belief that in order to follow the practice that one must live in a cave, wear a saffron robe and beg for alms. This picture of a monk with a shaved head living in the mountains leads one to believe a spiritual practice is not possible unless one practices asceticism. This commitment level and practice is too much for some so they refrain completely from practicing a spiritual life. This all or nothing mentality creates a missing in a person’s life. It IS possible to have a spiritual existence without a shaved head and bamboo cup.


Many masters in India as well as spiritual practitioners across the globe live a regular life with a family, and a job. How is such a life possible?The essence of living a spiritual life is contained in the Zen quote “when hungry eat, when tired sleep.” Now before your mind reacts and you say to yourself….’Gee thanks for that incredibly obvious piece of wisdom.’ Look at this quote more closely, along with the initial passage above ‘before enlightenment chop wood, carry water…after enlightenment chop wood, carry water.’ Break life down into the simplicity of the present moment.


As human beings we do not live in the present moment. We carry our past forward with us, we yearn for something in the future and all the time we miss what is in front of us at all times. Life is beautiful right in front of us at every moment. Focusing on this moment right now removes the mind from drifting to wants, needs, desires….all driven by the mind in search of attachment. With attachment comes suffering.


When I am in the mind-set of when hungry eat, when tired sleep I am fully present to the simple needs I actually have to survive and I am present to life AS it is happening. I can see a child’s smile across the park. I can see the bird in the tree. I can smell the lilac tree as I run by. I can feel the rain on my skin and the presence of the divine in every moment.


In the early days of the Zen monasteries, the number of monks grew to the point that it was necessary to split up tasks, chores throughout the day to keep the place running. It was impractical to have all sit in meditation all day as there was upkeep and food needed. The practice of meditation while awake and doing chores was brought into practice. This practice was a supplement to the actual sitting meditation with the intent to find PRESENCE at all times throughout the day. Do not let your mind wander. Bring it forth to the present moment be it listening to another, focusing on a task, or going for a walk.


The simplicity of a spiritual life is available for anyone, no shaved heads required. It involves staying present, getting the mind under control, practicing love and compassion. Clear your mind….Chop wood, Carry Water.

Monday, June 23, 2014

Comics - Responding To Sexism

Comics - Responding To Sexism

I understand trying to make comics female friendly, but aren't you guys worried that you're going to lose your core audience which is male? In the X-books you've had more focus on the likes on these females like jean and kitty while it should be Cyclops who has been the star of the X-Men comics for years. What warrants these characters more page time than him? Jean and kitty are secondary characters. You guys listen too much to women bitching. They cause so much freakin drama in comicdom. -Anon




Wow.  you are the first person who I am kind of glad asked your question anonymously because I don’t want to know you.
As a reader of my work I want you to listen to me very carefully: you have major major issues. almost every line of your question reeks of complete misunderstanding of yourself as a man and of women in general.
It’s okay to find yourself more interested in something than others, of course it is,  it’s okay to like Cyclops more than Jean Grey, but for you to draw the line at women characters not being interesting to you because you are a man or that you think I am being manipulated by some bitching women is really out there.
And as a reader of the X-Men whose entire philosophy is about tolerance and understanding… you are missing the point.
-Brian Michael Bendis

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Life - Decide

Life - Decide

What would you choose?

I think it speaks hilariously to my personal dichotomy that I would either choose Escape or Dominion...

Mari and Raena brought up that Nakama would make an amazing film though (or television series).  I've actually begun sketching out ideas based on that now for a game too...

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Math - Blood Longsword

Math - Blood Longsword

Redditor SecretCoyote did the math.

The average man has 4 grams of iron in his blood.
http://www.irondisorders.org/how-much-iron-is-in-the-body/

According to Wikipedia, the average British longsword was between 1.1 and 1.8 kg. We'll use 1.45, the median value.
http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Longsword

Also according to Wikipedia, the carbon content of steel is anywhere between .002% and 2.1%. Averaged, the carbon percentage of steel is 1.051%, though I doubt the percentage was anything approaching consistent (if anyone has better numbers for that please share).
http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steel


So 1.45kg - (1.45kg * 1.051%) = 1.4347605kg of iron in the average longsword. At .004kg of iron in the average man, and assuming complete iron extraction from each corpse, forging a sword from blood-iron would have taken 358.69, or 359 dead men (far fewer than I expected, frankly).

TL;DR: at 359 humans, it's one damn expensive sword to make.

Monday, June 9, 2014

Writing - Luminary Memories

Writing - Luminary Memories

I am a wanderer.  Tracing barely remembered paths up and down back streets, through alleyways and down that dappled lane.  This wayward stroll, following vanishing friends and fading memories, the sounds of the past and moments gone.  We have all grown up, become other people and done other things.  The buildings are boarded over, replaced with fresh paint and new glass, the cars a shiny varnish, and what's left of a rainstorm drifts down the gutters with languidity.

A long hug, warm embrace and the ghost touch of lips on skin.

I remember the late nights, a drunken stumble and our loud laughter.  We were the kings and queens of our world, striding four abreast across this river of stilted concrete and crumbling stone.  We pushed our way through knee-high snow and blowing winds.  We strolled along waxing poetic, plying words to our whimsy as we debated the intricacies of terms and things barely known.

I remember the tea and music, of dancing and sweeping and joyous exaltation.  Of closing up shop and brewing another batch, we played keyboards and guitars, warrior musicians of a different age, sipping chai to the fading light until we closed the doors.  Another round of coffee for my brothers, the night is but young, and there are topics yet un-debated for our ripe minds to pick at.

I remember running through the streets, a superhero, the time an enemy.  Floods of people part and I yell "Sorry" behind me.  Bag bumps my hip, binder heavy in my hands.  The race across the streets from one show to another.  I chart the path I took that day with my eyes, see the crowds, the excitement; "Artist coming through!" a knowing smile, a call time that can't be missed.

The press of clay between fingers, muddy hands entwined as we folded pots in on themselves and laughed.  Smudged and dirty, trying to coax earth impossibly high and errantly thinner.  Painting glaze and imagining wonders and not children's toys.

Dancing, a swirl of bodies and sweat and warmth and love and the beat, the beat that rushes through our feet and moves us.  Moves us.  We can't help but drift stellar across the floor smiling at each other beneath lashes and long hair, fingers entwine, you grab my shirt and pull me where you will.

I remember a bridge, the open water, a rising sun and a belly full of donuts.  We climbed that mountain of steel and rivets, doing impossible things and wanting to see impossible sights.  We laughed, and ignored the scuff marks on our hands and the rips in our jeans.

We walked arm in arm, singing tunes and being children in a time of adulthood.  We whistled at each other and dissolved in a fit of helpless giggles.

Running out into a blizzard to get some ice cream.  We were young and silly and foolish.  We got frostbite for it.

Playing pingpong, crushing tiny plastic balls against the stonework in the summer air on the back of a loading bay, we would rush there and play a handful of games, paddles flying and keeping score.

A plate of nachos too big for all four of us to finish, a thing of ice and alcohol that we drank in the hot summer sun, wings and beer, late night pizza, bites of steak and chips and corn.  Green onion cakes on rainy summer days, a morning bagel and coffee to warm us up.

The smell of books, of meeting amidst the stacks and pointing out the covers and the names.  The swirl of colors and characters that danced on book jackets before our eyes, we flipped pages and watched words collide, meandering, imagining.

Open spaces and possibilities, with pinpoint lights and racks of steel.  With speakers high and seats down low.  The black decks a canvas for our ideas, our dreams and imaginations.  Our voices raised high, our hearts beat down low.  We were these gods of these empty buildings and spaces, between brick and concrete, building worlds with the flick of a wrist or a twist of the head, watching light and hearing sound expand, fill and explore.

I remember a bite of your sandwich.  And you stealing my fries to dip them in ketchup, and vinegar, and gravy.  You are weird.

A hacky-sack game in the shade.

A glass of lemonade so sour it made our mouths pucker.

Sitting in the grass watching a magician ply his trade while I signed your cast.

Our friends serenaded us with guitar and ukelele, with violin and keyboard, with a harmonica.  With spoons.

We propped ourselves up back to back and watched the world pass by.

I remember arms wide open and jubilation, yelling at the heavens.

I remember singing.

I remember loving.

I remember living.

I did not die that day on the open plains, waist deep in snow and storm, blowing wind and howling fury.

I did not die that day on the bridge of steel and iron, that colossus of earthwork that rises above the river.

I did not die that day in the open air, plummeting with the rush of earth and wind.

I did not die that day, with eyes slowly closing and with breath drifting from my lungs.  I did not die, surrounded by linens and cloth, feel the slowing of my heartbeat, and the darkness at the edges.  I did not die, with vermillion leaking out my veins and crystal falling from my eyes.

I did not die that day, I am here, remember, and live and still.

I hug you again, again, again, I crush you to me, and me to you, breathe in and know and remember and commit these thoughts forever and a day.

Again.  I hug you friend, again.  I live.  I remember.  I am here and the fading memories, they fade no more.

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Quotes - Plato

Quotes - Plato

Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eye are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye. - Plato

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Play - Fluxx

Play - Fluxx

I once was taking care of a 7 year old, for like 15-20 minutes while her aunt cooked something in the kitchen. There was a Chinese checkers board, so we played that.

It wasn't feasible to play Chinese checkers properly, so I just let her dictate the rules. "Let's say you can jump like this". Okay fine. I followed the 'rules' and moved my marbles around the board according to her rules. I tried to get my marbles on the other end of the board, she just randomly moved the marbles around, sometimes playing my pieces.

Then she said "Lets throw the marbles at the board and try to get them to land in places". Okay, we did that for a while. So we did that. Then we made pictures with the marbles for a bit. I think even was able to add 'rules' of my own, like "bounce the marbles once before they land".

It was sort of an epiphany moment for me though. Because even though we played a lot of different games with the board, not once did we have a score, or a way to "Win". When kid's play with each other, they don't win or lose. They just play.

Don't play fluxx like it's a way to "beat" people, or even like it's a skill. Fluxx is a different sort of game. It's a Game that you just play. Bring to a restaurant with a friend. Have a conversation while you play. Don't try to win. Don't try to lose. Just play.

It's more like having a Frisbee or hacky sack with a circle of friends. No you don't get any points for doing tricks. There's no way to win. You can try to do tricks if you want. You can just pass it if you want. You can purposely throw the Frisbee poorly so your friend has to reach too far. You can try to land it on their head.

Whatever.

Play Fluxx like that.

Sometimes, for a bit, I might I try to make it so the rules are super complicated. Then maybe on a whim I'll make it simple. Then if I get bored I'll try to end the game. Or maybe I'll try to extend it. Maybe I'll try to get all food keepers. Maybe I'll try to get all the creepers. Maybe I'll try to give my friend all the creepers. Maybe I'll almost win, and then purposely not win.

Whatever.

It's just a way for you to interact with you're friends. Don't think too much about it. Don't try to win. Don't force anything. Just play.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Thoughts - Justice

Thoughts - Justice

We do not just defend the meek, the weak, or the disenfranchised.  We should strive to empower them that they might discern right from wrong, rise up and defend themselves from bullies, and take a controlling interest in their own destinies.

If we are forever defending, and not educating, are they not just trading one slavemaster for another?