Merry Christmas

On this eve of Christmas 2008, I am reflecting on two important things I learned from a conversation with a friend this week. At the time, her points hit me like 1,000 pounds of bricks. Since then, the other half of the ton has been hitting me in the head, one brick at a time. They will continue to get my attention as I reflect in the days ahead on these lessons she taught me:

1) Come down from the mountaintop where you've been communing with your god, stop thinking and writing about yourself and do something to improve the lives of others. God isn't just about your experience, it's about being part of a community of persons with a similar desire to create a better world for everyone.

2) As you continue your spiritual journey, consider this: If you were to create your own personal religion, what would it look like? Let's see: It would be centered on unconditional love for every living thing, a deep appreciation for the gift of life and the natural world that surrounds us, compassion and inclusion, and serving people who have the greatest need.

Sound familiar? It sounds a lot like the only part of the Bible that ever made sense to me: The sermon on the mount in Matthew. I dug out my well-worn childhood Bible (image above) and re-read chapter five, compete with my 40-plus-year-old notes in the margins and underlined text.

I've spent a lot of negative energy over the years debunking the myths of Christianity (the Bible is a history book full of parables, for god's sake!) and the guilt and the ridiculous rules that were drilled into me in Lutheran catechism class during my youth. It's time to move on and focus on the positive, without regard to what it's called, or who gets the credit -- God, Yahweh, Brahman, Nirvana; Abraham, Jesus, Buddha, Lao Tzu, Muhammad, Gandhi, King, Obama, you or me. Blessed are all the peacemakers.

As I reflect on my many blessings on this day, I am thankful for my family, my health, the wondrous gift of life, and my many friends who share this appreciation. Most especially, I thank those who remind us to focus on doing something for others.

Peace, love and a merry Christmas!

Good-bye, autumn

Winter solstice occurs tomorrow at 4:02 a.m. PST, making today the last day of autumn. Tonight will be the longest night of the year, and tomorrow the shortest day. After that, days will get longer, the sun will be higher in the sky, and my favorite constellation Orion will disappear from the night sky.

It's always a bittersweet time for me. I love the cool, brisk days and nights of this time of year. And the crystal-clear skies. I recall the days of my youth when my neighborhood friends and I slept in sleeping bags in the backyard in winter. I used a borrowed camera to create time exposures of the stars for a junior high school science class. It was then that I learned to love the stars of the winter sky.

Earlier this week, my friend Jean Grant wrote in her blog, "Now that the rain is gone... Where do we go from here? The rain has tucked itself away in the clouds again and the skies gave way today to some gorgeous sunshine." For me it was easy to decide where to go today: outside! I climbed on my mountain bike and headed for Crafton Hills. (Visit my Picasa web album for a few photos.)

As soon as I hit the trail, a rider passed me and said, "Lots of snow up there!" Huh? It's only about 3,500' at the top. There can't be that much snow! To my surprise, as I ascended, I hit more frequent patches of ice and as I heard it crack beneath my tires, I thought of Jean's reflections on the intensity of the seasons she experienced as a child in Illinois: "...that exquisite pain of joy when in spring, the icy puddle begins to crack and the sweet smell of the earth comes back to you after months of deep and bitter rejection of your longing soul."

My soul's longing was fulfilled today. It was a spectacular end-of-fall day. The air was crisp, the sky was deep blue (aided by the sun's lowest angle of the year) and there was nary a cloud in the sky. As I rode along the trail heading east, I saw San Bernardino and San Gorgonio mountains in the distance and recalled the hikes I made to their peaks this summer. The cycle of the seasons -- and of life -- takes its winter turn now and makes those peaks off-limit for people like me. Only the year-round inhabitants dwell there now.

Our seasons may be subtle by Illinois standards, but if you know what to look for, you can appreciate them. True, there will not be much ice skating on the frozen lakes of Pomona, but winter will bring change. I think I'll go outside, say hello to Orion, and languish in it.

Things I Love

I met an extraordinary person recently who keeps a list of things she loves, which seems like really good exercise to do every now and then. Actually, it's a good exercise to do every moment of your life. If you're not doing what you love, what is the point of life?

Earlier, I posted Myths of Our Time, which was about what I consider to be the misguided values of our Western culture. But what do I know, really? Do I have a right to judge others, who arrive at this moment as the sum of their experiences? I haven't lived their lives.

So, this is entirely personal. Things I like to do. Things I like to experience. Things that make me want to jump out of bed feeling relaxed and peaceful and looking forward to the day, instead of saying, "Oh, crap!" It's in no particular order and subject to change and updating. If this list lies fallow, put a mirror to my nose to see if I'm breathing.

I love:

• That time in the evening when the sky is aglow at the horizon and fades to deep blue above, especially when there is a crescent moon and Venus in the western sky
  
• Sunlight reflecting on water
  
• Music of all kinds: loud, soft, fast, slow, with or without lyrics, it doesn't matter, so long as it moves me
  
• People who understand we are all part of something bigger, more resilient than ourselves
  
• Being a father
  
• Having two amazing sons and watching them grow up (still, as men)
  
• Thunder and lightning, especially when it's very close
  
• Big, fat snowflakes drifting slowly to the ground
  
• A full moon rising over the mountains you didn't expect
  
• A full moon rising over the mountains you did expect
  
• A sky so dark and full of stars the Milky Way gets lost in it
  
• Homemade soup by the fire on a cold, rainy day
  
• Touching the earth by pausing barefoot on a patch of dirt in the front yard when I pick up the newspaper in the morning
  
• A cold, fresh navel orange off my tree after a long bike ride
  
• A long bike ride or hike in the mountains
  
• A long bike ride or walk on the beach
  
• A long bike ride or hike anywhere, so long as there is no industrial noise or evidence of the machines that created it
  
• Clean air to breathe
  
• Clean water to drink
  
• The sound of the wind as it rustles the needles of a thick stand of pine trees
  
• Days when I don't start my car
  
• The view from atop a tall mountain peak
  
• The act of getting to and from the top of a tall mountain peak
  
• The sound of a mountain stream
  
• Listening to that sound with your eyes closed
  
• The sound and rhythm of the ocean, especially at night, when you can't anticipate the waves
  
• Fresh-baked bread right out of the oven
  
• The scent of the hops when home-brewed beer is cooking on the stove
  
• Licking the malt extract off the spoon before it goes into the home brew pot
  
• Dark chocolate (the darker the better)
  
• Café mocha
  
• Reading David Sedaris
  
• Listening to Davis Sedaris read David Sedaris
  
• Watching people laugh and smile
  
• Making people laugh and smile
  
• People who take seriously the work we need to do to make the world a better place
  
• People who can do that without taking themselves seriously
  
• Being able to get the printed version of The Onion from a newsstand in San Francisco
  
• San Francisco
  
• Spending a day doing nothing but walking around and photographing San Francisco
  
• The guy who plays makeshift drums on the sidewalk near the Ferry Building at the Embarcadero
  
• The Embarcadero
  
• The Ferry Building
  
• Taking the steps to Coit Tower
  
• Golden Gate Park
  
• Café Zoetrope
  
• North Beach Pizza and an Anchor Steam
  
• New York City
  
• The New York City subway
  
• Rockefeller Center at Christmas time
  
• Central Park
  
• The Met
  
• Seeing Van gogh and the Impressionists at the Met
  
• Times Square
  
• Washington Square
  
• Broadway, or not: Pick a theater, let's go!
  
• Music that makes me feel something
  
• Words that make me feel something
  
• Movies that make me feel something
  
• Creating something that makes other people feel something
  
• Playing the guitar until my fingers are so sore I can't
  
• A fresh, crisp, slightly tart apple in Autumn
  
• Memories of good times with my late sister Cheryl and my dad (rest in peace)
  
• Still having my mom, the last person who will ever call me "Donny"
  
• Being so far ahead you can raise your hands in the air when you win a bike race
  
• Not setting an alarm
  
• A full day of not having to be anywhere or do anything at any particular time
  
• The kittens Gracie and Suzy falling asleep together on my lap
  
• Staying in a cabin in Red's Meadow
  
• Rainbow Falls in Red's Meadow when the sun hits just right
  
• Riding my bike to Forest Falls around the time of my birthday when the lady bugs hatch en masse
  
• Checking my bike and clothing for tiny red hitch-hikers when I get home, then setting them free
  
• The sound of rain pattering on the window ledge
  
• Watching a spider spin its web in the evening
  
• Watching a butterfly emerge from its chrysalis
  
• Tiger Swallowtail butterflies
  
• Moments of beauty, flashes of enlightenment

Nameless

I'm suddenly inspired
To see again
To capture the world
Through my lens

Trying to show
How I feel
Without the limits
Of words

As Lao Tzu wrote,
Give it a name
And it's gone
Hidden in its box

I invite you along
To share the view
To see what's inside
Of each of us

It may be different
Perhaps the same
It matters not
It is nameless