January 2009 Archives

There was a time when I might have gone about and seen things in a different light, manifestations of calculative malice, Machiavellian antics, unreasonable expectations, the toxicity of the small, obsessive needs to overcome personal shortcomings via the process of abusing power, the hand that I'd been dealt, tit-for-tat, you-said-he-said, and so on and so on ad nouseum...

Nowadays, I experience life in a wholly different way and as the Japanese would say, mizo ni nagashite, I set things adrift. By this it is meant that one shouldn't harbor ill feelings or hold on to that that weights you down. In other words it's a small reminder of the importance of detachment.

I meditated long and hard on the situation that lies ahead the night before. It was some time after, perhaps two full rotations of the mala later, that clarity overcame confusion and the answer became clear.

I remembered a Buddhist prayer that goes; "Grant that I may be given appropriate difficulties and sufferings on this journey so that my heart may be truly awakened and my practice of liberation and universal compassion may truly be fulfilled."

Today, destiny's red carpet will roll out before me after a much trying lesson in tolerance, patience, and humility.

What lies ahead is nothing other than a push towards a whole new beginning.

It is a day after my nation commemorates a man who was taken from us much too early to realize his dream of a united America that has finally come this very day.

Today, I, America and the world celebrate the inauguration of our 44th President, Barack Obama, a man who shares in Martin Luther King's dream and identity, a man whose vision of hope is one that lacks audacity and who embodies the America our forefathers so tediously planned for and laid out in the constitutional foundation of this great democratic nation.

Today is the beginning of a new tomorrow and I join the many citizens of the world, in embracing this historical leap towards a future of change.

I worked until midnight last night and considering the fact that it was freezing, a weeknight, and that I had to be in the office this morning, the whole thing sucked yak balls.

Thanks to the efficiency of our transit system ( sarcasm intended) I arrived home much later then hoped for and sleep was not an option as I was famished and in need of a little soapy water. By the time I cooked, yes I was cooking at 12:45 a.m., washed crevices, brushed pearly whites and cleaned dishes; it was half past one.

Sleep seemed to have come as quickly as it was interrupted by the wailing wind which was knocking everything in earshot about. There was also a draft coming in from my poorly insulated windows did not help the situation. After much tossing and turning, I finally fell asleep. Then the dreams began.

I was perturbed that entire night by a string of disturbing dreams which were impossible to shake. I awoke the first time at six in the morning. I sat up for about 20 min and then fell asleep again.

You would think the dream stopped at that point, but that was not the case. For the next 2.5 hours every time that shut-eye came the dream picked up where it left off and they were causing quite the stir because I was ironically sweating bullets on one of the coldest nights this winter.

The dream(s) were crazy in that the antagonist consisted of prepubescent & teen acquaintances that I have not seen in well over 20 years. They were all grown and living in a setting that was a mixture of my Miami childhood neighborhoods and the Bronx. Everyone was plagued by inconsistency, confusion, sense of loss, suspicion, and an incessant need to taunt & screw with me.

I awoke to the buzzing of my alarm which I would have destroyed had I had a sledgehammer at hand and the luxury to buy a new one. I was tired, vexed, cold, sweating, and not in any way ready to greet Apollo. The circles under my eyes and the less than perky attitude are a testament to the less than favorable night I had.

Thank God for the ever energizing cup of Joe.

Today was the kind of morning you wake up to and just want to turn right back around and hide from. I could have stayed in bed until mid afternoon, enveloped by fluffy linen and the pelt of my little feline companion.

Yet much to my dismay, the alarm's pesky snooze intervals beckoned me to attend to the responsibilities and preoccupations required of me.

The idea of setting foot on cold hardwood floors, stepping into a cold tiled bathroom, treading the outside world, an a.m. run, jumping into a stuffy train full of non-morning folk, and especially spending eight hours at a desk where all not welcomed. In fact, morning-wood was about the only thing in the house displaying any air of motivation.

I am looking forward to tomorrow, minus the several inches of snow which are forecasted to fall. Snow and winter are natural phenomenon's I use to romanticize while living in the South until of course I moved North and seasons seized to be a thing of movies and became a frigid gloomy four month reality.

I am especially anxious for the arrival of spring, low heating and cooling costs, pastels, nature blooming, outdoor excursions, flip-flops, barbeques, tax-refunds, iced-coffee, parties in the Hamptons, clam chowders in the Cod, plane rides to far away places, mom's black beans and rice, but mostly change.

I got off the elliptical after 3.5 miles of hamster like scurrying to no where, and almost knocked some poor starved Blanquita on her non-existent butt as I was propelled by that inertia ones seems to suffer when getting off of those damned contraptions.

If looks could kill, she would have had me on a spit and eaten me for breakfast.

"Like look where you going....MAN...."

I think half my face scrunched up at the sound of her dare-you tone and replied:

"I am so sorry."

But was really thinking: "Whatever lady, go choke on a raisin."

She then made it a point to give me crossed looks of contempt which made the hairs in the back of my neck prickle every quarter mile or so as if our little clash were one that I sat up and planned all night for. I wonder if she thought that it was some machista cheap shot at touching her bobble-headed figure, or if hunger had ridden her socially inept.

Perhaps, I should have thrown a peanut from my protein bar in her vicinity to help get her on her way to contentment or maybe it was a matter of a much need battery operated "message tool" which probably would have resulted in her hips displacing and a few chipped teeth.

I just left it alone; she on the other hand gave it several more miles of thought.

Anyway, fourteen days, 42 miles, 5'600 calories expended, and several swore mornings later I am starting to get the hang of the routine. The hardest part is the health conscious diet bit. I eat a lot and often but I do miss the endless cornucopias of trans-fatty comfort foods. So far however, I feel like I have a whole lot more energy, sleep better and have gained 3 pounds of muscle.

Whoop! Whoop!

Folks...please feed yourselves...bobble headedness is for dashboards only.

John asked:

"What now? What am I supposed to do with what I know, what I have seen, what I have tasted, what I have felt?"

My reply:

Continue to process and own those experiences for they are uniquely yours and no one else's. Because when John looks in the mirror, he likes what he sees and such an image would never be had you not tumbled, been stepped on, made or had someone else choose all those instances of your life that make your experience uniquely yours.

Be John, Stay John, Live John.

The message is universal. Make it your own.

My first memory of "Christmas" occurred in Havana, Cuba on this very date in 1974. On January the 6th, we Cubans celebrate "El Dia de los Reyes Magos" which translates to the Day of the Three Kings or Wise Men.

The Kings or Wise Men, are the "Magi" who visited the child Christ after his birth. According to Matthew 2:1-2, 7, 9: "after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, magi from the east arrived in Jerusalem, saying, "Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we saw His star in the east, and have come to worship Him". It is said that they brought him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Hence, it is on this this day that Cuban children receive gifts.

Anyway, there I am 4 years old, talcum-powdered up, dressed in starchy pressed hand-me-downs and reeking of eau de violets, super excited about having received my government issued voucher which I would later exchange for a shiny new toy.

I arrived at what I remember looking like a huge military hanger or warehouse of sorts where there were hundreds of children accompanied by their parents who were engaged in the cultural ritual practice of waiting in long lines, complaining about the system, and every now and again protesting load enough to either keep their nearby comrades bitch moral up or be heard in heaven.

It was an hour or two and probably many laments and profanities later that my turn had arrived. It was then that I saw the most beautiful object that I had ever laid eyes on in my four long years of life; a beautiful brand spanking new green Russian tricycle. It was material-love at first sight and I could not keep my self from gawking at it wide-eyed and hopeful.

There was a jerk in military fatigues sitting before me, at the table which created an impenetrable barrier between the tricycle and I. He looked over the voucher, while dismissingly talking to my parents and after a brief inspection of my tiny self and no care for thought, walked away and returned with a frail thin composition notebook and a pencil.

After what I have chosen to remember was a spiteful look, he handed me the thoughtless gift and called aloud for the next family in line. I asked about the tricycle and he said that it did not correspond to me, I then asked about any of the other toys piled behind him and he stated that those did not correspond to me either and asked that we please be on our way.

I lacked the vocabulary then to express the what-the-fuck statement this commi bastard had coming to him. All I could do was shed a few tears and ask why. My parents would later explain that those were reserved for families in high positions.

Favoritism and perks technically have no place in a classless society but there I was, looking at a notebook and pencil dumbfounded, never having owned either of the two and not having the slightest clue as to what they were meant for or why I was not allowed a any of the toys which I was being guided farther and farther from.

Interesting is it not, that a communist party would celebrate the birth of Christ via the process of consumption in a system of favoritism?

Contradiction you say?

Yeah, contradiction royally screwed my day of kings.

Sacttered Strobili: Canon EOS Digital, 70mm, F/5.6, 1/50sec

The act of not going gently into that good night comes with defiant roars of self conviction, lengthy epitomes, edifices of our construction, and the lamentation of those who failed to do enough.

Like scattered pinecones, we give of ourselves to the whim of time, space and the elements in hopes that we are remembered via the relinquishment of the footprints of our existence.

Behind we leave our marks, our seeds, the manifested remnants of short existences prior to becoming part of that which reclaims all.

Live boldly, love often, give frequently, temper the seasons, scatter yourselves to the four winds and leave your marks for those who've yet to witness.

Like an ancient pine, stand grounded and spread your roots forth, not like the elm, maple or oak but as you are and remind the world that you were as great a tree as any other.

Because we love to leave our mark.

'09 came just as the site hit 80,000 visits. Not bad considering I just decided to start the site three years ago.

(Yusef: waves to the imaginary crowd & wipes crocodile tear from eye)

"Thank you, for logging on during spells of absolute boredom. I owe my non-existent fame and success to each and every one of you."