Letter to David - The Warehouse

Dear David, 

Last night I was caught in a familiar dream pattern - finally landing a job, and it's always in a warehouse (even though I have not worked in one since 1990). Maybe it's because it was in numerous warehouses where I learned survival skills and shaped the outlines of my preferred personality. Everything you see in a warehouse is what you get - hard physicality and an even harder obstacle course for the mind, and of course it is because of the people one sees, the four or five souls slogging it out, grinding day after day, like a dysfunctional abusive family who can't figure out what it wants other than the most basic needs - drunkenness, filthy jokes, bad music, theft, and each peon continually being tested and probed for weaknesses. I wouldn't be surprised if Sartre had warehouse workers in mind when he wrote "hell is people," because what I am really dreaming about is not a warehouse job, but getting stuck inside a dark hell, an indentured servant to the devil with a contract which lasts far too long. During my first warehouse job at Sears I ran into a high school acquaintance and he asked me what I was doing working in a warehouse. It was a fair question, and for whatever reason it felt right for my karma, the work itself being just what I needed - time to think while wandering and walking about, and although I would have preferred walking about and thinking in a quiet woods, that doesn't pay cash, so the warehouse was the next best thing I could find. I'd show up to work a couple hours early and sit in the car reading and then spend the next 8 hours thinking about what I had read. Having to speak and work with the same three or four individuals 40 hours a week I knew I had to create a persona that could not only survive a sometimes brutal environment, but which also had to be authentic and true. This was not an easy task because I could sense that what I valued did not match and mesh with the personalities I was meeting. I did not want to take drugs or drink alcohol, did not want to hang out in bars, did not want to tell jokes or laugh at unfunny ones, and most important, I did not want external circumstances dictating what I could and could not do. Thinking of it now, I guess you could say that I decided to think and act like a warehouse monk - focusing on the tasks at hand, living moment to moment, trying to remain silent unless the need to speak was necessary, not knowing if I could survive the end of the day. I was unsure if such a personality could pass muster with the men I was working with, could someone who did not speak to judge, insult, and dominate, survive? I didn't know, but I was willing to find out. While I imagine warehouse work is not as bad as living within a prison population, it may be just one step removed. In such an environment the way I was acting could be considered weak, but that reminds me of something I read in the novel Shantaram, about the character Modena, whom Linbaba describes as a weak man due not only to his small stature and unremarkable looks, but also because of the nature of his relationship with the tall and handsome Maurizio. Modena was so unassuming that when life took a wrong turn for him and he was considered dead, Linbaba told his friend Abdullah that he could not even remember what Modena's voice sounded like. Abdullah, however, had a different perception of Modena, and believed that he would have made a good soldier, and this surprised Linbaba (who was an escaped convict). When he asked how such a man as Modena could be a good soldier, Abdullah explained that it was because he believed Modena had the power of endurance. And this was what I was going to rely upon, my endurance.  While I do not believe the qualities of silence, reliability, honesty, and kindness to be signs of weakness, I knew I had to put this belief to the proof, to be tested by men who did not share my beliefs by transforming my ideas into the day to day actions of the warehouse. If I faltered on any particular day, or for a moment, all I had to do was keep going, showing up day after day, and in this endurance of difficult conditions my chosen personality would be shaped and solidified in the fires of hell. All that was required was to keep the ideas fresh in my mind and to keep showing up. For five years I endured and kept moving forward, the tests were numerous, some more difficult than others. I persevered and my monk-like personality survived. It was in a warehouse that I experienced both bliss and torment. The final days of working in a warehouse were peculiar and interesting, filled with memorable quotes by co-workers. During my final days at the fire equipment warehouse the person who hired me said "we will never see Jim again." I did not reply but the silent intuitive thought was "one of the truest things I've heard you say."  At the computer warehouse the office manager came back one day and I noticed a look of insight flash across his face as he watched me pulling my parts cart and then he said, astonishingly, "he doesn't belong here," in a tone which was not at all negative. As this was to be my final warehouse job, having had much time to ponder this question in the prior years, I considered him to be wrong, a warehouse was exactly where I belonged, it had formed and shaped who I was, there was nowhere else to be, nothing better to do with my time, if the universe wanted me somewhere else, it would put me there. In numerous dreams over the years I would find myself in new warehouses, starting fresh, the first day, my soul and personality once again being put into the fire of hard experience, having to endure. And last night as I dreamt I was once again in a new warehouse, with the added twist of thinking, while pulling my cart around for the first order to be picked, "ahhh, I have been dreaming so many years about this place, and now, it has come true, I am really back," the feelings bittersweet, the long grind ahead, and how at my advanced age I was still having to endure. When I woke I smiled, how real it all seemed, how easily my consciousness had been duped. I'd be lying if I said I did not feel great relief to have been spared the trials of the warehouse.

Yesterday morning's run my legs were still achy so I decided to cut down to 1.25 miles, which is pretty much a non-run, and the decision paid off because today I wore shorts for the first time and a single long sleeved running shirt and with somewhat fresh legs ran 6 loops around the sunken field, for a 5.35 mile run, the longest so far. I then walked to Lincoln Park and back for a 3 hour workout. Right now I am feeling the wonderful post-run glow which is a blessing.

Letter to David - The Locked Room

Dear David,

I find it interesting that in a period of intense cultural change which is having such a devastating impact on so many lives, the changes happening in my individual existence appear to be in opposition to this negative trend. My meditation practice is flowering after such a very long period of stagnation, bringing peace, calm, and harmony to mind and body. For whatever reason I have been ignorant and blind to the effect of having my breath locked into one position, or room, the room of constant agitation, distraction, excitement, motion. This distraction puts my mind into a permanent state of hyper alertness, as if I was always in some kind of danger, thus necessitating a vigilance of the external world. The breath compensates by being quick and shallow, and after years of habit the upper rooms are shut and locked. This is one reason why meditation became a kind of unpleasant chore, the locked upper rooms being inaccessible made the shallow breathing a literal pain which made sitting still and silent uncomfortable. It was not until this year when I made a renewed effort with meditation that I was able to break down the habits which had been growing for years. I had to contend with a habit (distraction) that had grown the size of large tree - cutting it down in size is not to be accomplished in a day or a week, and knowing this I decided to accept that I might not be able to overcome its power, but nonetheless the effort to try was important, if not to be accomplished in this lifetime, then I could at least prepare the soil for the next life, whenever that would be. I began, and, as I mentioned in a previous letter, after a week or two I was struck with an illness (most likely Covid) which lasted two weeks, which made me suspend my meditation practice. During my rest and recovery I did not forget my determination to sit still in meditation, I had an odd feeling the sickness was a test of my resolve, a part of the process, how badly did I want to practice? Bad enough that when I recovered I began to sit again, and within a few weeks I began on occasion to experience an unlocking of the unused rooms of the breath, each time thinking "what a blessing!" With just a single inhalation into these upper rooms the effect would bring a natural smile and a deep relaxation would permeate body and mind, lasting minutes. With each passing day I was accessing the rooms more frequently, sometimes lasting for half the meditation period, or longer. Last night I was feeling a bit tired and decided to skip the evening session, and as I lay in bed I accessed the upper rooms without consciously trying, and it brought such happiness and relief that I got out of bed and happily sat down to meditate and immediately was rewarded with slow deep breathing. When I get into this state of breath 30-40 minutes pass easily and effortlessly and when the bell rings I find no reason to get up, the deep peace flowing inside is so profound that I can't think of many things which are superior, and with the old habit of distraction becoming ever smaller and fading into the distance, I have little desire to return to that agitated state of being. I see then that the goal is to carry these now open upper rooms with me off the cushion and into the life of action and movement, carrying the peace with me in various circumstances, the rooms being opened and accessed in even the most trying of circumstances. I am currently nowhere near that level of life mastery, but no worry, I am confident that the more I sit the more I can experience this peace outside the meditation room.

It is even carrying into my running, the mind at ease and the body relaxed as I lope and slog around Grant Park. The progress has been encouraging, today was the 10th consecutive day, with the last 5 days being runs of 3 and 4 miles. My legs are slightly achy due to not having a day off, so today was the first day I decreased (3.35) distance to give my legs a chance to recover. Once the weather warms I know I will begin to speed up and go longer, I thrive in hot weather, making me believe I was once a runner in southern Europe, traversing the hills and valleys in some obscure Sicilian village.

Letter to David - AHHJEG and GKC

Dear David,

In 2011 I discovered a blog while researching my first Asian journey. I became intrigued with the story of Keith M and discovered that his path appeared to be not only blessed, but it paralleled mine in some distant, mysterious way, and so I continued to read it as the years passed. During my desert days in Boulder City and subsequent illness there was a gap in his entries. He went from traveling the world to studying yoga in Thailand, then meditating with a famous American Zen Master in Colorado. Out of the blue(s) a random entry appeared one day concerning the MeToo movement, he did not explain much, other than to say he was sorry. Then, another out of the blues moment happened a few months ago - he had developed a cough and after a few doctor visits it was found that he had a cancerous tumor growing in his lung. The entries became more numerous, documenting his diagnosis and subsequent healing attempt with dreaded chemo. Now he is immersed full fathom five, diving deep amid the murky waters of cancer, the shadow of death ever present, as it is with all of us. He is forty years old, handsome, spiritually mature. In his latest entry he requested help from near and far, for various things, from financial support to the sending of healing energy, and even the simple act of letter writing and the gift of pictures and postcards. Having recently been leafing through twenty boxes of photographs, and discovering to my surprise and delight that two of the boxes contained some of my best work, which I had for some reason held back from selling, perhaps from the desire to preserve a small slice of my 18 year history as a photographer, I felt inspired and compelled to write him a letter and include a few photographs, a lonely road, an old broken car, a muddy, empty field, perhaps not the brightest of subjects, but nevertheless I trusted my instincts and sent it off yesterday, the post office lady none too thrilled to handle my payment of cash (strange times!). In my meditations I put aside 15-20 minutes to send healing energy to loved ones and people in need of it, and Keith has been one of the people I have been focusing on, breathing in the cancer, the destructive forces of the chemo, and then, breathing out, the bright burning sun purifying and burning the negative energy into a dark acrid smoke. Breathing in the black smoke, blowing it into oblivion, and then breathing out, cool blue ocean waters enveloping him in radiant positive energy. Sometimes when doing this type of meditation I feel a strong energy flowing through my heart and other organs, my ribs vibrating to the silent music of love and light.

Anger, a fascinating, powerful, and destructive force of  negative energy. Every day I reflect upon the AHHJEG (anger, hatred, hostility, jealousy, envy, greed) and the GKC (gratitude, kindness, compassion). I try my best to deflect the negative and cultivate the positive, using the well known analogy of seeds. I imagine the seeds of GKC growing into massive trees, and the seeds of AHHJEG being buried deep without water or light so that they remain dormant and stunted. Nevertheless, I find it mysterious that humans have the freedom to cultivate any of the seeds, and that some willfully choose the negative seeds. Indeed, religious texts and stories are filled with the fate of souls who are immersed in a spiritual war, on the battlefield having to fight a nemesis. Buddha had to contend with Devadatta, who was the shadow to Gautama's light. In the desert Jesus had a visitation from Lucifer, and while on the cross in his final moments before death was given one last temptation. And I find myself ever returning to Judas, the poor soul who was fated to betray his master. These stories turn existence into a life and death trial, and in my life's most difficult moments, when my soul is on a tightrope, where a single misstep can lead to a dramatic plunge, the oddly compelling (and random!) thought arises "it's a test, don't focus on the pettiness of the moment, keep in sight the long range of time and the height of the mountain being climbed!" And I wonder why life seems sometimes to indeed be a test, a choosing between light and dark, and perhaps there is no choice, that we are born either in the light or in the dark and whatever side we fall on is where we remain faithfully committed. And who is to say why light is better than darkness, life better than death, for the universe thrives with the infinite clashing of the two, a coin whose nature is two sided. I'd like to believe that the one's born in the shadows eventually evolve into the light and the fabric of their souls becomes illuminated.

But my random ideas and imagination of the universe I see to be so small and unsound that I give them up as nothing more than a drop of water lost in the massive ocean of ideas which abound in the universe, and I catch myself before getting boxed in and let it all go, settling mind and body into the great vastness of space and time, seeking to find the place of harmony which was meant for me.

Week 1 of running : 1.25, 1.6, 2, 2, 2.25, 3, 3.35. Fast progress, helped by a reduction of food, the past six days having been single meal affairs, my body craving food, but the excitement of running keeps me from eating, knowing that it will be easier if I can shed a 15lb sack of potatoes. Today was a high energy day, not too surprising because in the past when I have cut down to one meal per day it takes only a short time before energy levels rise. After running in Grant Park I decided to walk to Lake Shore Park to do pull-ups, but was not surprised to find the park now closed. I decided to continue walking north to Lincoln Park and walked in the fields under mostly blue skies, then turned around and headed for home. Once the weather gets warmer and more people get into Grant Park, that too will be closed, then I will be running in the streets and exploring the city anew.

The most compelling and startling scientific fact I have discovered which exhibits the predicament of life on earth is the following -

On a recent walk -

On a not so recent walk -