Sunday, January 16, 2011
i felt like dancing
I went to barefoot Blues, Portland's alternative blues venue. They play lots of new music - with genre titles like "dub-step" and god knows what else that I've never heard of. But the music was fun, and I was dancing exactly how I felt like. Purely selfishly. And sometimes that's not a bad thing.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
a sip
The wine we really drink is our own blood.
Our bodies ferment in these barrels.
We give everything for a glass of this.
We give our minds for a sip.
-Rumi
Our bodies ferment in these barrels.
We give everything for a glass of this.
We give our minds for a sip.
-Rumi
Sunday, January 2, 2011
quotes from Musashi.
As in the case of other adults who have forgotten how to draw, his mind would work, but not his spirit. Intent upon drawing skillfully, he was unable to express himself naturally.
The things people do on this earth, good or bad, are like ink on porous paper. They cannot be erased, not in a thousand years. You imagine that kicking a little dirt around will undo what you've done. It's because you think like that that your life is so untidy.
One's self is the basis of everything. Every action is a manifestation of the self. A person who doesn't know himself can do nothing for others.
The warrior's instinct was not to be confused with animal instinct. Like a visceral reaction, it came from a combination of wisdom and discipline. It was an ultimate reasoning that went beyond reason, the ability to make the right move in a split second without going through the actual process of thinking.
The things people do on this earth, good or bad, are like ink on porous paper. They cannot be erased, not in a thousand years. You imagine that kicking a little dirt around will undo what you've done. It's because you think like that that your life is so untidy.
One's self is the basis of everything. Every action is a manifestation of the self. A person who doesn't know himself can do nothing for others.
The warrior's instinct was not to be confused with animal instinct. Like a visceral reaction, it came from a combination of wisdom and discipline. It was an ultimate reasoning that went beyond reason, the ability to make the right move in a split second without going through the actual process of thinking.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
on the art of cooking
Art or craft is a question that has long followed me when cooking. I've almost always held the belief that cooking must be considered a craft - that there are specific rules and techniques one must learn to employ in all different situations. It occurs to me now, in my new outlook on cooking, that my cooking has indeed become art. I'll try to explain with the further explanation that, as always, my descriptions are meant as investigations of life. Whereas dance has been my most used metaphor, cooking is just as important.
I'm trying to decide how to make my views clear. I will describe the cooking process in terms of a craft (how I have up till very recently cooked). If one is cooking an item, you must always refer back to the past. How was this done in the past? What worked, what didn't? I know that I must cut the beef in a braise to regular sizes, so that they will all be done at the same time. I know that brownies take 40 minutes to cook. I know that meat tastes best with such and such amount of salt and herbs. To treat cooking as a craft is to cook using only this knowledge. It is to read a cookbook and follow the recipe. I find there is always a certain fear involved in this process. This fear is rooted in the fact that the present moment is necessarily distinct from the past - things are different, meaning something could go wrong. What if my oven is too hot? What if this meat isn't as tender as the recipe? What if my butter has more moisture content than what I used before? As proficient as I might become at learning the rules of the kitchen, invariably this fear underlied all my actions.
To treat cooking as an art is a different experience entirely. I think the whole thing can be reduced to one factor, but I will start by describing the effects. When cooking as an art, my prep area is often much cleaner, my mind is clear, there is a certain vibrancy in my actions. I am actually filled with joy to prepare my own sustenance. I feel connected to the lives that contributed to my meal. Rules and recipes are taken into account, but they lose the oppressive nature of a law. Though I rarely ever stick to a recipe, when I am cooking as craft, varying from a recipe implies either pride or fear on my part - "I'm so talented that I don't need a recipe" OR "oh crap, what if this doesn't work out?" Neither of these thoughts are the right attitude. Thus when cooking as art, none of these issues enter my mind. I am simply too focused on the ingredients and the elements of the kitchen to bother with such lines of thought. Most interestingly, when cooking as art, questions of quantities - be it time, salt, or the size of a cut - are not determined in the same way. I do not frantically consult my memory of the past to determine my actions. There is a quiet awareness of the whole process. Thus instead of poking my brownies and messing up the top, I may take one look, realize it needs more time, and in the next five minutes quietly consult with myself whether they are finished. When my mind is clear and I am focused, the answers to these questions manifest. A sudden knowledge emerges that such and such is so. This needs more salt. That wine should go into the pot. The brownies are finished NOW.
I've written about this before, but it's becoming ever clearer in my mind: to elevate something to an art, to use our true capacities as humans demands awareness. Full and complete awareness. This is not to say that the past does not come into play. I have to learn how to cook - how long something takes, etc. But this knowledge turns into something uplifting - it stands behind our own fully unique decisions. To treat something as a craft is to remain oppressed by the facts of history, or by our own speculative fears. It is this oppression that causes the fear, or maybe the fear that causes the oppression. Whatever the case may be, my intention is to follow the path of joy and freedom, never the path of oppression. And this is what my cooking has taught me.
I'm trying to decide how to make my views clear. I will describe the cooking process in terms of a craft (how I have up till very recently cooked). If one is cooking an item, you must always refer back to the past. How was this done in the past? What worked, what didn't? I know that I must cut the beef in a braise to regular sizes, so that they will all be done at the same time. I know that brownies take 40 minutes to cook. I know that meat tastes best with such and such amount of salt and herbs. To treat cooking as a craft is to cook using only this knowledge. It is to read a cookbook and follow the recipe. I find there is always a certain fear involved in this process. This fear is rooted in the fact that the present moment is necessarily distinct from the past - things are different, meaning something could go wrong. What if my oven is too hot? What if this meat isn't as tender as the recipe? What if my butter has more moisture content than what I used before? As proficient as I might become at learning the rules of the kitchen, invariably this fear underlied all my actions.
To treat cooking as an art is a different experience entirely. I think the whole thing can be reduced to one factor, but I will start by describing the effects. When cooking as an art, my prep area is often much cleaner, my mind is clear, there is a certain vibrancy in my actions. I am actually filled with joy to prepare my own sustenance. I feel connected to the lives that contributed to my meal. Rules and recipes are taken into account, but they lose the oppressive nature of a law. Though I rarely ever stick to a recipe, when I am cooking as craft, varying from a recipe implies either pride or fear on my part - "I'm so talented that I don't need a recipe" OR "oh crap, what if this doesn't work out?" Neither of these thoughts are the right attitude. Thus when cooking as art, none of these issues enter my mind. I am simply too focused on the ingredients and the elements of the kitchen to bother with such lines of thought. Most interestingly, when cooking as art, questions of quantities - be it time, salt, or the size of a cut - are not determined in the same way. I do not frantically consult my memory of the past to determine my actions. There is a quiet awareness of the whole process. Thus instead of poking my brownies and messing up the top, I may take one look, realize it needs more time, and in the next five minutes quietly consult with myself whether they are finished. When my mind is clear and I am focused, the answers to these questions manifest. A sudden knowledge emerges that such and such is so. This needs more salt. That wine should go into the pot. The brownies are finished NOW.
I've written about this before, but it's becoming ever clearer in my mind: to elevate something to an art, to use our true capacities as humans demands awareness. Full and complete awareness. This is not to say that the past does not come into play. I have to learn how to cook - how long something takes, etc. But this knowledge turns into something uplifting - it stands behind our own fully unique decisions. To treat something as a craft is to remain oppressed by the facts of history, or by our own speculative fears. It is this oppression that causes the fear, or maybe the fear that causes the oppression. Whatever the case may be, my intention is to follow the path of joy and freedom, never the path of oppression. And this is what my cooking has taught me.
In Rehoboth Beach
It occurs to me that I write too much; I say too much. My mind remains as undisciplined as ever, and I feel pangs of self-reproach. It is no use to write simply to say things. It is similarly no use to write when I haven't really thought about what to say. Many of my recent personal emails and last blogs have been abstract, wandering thought. I suppose that in some sense this is useful, but it must be much more meaningful to put my full intention and thought behind my words. I am going to let all my old posts stay here, but sometimes i consider revising and editing and deleting.
I find my mind like a wild horse - seemingly untameable. It reacts. This is not it's highest purpose - at least I don't believe it to be. Sometimes I think to myself that I am being hard on myself - that it's not really that bad. However when I watch myself in hard times it becomes clear that I am as uncontrolled as an infant crying for milk. Then I turn to good times and see opposite but similar reactions.
I am struggling to understand what my purpose is right now. I'm not dancing, and I don't feel like my dance is improving at all, but somehow it appears that I am learning what needs to be learned. It's clear to me that to control one's intention is the key behind any great action. In order to dance like I want to dance, I have to have that control.
I keep trying to relax the muscles in my pelvic floor. I can feel them tensing almost all the time now. I am able to relax them only when I'm standing or sitting still and with lots of concentration. I have been tensing these muscles (why?) to absorb the many shocks and movements in my daily life. This is causing my posture to hunch (Now I see that when correcting my posture, I am only fight against the muscles of my pelvic floor. These must first be relaxed.), and it's causing me to misuse almost all the muscles in my body. It means that I overuse certain muscles (IT bands) and almost not use others (glutes).
Am I a perfectionist to want to complete this education of mine before I take up dance again? I could be dancing more than I am. What I really want is the money and time to immerse myself in Pilates, Alexander Technique, privates with Brenda and Barry, workshops with Etienne. To obtain that, my mind needs to be clear, and furthermore I've seen the effects of hard training when one is not in the right mindset. What have I really gained from my years of training and travel? I dance a little better - it's true. But my dance is not elevated. My social interactions are not graceful. I am not a man of intention. To continue my dance training in the state I was in when arriving in Portland feels like trying to fix my posture without addressing the root issue of my pelvic floor. I remember coming across a girl who was having pain and clicking in her knees. She was asking someone for advice, saying that the pain had started in the past year since she started lifting weights. At a glance I knew that this was due to poor technique - her pelvic floor was tight and she was straining against her body. This cannot be the right way. This is essentially how I have been treating my physical body, and as always everything physical seems to be a manifestation of the psychic.
I find my mind like a wild horse - seemingly untameable. It reacts. This is not it's highest purpose - at least I don't believe it to be. Sometimes I think to myself that I am being hard on myself - that it's not really that bad. However when I watch myself in hard times it becomes clear that I am as uncontrolled as an infant crying for milk. Then I turn to good times and see opposite but similar reactions.
I am struggling to understand what my purpose is right now. I'm not dancing, and I don't feel like my dance is improving at all, but somehow it appears that I am learning what needs to be learned. It's clear to me that to control one's intention is the key behind any great action. In order to dance like I want to dance, I have to have that control.
I keep trying to relax the muscles in my pelvic floor. I can feel them tensing almost all the time now. I am able to relax them only when I'm standing or sitting still and with lots of concentration. I have been tensing these muscles (why?) to absorb the many shocks and movements in my daily life. This is causing my posture to hunch (Now I see that when correcting my posture, I am only fight against the muscles of my pelvic floor. These must first be relaxed.), and it's causing me to misuse almost all the muscles in my body. It means that I overuse certain muscles (IT bands) and almost not use others (glutes).
Am I a perfectionist to want to complete this education of mine before I take up dance again? I could be dancing more than I am. What I really want is the money and time to immerse myself in Pilates, Alexander Technique, privates with Brenda and Barry, workshops with Etienne. To obtain that, my mind needs to be clear, and furthermore I've seen the effects of hard training when one is not in the right mindset. What have I really gained from my years of training and travel? I dance a little better - it's true. But my dance is not elevated. My social interactions are not graceful. I am not a man of intention. To continue my dance training in the state I was in when arriving in Portland feels like trying to fix my posture without addressing the root issue of my pelvic floor. I remember coming across a girl who was having pain and clicking in her knees. She was asking someone for advice, saying that the pain had started in the past year since she started lifting weights. At a glance I knew that this was due to poor technique - her pelvic floor was tight and she was straining against her body. This cannot be the right way. This is essentially how I have been treating my physical body, and as always everything physical seems to be a manifestation of the psychic.
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