Stick 'Em Up!

Despite the oft heard criticism that CNN has evolved into a "soft" news outlet, I am attracted to it like a horsefly to cow paddies. An ingrained habit, it just doesn't feel homey to watch BBC America, the only respectable news channel offered by the cable company. Today, however, I have to tip my hat to CNN, warts and all.

They were covering John Kerry's speech to a Congressional panel on why the US should intervene in Syria to stop the use of chemical weapons. Please observe the below photo snapped with my trusty iPhone, the social media choice of rebel rousers:

      

No, the red palms are not bridesmaids in a Pakistani wedding. The self-gagged dude behind Kerry makes sure their collective message comes across.

In spite of the somber and grammatically correct appeal he was delivering, Kerry's talk became a farcical theater-of-the absurd moment on global television, thanks to the protestors who managed to position themselves brilliantly for a world class shot. Surely, the director of this news segment could have fudged a different camera angle, perhaps a profile shot of Kerry's noble beak. Or simply maintain the long shot of the Congressional Hall that was occasionally inserted. But as I watched, minute after minute, it was clear that the circus act would not be censored -  much to my amusement and amazement.

There is an irony that Snowden the Leaker, poseur/defender of free speech, decided to find refuge in Russia; VGTRK, Russian state-owned television, would have surely yanked this live coverage in order to arrest the colorful intruders and sentence them to some years in a Siberian Gulag. Let's remember the fate of Pussy Riot, although I must admit that dancing in a church with a name that includes "pussy" might be more offensive to the pious than red hands in the Congress, at least in this post-McCarthy era.

Hats off to the to the First Amendment of the Constitution, that  protects, among other things, the freedom of speech, the freedom of the press, and the right to peaceably assemble. Adopted in 1791, it was as one of the ten amendments that comprise the Bill of Rights.

So today, while knowing of the chicanery our government in foreign affairs, I am relieved to know  there is still something alive and well in our country.

The Happiness Factor

Our commercial culture advertises happiness in external ways, such as having perfectly aligned white teeth; an array of cars for city or country; an attractive husband/beautiful wife with plenty of bucks to spare and share; children at the top of their game; a spacious home with pool and spa; the body of a 22 year old triathlon athlete while qualifying for Medicare; and one more, accessible only to the rich and famous - a personal chef who serves gourmet low-calorie organic fare.

Disclosure: in this "more is better" culture, the last two items on the above list do eat at me when lethargy breeds discontent and the bell curve of my externalized happiness factor hits the bottom of the trough.

Studies suggest that authentic happiness bespeaks a different version of the good life. True, there is a disparity in happiness between those who make $5,000 a year and those who take in $50,000. On the lower end, the super-poor are missing basics - adequate shelter, clothing, healthy food, medical care and so on. As Woody Allen once said, "Reality is the only place where you can get a good steak," thus relegating the dollar-deprived to a nightmare that seems unreal in our country of bounty. However, the happiness factor between those who make $50,000 and $500,000 is the same. The conclusion is obvious: once basic survival needs are covered, "money can't buy you love," as another cultural icon sang forth to the masses. 

At the beginning of time, when I was a seriously depressed college student in New York, I passed by a shoe store on Broadway that sported the most groovy red-fringed black pumps in the window. A few minutes later, a spark was lighting up my gloomy interior as I followed the proverb, "When the shoe fits, wear it." My heart swelled with joy as I beheld those perfect shoes on my perfect medium-sized feet. While I still remember them with fondness, there was one problem. The bliss generated by leather wrappings on two feet could not penetrate my universe of gray fog, a disassociated place where groovy red-fringed shoes could not tred. A Dorothy I was not.

Key to the good life, the studies suggest, is gratitude, a feeling of connectedness to others, and committing acts of kindness. Granted, British Petroleum plasters ads all over television channels, attesting to its benevolent care for their neighbors on shore. And Pepsi is for the feel good generation. Even corporate giants have figured out that appealing to the warm fuzzies in people might lull them into complacence while they poison the environment and our bodies for mega-profits.

Nonetheless, these studies give me hope, as every one of the qualities that produce happiness can be created inherently. It's within my power to feel gratitude when I see a pantry with food in it; where hot and cold running water runs out of many taps in my house; when my grown children actually like visiting (even if the washing machine and dryer are a draw); where I had my pick of good medical facilities for the treatment of stage 3B cancer; where the concern I have shown for other people's welfare has boomeranged back to me in the form of many friends and a peaceful marriage. I even say thanks when I pump $65 worth of gas into my car, well aware that we are bleeding Mother Earth dry but being grateful that I have a car and a way to make it run.

And last but not least, I am grateful to breathe. And this is the ultimate fail safe, one that defies all studies. No matter where you are, or what you have, as long as our precious life breath is holding us, and we acknowledge its beauty, we are at peace...and happy.

Wrathful Anger

One often hears of "the wrath of God" in the Judeo-Christian lineage. The Tibetan Buddhists have energetic forces called "wrathful deities" that set wrongs right, and to be sure many other cultures have similar equivalents. But what constitutes the legitimate "smiting" of a wrong-doer versus simple revenge or lashing out with a punitive intention?

I examined my feelings of intense anger today as I watched a commercial to raise money for the wounded warriors of Afghanistan and Iraq. Heart-wrenching indeed. Young, healthy, strapping men lifting their babies with their one remaining arm, or bouncing a babe on legs that ended at the knees and continued to the floor with metal posts attached to a pair of shoes. And these were the telegenic ones; others suffering from head injuries, burns, and severe post-traumatic stress look less appealing than these robust, brave American boys that went overseas, detoured from their good lives and good health by the red-herring of democracy, freedom, and the American way.

Never having fired a weapon in my life, not even a BB gun, it seems beyond comprehension that these amazing male (and a few female) specimens of human beings would actually allow themselves to be trained as killers a.k.a. defenders of our freedom, for a cause thinly veiled but actually a power grab for oil dominance. The only explanation is that the disinformation fed to the public by the Bush-Cheney junta, and then some, was so pervasive - so expertly crafted - that only an unbiased expert in political science could read between the lines to know the true inner workings of 21st century Realpolitik.

My anger lies not with the men and women soldiers that were and still are pawns in a lethal chess game between super powers. My heart literally aches at this needless slaughter or maiming of these sacrificial beings and the ones they destroyed. The decision makers in suits are the real criminals who waste the precious life blood of our young. And many of them are either voted into office or appointed by our democratically elected leaders.

Take Henry Kissinger as an example. There is ample evidence that he could be tried as a war criminal and convicted. (If you still admire him for his intelligence and savoir faire, do your homework.) And yet he runs an international business consulting firm in New York with impunity, replete with a war chest of multi-national corporations for clients and a staff of ex-government officials. Some say that what lies in the recesses of his conscience is enough punishment, but I doubt that Heinz is too concerned, as the world-class hubbub of his charmed existence veils his eyes and smothers his heart.

A common theory is that politics is the choice between the lesser of two evils. Although this might be true, I prefer to use my anger not to side with the "lesser bad" but to transform this red hot energy rising in my chest into a power for the good; to resolve never to fall prey to false gods and parades with marching bands.

Recently the Dalai Lama was asked what meditation was and he said, "Insightful thinking and then taking action." Now I happen to know that this great man does go on retreat and sits quietly every day in what we commonly refer to as meditation, but his answer had a purpose. There is a time to reflect and a time to act. If one's child is about to run into a street full of fast-moving traffic, you don't call out sweetly, "Darling, shouldn't you stay on the sidewalk instead?" Rather, tiger-mom/tiger-dad springs into action, claws extended, to sink them into the neckline of the clueless little one and pull he or she back to a safe haven.

So as we sail through the complexities of the Information Age and the hundreds of news sources, my wish is that we all use our emotions to transform society into a more humane and compassionate one, foregoing revenge and egoistic nationalism.

 "By their acts ye shall know them," to quote a friend.

The Post-Psychodelic Age

About forty-odd years ago my peers graduated from LSD, wimpy pot and mushrooms to the natural, organic solution - meditation. Gurus from the East flocked to our shores, sparking a qualitative shift in the life style of the American counter-culture much to the relief of our overtaxed brain cells. To its neurons, a hit of LSD was akin to an assault rifle firing hundreds of rounds a minute, making for a blaze of glory with the subsequent wipe out.

I remember trying to write a coherent press release in 1972, announcing the arrival of my guru in the Boston area. Despite having graduated with honors from Columbia University only two years prior, it was now painful to recall syntax and spelling. Apparently, my two year hiatus in San Francisco had seriously dinged  previously wide-open neuronal pathways. (Read my lip.) Like a physical therapist who works an injured limb, I gradually dragged my brain through the modest exercise of writing a press release, slowly but surely juicing up the pathways to start a flow of electricity into areas where there had been a major power outage.

The new influx of spiritual ideas and practices created what was called The New Age. For a while it was a badge of honor to be a New Ager - until it caught on with the Pepsi generation. Then, as with all novel ideas that become mainstream, a trivialization took place. Thousand year old traditions were modified into 'meditation light' and self-appointed pundits and panderers set up shop everywhere. Buyers beware.

Nowadays there is an identity crisis amongst us oldies but goodies because the counterculture has been pronounced dead on arrival. Is it arthritic joints or the comfort of iPads that keeps us out of the streets protesting? Or a weariness that comes with the knowledge that change happens behind closed doors where power mongers divide up the spoils and spout humanitarian philosophies from electoral podiums?

What's left of our revolution are designer jeans with rips that cost an extra $50 a tear; tie die and shabby chic; supersonic weed stores with cleverly named blends more diverse than a tea emporium; endless pipe designs and god no! they never had rhinestones and color choices ranging from Barbie pink to gun metal gray back in the day.

For the authentic, what remains is a quiet spirituality that doesn't point to itself. Or perhaps a non-profit in some hell-hole of the world where a thimble full of people get relief for a while.

However, bemoaning the demise of a far-flung freedom seems narcissistic and childish when one remembers that even Mother Earth will be worn away in a cloud of cosmic dust in time. While this reality might sound depressing to some, it is actually a liberating fact. The intensity with which we cling to our ideas, our identities, the countless attachments to all sorts of life details - such as last week when I was pissed off that I couldn't find the good eyebrow tweezers - goes on ad infinitum.

So let's relax into the knowing that all things shall pass...and in the meantime enjoy your chai latte.