Great Acts

Great acts are made up of small deeds. - Lao Tzu

According to legend Lao Tzu was keeper of the archives at the imperial court. When he was eighty years old he set out for the western border of China, toward what is now Tibet, saddened and disillusioned that men were unwilling to follow the path to natural goodness. At the border (Hank Pass), a guard, Yin Xi (Yin Hsi), asked Lao Tsu to record his teachings before he left. He then composed in 5,000 characters the Tao Te Ching (The Way and Its Power).

Many of us feel an overwhelming sense of despair at the state of affairs in Washington, D.C.
We have a madman in the White House, a Congress filled with mentally challenged Republicans (minus a few), not to speak of an uninformed and ignorant swath of Americans who mindlessly follow, unaware that they are sawing the branch they sit on.

War, disease and hunger plague millions if not billions. Those of us living in prosperity pinch ourselves at our good fortune, fully aware of the blessings of the lucky few...and fervently wish that the evil eye continues to sheathe its glance. Some might pray for the rest of humanity to find abundance, peace and happiness. Some might donate life-giving funds or other material items to alleviate suffering. Nonetheless, the enormity of humanity's plight and the missteps of self-serving leaders trigger a sense of futility. Our life-affirming offerings seem like droplets in the ocean, disappearing into tidal waves of dysfunction.

This is why we need great masters whose panoramic vision spans the totality of existence and, with their clear vision, nudge us to proceed with courage. Lao Tsu's famous words of wisdom, "The thousand mile journey begins with the first step," or alternately, "Great acts are made up of small deeds," provide an antidote to the collective sense of disempowerment. Rooted in reality, his words of wisdom point out a truth hidden in plain view. Every state of being, every accomplishment, is merely the tip of the iceberg. Near-infinite acts/events form the foundation upon which positive outcroppings appear.

Understanding thus, how could we ever feel discouraged? The truth is that everything matters, whether we impact a billion people or just two. Patience, courage, wisdom and compassion become the tenets of day to day existence. As long as we never give up, any act large or small will propel us into a brighter future.

Trees Speak

Many years ago I imbibed a weed-laced dark chocolate brownie in an attempt to kill the pain of radiation burnitis. The shopkeeper of the medical marijuana store had gifted me with this delight, perhaps taking pity on an almost bald, thin woman who could barely walk into his digs - clearly a cancer victim. He warned me to eat only half.

Ever the chow hound, even when half dead, I scarfed the first half of said treat before Michael and I had even reached the car. Our house was 30 minutes away and about twenty minutes into the drive home, having not felt any effect of the cannabis, I downed the second half of that yummalishous chewy, chocolatey pastry.

Gluttony always meets punishment as its bride. Afterall, isn't gluttony one of the mortal sins?

The cannabis of 2017 is not the cannabis your grandmother smoked or ate; in this case, my peer group are the grandmothers. Shortly after arriving home, the environment took on a different luster. Colors jumped off the wall; subtle and previously unnoticed house sounds became a chorus of machines; the plant world outside my windows danced and swayed with verdant alacrity.

After an indeterminate stretch of time, spread out on the couch and floating outside the normal realms of perception, lo and behold! A tree peered in the window and invited me to come outside to introduce myself.

Twenty-seven years ago, I planted 13 trees around the house. Those saplings were now tall, strong guardians of the property. The tree that beckoned me outside told me its name and I bowed in acknowledgement. Of course they already knew me, she who supplied their water and gave them first life in decades past. The next tree waited expectantly, much like a guest in a formal greeting line. After moving around the property making proper introductions, I slumped into a lawn chair and gazed at this tribe with a fair degree of astonishment.

Why had I not noticed that each tree was a living being with a personality and its own potent mode of perception? While I certainly took note of new leaves in the spring or branches in need of pruning, never had I addressed the gestalt of the tree.

Nature speaks to us if we listen...and this communication is a symbiotic bond that extends far beyond the reaches of time and space. One needn't be stoned out of his or her gourd to partake in the subtle yet powerful exchange. The only requirement is to stop the busy-ness and feel...listen...breathe.

The Fox and the Ass

Dear Vladimir (a.ka. the Fox),

Congratulations on your superb strategy of rigging the election to secure King Rump the presidency of the United States of America. First of all, his uber foxy wife Melania speaks Serbo Croatian, Russia's linguistic cousin. What more could you want than the president's pillow talker to have a genetically in-bedded tribal bond with you, not to speak of the prize of power - a beautiful woman seated next to you at a state dinner. (Maybe King Rump and his consort sleep in separate rooms, but hey, let's keep this scenario for the sake of argument.)

And let's not forget that your remarkable ability to lie straight into the face of another and have them believe you unilaterally is truly a gift. Maybe you even believe your own PR. Afterall, 25 years holding the reins of power is a feat only to be matched by Stalin, Mao, and a few other obscure dictators around the world.

Lest you think this analysis is anti-Russian, please rest assured that my perception of American Imperialism cloaked in the guise of "bringing democracy to the world" is no less cynical.

While this chess game of political-material gain plays on, and while glasnost holds great promise, your success in bringing the US and Russia together holds a bitter price for the common person in America. King Rump may hold the key to a closer relationship, but please ask the downtrodden (and yes they do exist in the vastly rich nation of the Americas) how they will fare when their access to medical care, higher education and food is denied. Please ask the people of color how they will feel when the voting patterns are rigged to prevent true equality of access. Please ask the fish, the animals and the trees how they will survive the roll-back of protection from humans and corporations, who are deemed humans by the IRS.

Success in one arena weighed against devastation in another is hardly something to gloat about. The only hope for mankind rests in actions and policies nested in a humanitarian basket of gem-like beings of good will. Alas, between the Fox and the Ass, this seems an unlikely proposition.

Kristallnacht USA

For those who don't know their history, "Kristallnacht," as explained in Wikepedia:

The "Night of Broken Glass"

https://www.ushmm.org/outreach/en/article.php?ModuleId=10007697

The violence against Jews lasts into the morning hours of November 10th, 1938 and becomes known as Kristallnacht—the "Night of Broken Glass." Several dozen Jews lose their lives and tens of thousands are arrested and sent to concentration camps. 

And what does this have to do with the USA?

Today a digital Kristallnacht was launched against the media; more specifically CNN. Trump tweeted a video that used computer simulations to make it look like he punched out a CNN reporter. The big ape continued to pound the hapless face of the reporter as he laid sprawled out on his back. 

The inane pundits who defend Trump (for a living) said it was a joke, modeled after the faked violence of televised wrestling. To those who understand the power of imagery, this was a dog whistle to the white militias of the far right to begin an American born and bred version of Kristallnacht. No need for thousands of storm troopers. His millions of followers via Twitter now have their marching orders, delivered effortlessly with a click of the mouse.

Trump's threats to the Fourth Estate have now taken an

ugly turn for the worse. We need to be afraid but not afraid

as in cowardliness. This strike to the heart should be a

massive wakeup call...and we need to listen with a special

ear....lest we fall.

Inspired Depression

The term "inspired depression" might be an oxymoron, but I experienced this state today for the first time after binge-watching The Putin Interviews by Oliver Stone.

To the uninformed and unsuspecting, one might fall in love with Vladimir Putin after watching him skillfully navigate four hours of Q&A. Not only did he exhibit a high degree of intelligence and knowledge, but his seemingly reasonable and rational approach to geo-politics certainly contradicts the narrative going on in the USA. One might develop sympathy for the Russian leader for having to endure the aggressive and bad faith actions of the USA over the past few decades when the Cold War was supposedly over. His narrative was not at odds with my own analysis of the American brand of Imperialism and hypocrisy.

One problem, however, is that something in him appeared as the trickster, one who has mastered the art of trickery. Tricks are by nature deceptive and cause the trickee to fall for the con-illusion. Only in the last hour segment did an element of fear creep into my heart. This is a man who cajoles with an ethnic, folksy wisdom coupled with a laser intellect and savoir faire most unusual, yet this a man who gets even...with avengence.

Despite the admiration that had been brewing in my heart for the first three segments of The Putin Interviews, in the end I was left with that "inspired depression" feeling.

No one's hands are clean - neither the USA or Russia. There is reason and right on both sides. The truth for one is not the truth for the other although the two super-powers talk of peace and global unity in the same oratorical sweep.

Where did the mutual mistrust and suspicion start? Who is telling the truth? Who is defending and who is retaliating? Whose heart is in the right place - when an awful global conflict is brewing again? Who will lay down the sword first and out-stretch a hand? And will that hand be severed in a ploy or will it be truly welcomed?

I, for one, could not untangle the web of illusion Oliver Stone laid out for us in the grand halls of the Kremlin. Nor can I untangle the strangling cords of the American Congress, that seems to have been cast adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Turning to meditation, prayer and faith is a great idea...but don't forget to watch your back.

Big Shit, Little Shit

My son walked in the house the other day with an unexpected remark: "There's a pterodactyl flying around in Port Hueme," the beach community where he is vacationing.

A giant, dragon-like prehistoric bird flew over my head like a jet fighter - in my mind's eye. Observing my quizzical look, Kripa lead me outside and pointed to his car's rear window that was covered with what looked like a bucket of white slime. Big bird had bulls-eyed his vehicle, along with other medium sized birds that left brown poop stains dripping down various car body parts.

Fast forward to an evening of leisure contemplation on the side terrace of my house, where plumes of delicate pink flowers grace a vine clinging to the wall. It is an area frequented by hummingbirds and for good reason. Their delicate little beaks fit perfectly into the tubular, succulent center of the petals.

On this fair night, a hummingbird enroute to the flower restaurant dropped his own bird slime midair...an emission so small that it looked like a tiny droplet of water that left nary a trace on the flagstone terrace below.

Shit may be shit, but the bigger the amount that gets dumped, the bigger the mess. This obvious fact does have relevance in our day to day lives. The amount of mess-ups in life are in direct proportion to the size of self-centered egos. The bigger the tale we spin that creates an "us" versus "them" situation, the bigger the scope of conflict, misery and malfeasance.

For those who don't want to shit on others or Mother Earth, it would be well to downsize the ego and light up the god-self. In that evolution of consciousness, what we leave in our wake would remain pristine.

The Foxiest Fox in the Skulk

The prize for best diplomatic chess player goes to Vladimir Putin, the foxiest fox in the skulk. Yes, in part the term "foxy" might connote physical attractiveness, which is true, especially when he appears in full hockey regalia (although he does show tell-tale signs of aging with an emerging sagginess of skin around the jawline). Yet, foxiest in this vernacular also connotes "most slippery" in achieving his goals.

He pulled off a magnificently malevolent comment this week. He said that hackers are like artists, creative beings who, like painters, might wake up in the morning so happy that they are inspired to paint - or hack. He posited that their motive would be fueled by patriotism to Mother Russia.

Herein lies his brilliant manipulation. Perhaps he knows that American intelligence has ironclad proof of Russian state-sponsored meddling in the presidential elections via internet hacking. Perhaps he thinks its time to get even more subtle in his subterfuge to make him smell more sweetly on the global stage.

What could be better for one of those state-educated Russians idylling in a drab apartment than to be flattered for their artistry, compared to a fine artist. No longer a computer nerd, the hacker is now elevated to a status the likes of Plutenko by the President himself.

The coup de grace is the connotation that such illegal acts are in fact patriotic to the Motherland. No worries that these fine hackers will need a poison taster anytime soon.