Heaven and Hell

Heaven:  Any place of great beauty and pleasure; a state of great happiness.
Hell:       Any place or condition of evil, pain, misery, cruelty, etc.


I like the "etc." in the definition of Hell.  Etc?  Etc?  Evil, pain, misery, and cruelty aren't enough?  We have to heap some more crap on top of that?  Yowser.  That's one bad place.  That's one place to be avoided.


I'm going to steer my boat toward heaven.  I spend far too much time trying to escape the licking flames of hell fire.  Some of this is the religion I grew up in.  There was a lot of talk about what a lousy place hell would be to spend all eternity, delivered by confident, stern adults to impressionable children.  It sounds like a lousy place to get stuck for a couple of minutes let alone for a period of time with no beginning and no end.  Apparently, it's easier to fill the church pews with dire warnings than to paint pretty pictures.  I had a pretty good life.  I wasn't tempted by angels playing harps on fluffy clouds, but those burning hot pokers in the capable hands of all of those demons sure got my attention.


I went back to church a few times, mostly to please my religious mother.  I was surprised to find it to be a benign place.  The talks were, I found, largely positive.  I didn't see to much that was threatening or dark.  I have always been drawn to What Is Wrong.  I see blackness before I see light.  You can shine an arc light into my eyes and I won't notice it.


Talk about applying a filter to something.


I still don't go to church, though.  No fucking way.  I did my stint in there.

Filter and Screen

Filter:  To remove or separate (solid particles, impurities, etc) from a fluid by means of a filter.
Screen: Anything that functions to shield, protect, conceal, or shelter in the manner of a curtain.


The good, the bad, and the ugly indifferent.  There's a lot of truth to the idea that we apply a filter of our own making to everything we experience.  This is bad and it is to be avoided.  This is good and it is to be pursued.  This way of experiencing life isn't reality -- this is Horseface Reality.  I judge and categorize instead of letting life wash over me and flow on by, bemused but disinterested.


One of the little exercises that can be used in meditation is to try to drop any preconceptions of noises that we hear.  I should say that it's not a bad idea to try to be in a somewhat quiet space.  Don't pick the machine room at AK Steel Processing Corporation as your meditation spot.  Anyway, the idea is to quit trying to block the noises out, first of all, then quit trying to place each noise in a neat little category.  It's remarkably difficult to do.  It shows me how much I try to control the world that I'm in.  I hear a motorcycle, and I imagine the kind of person on the motorcycle and I place this person in a category and I picture the motorcycle and I wonder how the rider can get away with driving around all day on an unmuffled vehicle and so on and so on.


I usually don't look into what is really there in front of me.  I see life through a screen of thoughts and concepts, and I mistake those mental objects as reality.  Man,  I didn't have any idea what reality was when I was drunk and stoned and I still don't have any idea what it is.  I'm not even that sure what I'm talking about right now.

The Big List

I read an article written by a reporter who had biked across the country when he was a young man and was going to attempt to duplicate the feat 20 years later.  As he contemplated the upcoming event he reflected on what had happened in the ensuing period of time.  He put down some big things as most of us can do.  


It got me to thinking, which is never a good thing considering the quality and state of repair of my thinker, but I seem to be congenitally unable to stop myself.  It's an exercise to try to summarize things in a few events.  Here's what I came up with:
I got and stayed sober.
I got and stayed married, mostly effortlessly and contented, but fortunate to have learned great lessons as we have grown through the rough spots.
I traveled extensively and saw some amazing places and met some amazing people.  I don't regret one trip, even squatting against a cinder block building in Syria, in full view of a busy highway, dealing with some intestinal distress, or listening to god knows what snuffling and snorting around under my thatched hut in the night, in the jungle, in Ecuador.
I wrote two books and got zero books published, but that still makes me a writer.
I had a career in sales, and despite the reputation of my ilk, I think I made a difference in the lives of a lot of people.  I really do.


I made a difference.


I wanted my list to be filled with Big Events.  I wanted to hit the home run to win the Championship of the Whole World.  I thought I'd be disappointed that my list didn't have a bunch of things like that, but I'm not.


It's a pretty nice list.


I like to tell new people to think Big, to think Long Term.

The Good, The Bad, and The Boring

This poor old world groans under the weight of my expectations.


I really like the idea that we have a tendency to categorize our life experiences as good, bad, or indifferent.  I really do characterize so much of my life as routine, boring, uninspiring.  I suspect that I enjoy the agony and the ecstasy a little too much.  The "good" things snap under the pressure of my outlandish demands and the "bad" things grow to monstrous proportions.  The rest of the time I tend to sit and wait for something exciting to happen.


The trick is to take enjoyment out of the mundane, to be grateful that I don't have to spend all of my time struggling simply to survive.  I got it good, that's for sure.

Horseface Steve -- Characterizer

I really like the idea that we have a tendency to categorize our life experiences as good, bad, or indifferent.  I really do characterize so much of my life as routine, boring, uninspiring.  I suspect that I enjoy the agony and the ecstasy a little too much.  The "good" things groan under the weight of outlandish expectations and the "bad" things grow to monstrous proportions.  The rest of the time I tend to sit and hope for  something exciting to happen.


The trick is to take enjoyment out of the mundane, to be grateful that I don't have to spend all of my time struggling simply to survive.

Slow Down, Quickly

Moderate:  Within reasonable limits; avoiding excesses or extremes; temperate.


I will admit to being stunned that I haven't thought to look up the definition of the words "moderate" or "moderation" in the three years I've been writing whatever this thing I've been writing is called.  That should be an indication of how serious I am about the concept of moderation.  I bet I've looked up "excess" or "extreme" many times.  I bet there's a picture of me after each of those definitions.


When I was in Chicago, getting sober, learning how to live in moderation (ha ha ha), I tried to exercise regularly.   By "regularly" I mean frequent, ferocious exercise irregardless of health, weather, or obligations of any sort.  I tried to convince myself that I was being healthy, but really I was trying to run away from myself while running or biking or rowing.  I couldn't stand being stationary, where the voices in my head would scream bad things at high volume, so I was usually on the move, going nowhere fast.


One of my favorite excessive and painful exercises was to take a two hour bike ride.  One hour out; one hour back.  I know: I timed it.  This being Chicago I often battled wicked head winds which really hindered my progress.  If the wind was blowing, I had to ride harder.  If the wind was blowing hard, I rode really harder.  If there was a tornado, I put my head down and pedaled until my legs were on fire.


I was seeing an excellent therapist at the time, who was kind enough not to laugh or roll her eyes when I was talking.  I mentioned how unpleasant a lot of these bike rides were, with the wind and tornadoes and all.


"What are you training for?" she asked, not unreasonably.


"What do you mean?" I said, with a straight face.  "Training for?  I'm not training for anything."


"Why don't you slow down a little?" she asked, very reasonably.


Slow down?  Slow down?  I went home and pondered this.


I'm pondering it today.

Horseface Steve -- Death's Head

Smile:  A favorable, pleasing, or agreeable appearance; bright, pleasant aspect.

Today’s meeting had a few fleeting references to the effect that smiling can have on the people that we encounter in the course of a day.  When I look at pictures of myself pre-drinking – a gruesome task not suitable for pregnant women or young children – I am never smiling.  I look surly, vaguely threatening.   And when I do show teeth, my expression appears forced; it's more of a grimace, like I’m unsuccessfully trying to pass gas.  I look like a fleshed-out death’s head.  I don’t think any of us would say a skeleton is smiling.  It’s not just showing the teeth that makes the smile – it’s the whole expression.

A few years back I really tried breaking out the smile when I talked to people, especially strangers.  I don’t know why I didn’t try it earlier.  It has a magical effect.  People smile back.  I don’t even have to smile sincerely for people to react positively.  I can totally be faking it.  I try to smile even when I feel like saying: “Ah, why don’t you go to hell.” 

Part of being happy today is simply pretending to be happy.  I find that I fool myself half of the time.  I find that I start to get happy despite my best efforts to stay pissed, and I so love being pissed, apparently, because I do it all of the time