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I was walking through town just now, pretending I had superpowers. It was the coolest thing. I made believe I had this thing called a body, which was basically a self-propelled, self-operated sensory array. The main piece was on top. It was like this orb stuck to the end of a twist-o-flex segmented cable-holding rod thing. The orb had one big hole in the middle, and several pairs of holes, where the magical information would go in. See, the way I was making it up, and I know this is kind of crazy, but there were these weird invisible rays that were basically everywhere, moving around, and they would bounce off anything they came across, and then they’d carry some sort of residual images of objects around. Now, these rays didn’t actually do anything, unless they happened to go through these two tiny holes in the orb that stuck out of the top of my body thing. Oh, I meant to tell you, I wasn’t the only orb toter. Because of the magical information rays and my superpower, I could tell that there were other bodies with orbs and ray holes around me.

Another superpower I gave myself used two of the other holes. They let in a different type of information altogether. It was like, invisible vibrations, that got more intense sometimes, and less sometimes, and they came out of things, and they seemed to sometimes have an upness and downness to them.

And the most tripped out thing I imaged I had was this super flex-o-stretch sheathing of sensing cells that covered my entire body. It allowed me to know, for example, when I came into contact with anything, such as objects, and also I could tell when the stuff that the vibrations moved through was moving.

The other day I was in a conversation with an old friend, and some new acquaintances who I would most likely never see again. We were jawing away about rock and roll. Twice I tossed out bits of pertinent trivia, and twice I was quickly told by one of the acquaintances that I was wrong. Both times I knew I was right, and both times I backed off immediately.

The next day I was walking with my friend. He had done some research since the day before. “You were right. Joni Mitchell did write the song ‘Woodstock,’ and Bill Bruford did drum for Genesis on their first post-Gabriel tour.”

“Yup.”

“So why didn’t you call that asshole out yesterday when he said you were wrong the only two times you even said anything? You’re always avoiding conflict. You should show some balls when you know you’re right.”

“Okay, as a favor to you, I’ll give you some conflict. You’re wrong.”

“That’s more like it! [laughing] Please hammer me some more!”

“I don’t avoid conflict. Actually what I do is just the opposite. Avoiding conflict is easy. What I do is much harder. I end it.”

“Oh please do explain.”

“Avoiding conflict is what a bullfighter does. He sees the conflict coming, and he moves out of the way. If a bullfighter were to stand still, and face the bull as the bull charges, and allow himself to be impaled and killed, that would be ending the conflict. When a person charges at me with words and ideas that are in conflict with mine, I just stand there. But it’s different than bullfighting in that words and thoughts don’t draw blood, so when I end a conflict, nobody gets hurt.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

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If life is like a giant river, deep and wide and long and moving, then I don’t want to ride it on a jet ski. That’d be too noisy, and too fast. And I don’t want a cruise ship with extra little boats hanging from it in case something goes wrong. And I don’t want a submarine to lurk around in. And I don’t want a barge to haul tons of crap around with. If life is a river, just give me a raft, and that will do fine. On a raft, I’ll cruise at whatever speed the river wants me to, and whichever way I look, I’ll see beyond my vessel.

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Last week something died. It happened right across the street and I took pictures. One way of thinking of what happened is that one organism of one species was dismantled by several organisms of another, like what hyenas do to a gazelle and what slugs do to a lettuce plant. Another way to think of it is that somebody took out a tree. Either way, the way I think of it is that death happens, and it’s always just fine, no matter who does it, who it happens to, or why.

The first three pictures were taken from my balcony, 30 feet up. The last one is of ground zero.

A few hours before this picture was taken, the tall tree on the left looked a lot like the one on the right. (It’s a little tricky to see what’s going on here because behind the tree on the left (the one being cut down) is a third redwood tree that has had the top half cut off.)

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Some fun facts about Coast Redwoods. In a Coast Redwood forest, it’s pretty much all redwood trees. They “compete” for sunlight by growing really tall. The tallest ones are 380 feet. And sometimes the lowest branches are way high. When they stand alone in a city, like the two trees in these pictures, there’s plenty of sun for everyone, so they top out at around 170 feet no matter how old or thick they get, and they have branches all the way up the trunk, giving them a Christmas tree look.

The next picture was taken right after the top came down. The guy tied the top part of the tree to his gondola, then he buzzed part way through the tree with his chainsaw, and he used the crane itself to tug on the tree until the top part split away and fell, but not to the ground. It remained suspended by the rope (as it is in this picture), and then it was lowered carefully to the ground.

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If a tree falls in the neighborhood, does it make a sound? (Answer: yes.)

Next came the making of a stump.

I’m a treehugger. And a people hugger. Heck I’d be a slughugger if they had arms and weren’t slathered in slime. Years ago I would have thought there was “something wrong” with the scenes you just saw. Now I don’t see it that way. Now I see every death of every kind as the most inevitable occurrence there can be, and each death serves as a happy reminder as to why I’d best get my hugs in now.

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On June 19, I woke up in Ohio and I went to bed in California. Meanwhile, there were delays. My flight from Cleveland to Houston was a little late getting off the ground, which gave me only 20 minutes or so to walk from gate E14 to gate C32 at the Houston airport, a distance of eight restrooms and two Starbucks. When I got to gate C32, they were still boarding. I stood in line. I scuffled forward with my linemates. I handed my boarding pass to the attendant. The machine rejected my pass. “Where do you think you are going?” she asked. There have been many answers to this question over the years. Now I understand that there was, is, and forever shall be only one answer. “I am already there.” But I didn’t think that was the best answer in this situation, so I said, “San Francisco.” The attendant said, “Well this plane is going to New York. The gate for your flight has been changed. Your flight is departing from Gate 42. Walk back to the intersection and turn right.” She pointed toward a distant Starbucks.

I started walking like a trotting horse struggling to contain a gallop. Then I remembered. It’s all about just remembering. I remembered that nothing matters, as does everything. I remembered that if I miss my flight, I will retain total control over my own disappointment. I remembered that I have been training myself and taming myself for five years so that the thought of and the act of spending the night in an airport not only doesn’t hurt, but is actually perceived as and cashed in as an opportunity for even more training and more taming. Suddenly, I was walking calmly to gate 42, and I was smiling at people and myself, because I was free. There was nothing to fear at gate 42. So I was naturally experiencing the journey, because there was simply nothing else to do.

As I approached gate 42, I saw a standing crowd, so I knew my plane had not left yet. Years ago, I would have been walking quickly and nervously to gate 42, and upon seeing the crowd, I would have felt a huge sensation of relief. This time, seeing that I had not missed my flight gave me a very small tinge of relief, which I have come to understand to mean that I would have felt an equally small amount of anxiety had there been no crowd. And that’s what this is all about, this mindfulness thing. It’s about little or no anxiety or unhappiness about anything, even major physical damage or illness.

The woman with the microphone told us that the flight crew wasn’t here yet. The crew would be leaving nearby Hobby Airport soon and they’d be here in an hour or two. The crowd produced a collective groan. And now I had a fresh excuse to feel frustrated and disappointed. Which meant I had a new opportunity to put my training into practice. And I did. I stood tall, and I breathed in with full awareness that I was breathing in, and when I breathed out, I sent compassionate waves of understanding and mending to my crowd mates. It’s okay. It’ll be all right. We’ll get where we are going eventually. Let’s just relax together and enjoy the ride as best we can.

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This morning there was food in my mouth. The Golden Child dvdrip How the Grinch Stole Christmas

I was chewing it up and I knew so. Then I started thinking about something else.

Blogging. What might I write about today at my new play place?

I put some more food in my mouth, which distracted me away from thinking about writing, what with all the crunching (it was a highly milk-resistant strain of cereal) and the various flavors and textures (I had added some dried cranberries, some cinnamon, and some pine nuts). The Dead Zone movie full

Then I remembered what a friend and experienced blogger had told me about what makes a good blog good.

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Okay then, today I’ll do that.

This morning there was food in my mouth.

Then there wasn’t, then there was, then there wasn’t, then there was, then there wasn’t, and then, all of a sudden, I had something to write about.

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