The Dalai Lama at the Palace

*For Kathleen, Cheryl, Karen, Julie, PMH,
and Janis

There are too many memories walking these streets with me. But that once neglected city is now strewn with well-tended gardens. Even its oldest buildings seem to gleam in the May sun. When did that happen? I walk smiling through the lunch hour crowds making my way downtown, proud once more of Albany, New York being my home. Just as I had once been proud to be walking here hand in hand with my grandmother on our way to see the latest movie at Albany's "Palace." As I near that grand old theater I remember our last film there together called "Fantastic Voyage." A seeming millennium apart from her and then, how fantastic this scenario now seems --waiting in line to see the fourteenth incarnation of the Dalai Lama of Tibet! "Who'd of thought it?" she would have said.

The Dalai Lama on the local news:


At first I sit surrounded by the empty seats where my friends who could not come would have sat. I try to take mental notes to share with them later. Around me is the familiar excitement one senses in the presence of fame, not so much a reverential or spiritual feeling. Soon there are very few empty seats as the auditorium fills with a bustling hum of expectation. Yet there is an undercurrent around me, something almost like trepidation. I feel it, too. These have been troubling times for our country and the world at large. There had been troubling news as well about this man we have all come to see. The Dalai Lama had been in hospital not that long ago. ...And it had been recently reported that he was losing hope concerning the fate of his homeland of Tibet. How could he embrace such despair and still be the ray of sunshine we hoped he'd be?

Balding monks in saffron gold and red robes scurry about replacing one chair with another, positioning everything just so. A plain overstuffed leather chair is left at the very center of the stage. It emptily looks out at us and our gilt encrusted rococo columns, arches, crystal chandeliers, embellished cartouches and cherubim. Above it, and us all, clouds stand motionless against a field of blue. "How did they get the sky in here, Grammy?" "It's painted on, dear." "How do you paint clouds?" "They're not real, dear." "Clouds aren't real!?" "No dear, these clouds aren't real." "oh......" "They painted these clouds on this ceiling." "WHY?" "Because they're beautiful. Aren't they beautiful?" "Uh huh!" Things being beautiful was always the best answer for just about anything.

Copyright 2009 EYP All Rights Reserved

The Dalai Lama strides perhaps a little awkwardly on stage surrounded by a gaggle of attendants and local dignitaries. All are seated for a musical tribute by the Brazilian singer/composer, Denise Reis. Trumpeting vocalizations at its beginning make the man of the hour chuckle out loud in surprise. The ease of his delight is infectious. Smiles gently fan out from him into the audience like ripples across a pond. He's obviously used to being lauded and is taking it all humorously in stride. The eccentric, but beautifully conceived song performed by a group called "Simply Human" must have been as unexpected an experience for him as it was for us here in the provinces of upstate New York.



Greetings, welcomes, and more lauding follow. Then he rises and walks about the stage draping each and every musician and dignitary in turn with a traditional Tibetan white scarf handed to him by an assistant. The act has the easy grace of something done countless times. It is fascinating to watch as each person is given –along with a scarf– an equal moment of complete attention. Some meet the Dalai Lama's gaze in kind, but most can only sustain the scrutiny for an instant before looking downward. Gram, being very much Christian, might have likened this ritual of recognition to "washing the feet of his disciples." But it reminded me of a more secular, if no less blessed paradox– that rare person who confidently, yet humbly, accepts the mantle of leadership from others. In a lifetime of service, or for an hour's spotlight upon a stage, they will lead, or teach, as an equal among many equals embodying both the unique and the universal. A rare privilege indeed for any student or citizen sharing their time.

A strong voice, but often so quiet one has to stop breathing to hear it. This was the Dalai Lama's first time in our city. He would have come earlier but had had, as he put it, "no invitation." Again he laughs easily and everyone joins in. He announces that he has come to share some of his "thoughts and beliefs" and that he felt filled with the "friendly atmosphere." Suddenly there's the familiar ripping sound of velcro as he produces a bit of folded fabric from a pocket. Monks' robes have pockets? Have velcro fasteners!? He unfolds and then dons a sun visor that matches the red of his robes. Tenzin Gyatso looks a little like a gambler about to invite us to a game of poker, or a vacationer at the beach. It's the audience's turn to chuckle. He speaks of addressing our state's legislature that morning and how he had told them that he had some sympathy towards Republicans because they, too, are in a minority. "They stood up absolutely joyful and then I told them ...IT'S A JOKE!" He and our Democratic mayor exchange wry nods. More Laughter. He looks thoughtful then adds that he doesn't think that there is much difference between political parties but that having them "is a very, very healthy sign ...some competition is good exercise." He indulges in still more effortless laughter and rearranges himself distractedly. He explains that this is his last day visiting our country before going back to his second home in India. On this visit the Dalai Lama had had "many occasions to speak to the public," meet "some students, professors, and scientists. I also learn something. Some new things. So, indeed, I am very satisfied." Without warning, his feet leave the sanctuary of a pair of ordinary brown shoes and tuck themselves up underneath him in the chair, disappearing under the fold of his robes.

"I am happy to have some opportunity to share some of my thought." That thought, he says, is his main thought every day no matter what country he is in. It is "always of bringing inner strength, inner calmness, or inner peace. With that we can handle all problems, more realistically, more effectively. So I believe warm-heartedness, compassionate heart. This is a key matter for a meaningful life. And also for our constant health. A calm mind is a very crucial factor according to my own experience. When I had a medical check-up from time to time the doctors found my medical condition was very good. So. Of course my life not happy one, a lot of difficulties. At age 16, I lost my freedom. At age 24, I lost my own country. For the last fifty years constant, heart-breaking news always. Some cases, some positive news, but others mostly bad, sad news. But then, comparatively, my mental state quite okay, quite calm. So now this shows in my health. So some may consider that I have some hidden power. This is nonsense." The audience begins to giggle again. "If I truly had a healing power, then surgery to remove my gall bladder that should not take place!" More laughter surprises even itself. He has dispatched the last of his audience's concern, putting even hardship and worry in its place.

"So that makes very clear that I have no healing power!" But his deep, rolling chuckle is indeed infectious. "So I think peace of mind really makes differences for our health and daily life more happier. And also inner happiness, inner calmness also creates some peaceful manner that also many other people enjoy. So through them we can create more happy society, something like one family. THAT we really need. Money? Power? May not do that. That thing comes only through sincere, compassionate attitude. Even animals, sometimes I do think we can learn more things from animals rather than human beings. They are like our parents. They don't care whether that person is rich or poor. Whether that person is this color or that color or whether he has this position or that position, whether they have gone in that direction or another or whatever... They do not know. Don't care. But they care for us. Can understand from us our agitation, our affection, affection in the attitude. ...Sincere. Not lying, not cheating. For this, we have dogs, cats, and some birds also."

I'm filled with a new appreciation for the loving pets that have graced my days. But I find myself again drawn to looking down at the Dalai Lama's plain, brown shoes sitting empty on the stage. How they mock all the grand pomp and circumstance of the moment. They seem to insist that this man is no different, no better or worse, than anyone else here. He puts his shoes on one at a time. Yet I cannot help but feel privileged to be in the same room. Perhaps it is simply being in the presence of so much world history. ...And isn't this the oldest soul one's ever likely to experience in any lifetime? Wait, did he just wonder laughingly aloud whether a mosquito can appreciate another species? That an insect's "brain size may be too small for anything but the survival of its day to day life?" He concludes, "but in many cases, even animals also have the ability to appreciate other's affection, truthfulness, honesty, compassion."

The thought process, like the shoes, distracts. It is fascinating to watch him braille the elephant of his ideas, searching for the right argument to convey this or that exploration. "So then we, human beings, suppose we have much more intellect? If that intellect feast on, on benevolence, on a decent peaceful family. If we can appreciate even what other animals can appreciate. That should not be minimized. It's not selfishly interested. It's then foolish..." He turns and takes another tack mid-sentence. "I think basically our nature is more compassionate. One clear sign is firstly with everybody come from mother's milk. And we survive with mother's milk. ...At that time we have no idea who is that person, but we truly appreciate her affection, her smile, her closeness of feeling. So then we trust that, totally rely on that. So according to medical doctors, after birth and for the next few weeks, mother's physical attraction is very crucial factor for proper development of the child."

At a news conference taped earlier that morning, the Dalai Lama had been delighted by the extra broad shoulders of one of the reporters as it seemed to remind him of the experience of being carried by his own mother:



As if to illustrate, a baby in the audience delights in non-verbally answering the sound of the Dalai Lama's voice and will not be quieted. "Then, obviously, I think in this hall. Some people there, of yes, that's alright I cannot see. I think in this hall 50,000. Huh!?" His interpreter, sitting close by, intervenes. "Oh ah, nearly 300,000. Oh, I mean 3,000." He notices that his train of thought has left the tracks. "My English dangerous!" The audience explodes with laughter. "Ahem, Ahhh, so now there are 3,000 people here. I think there will be really some of those individuals who at a young age who receive maximum affection from our mother they will appreciate a relatively much more stable and, more important, such people build an ability to show affection to others. And I think for others such people are much happier, more calm; may not disturb their mind easily. Then those people, and I think there must be some, at a young age lack that affection. And worse, some abused. That abuse emotionally mires the person and they've lost affection. So they sort of feel not affection but fear, disgust." The baby in the audience, as if to illustrate, becomes even more vocal. "As a result, those people who have such an experience at a young age I think may find more doubt to feel all others' pain. So as a result, such people they're mind obstinate deeply inside. They fear, and lack peace ability as a result. Small sort of problem can disturb what's their mind."

The baby quiets as the Dalai Lama's voice lowers almost to a whisper. "Medical science, at Howard Hughes Medical School, this has been proved scientifically.... anger, hatred, fear, or constant anger-hatred-fear is literally eating our inner system. A more calm mind, compassionate mind, can decrease this in the immune system." He suddenly addresses his translator. They seem to be grappling with terms of biology in two languages. The aide finally concludes: "I think it's called transferase." The Dalai Lama pauses as if to consider trying to explain a concept that few may have heard of and decides to take another route... "So therefore, comfortable compassionate attitude is not little matter."

• Transferase is thought to be implicated in the process of stress-related aging. Stress oxidation may also effect the telomeres' region of DNA , the shortening of which might have contributed to the first cloned mammal's (Dolly the sheep's) premature death. ...There's much more on this in the new field of epigenetics, as reported in the recent PBS "NOVA" special "Ghost in your Genes."

Step by step, the Dalai Lama broadens his argument for the maintenance of a calm mind and an equally loving heart; citing evidence from animal to human, from the experience of family to the proofs of scientific truth. How compassion itself provably exists, if not for the insect then certainly for nearly everyone and every 'thing' else. How it must be sought after and held in common for the sake of all. It was sinking in. But I was beginning to wonder, as perhaps many did, what if one is not gifted with calmness and love by either nature or nurture, what then?"

"Those people who sincerely practice one's own faith, have faith increase. So one of my commitments is promoting races' harmony. So I am fully committed about that. So some might consider that, consider me, as being a good Christian." He chuckles. "One time when I was in Australia during a public talk a Christian minister introduced me and when he did that he called me a good Christian." ...My devout grandmother would certainly have agreed... "On some occasions in India I have noticed that traditionally sometimes Christians and Muslims wear the same clothes, sometimes they wash together, but they never eat together."

Again I am left wondering, had this associative way of thinking led our teacher, himself, astray?

"If we remain on the basis of faith, they are Muslim, we are Buddhist. More worry. More feeling isolated. Then that can translate into frustration, anger, then violence. And violence has little success. So does anything that reduces harmony. Of course, one small tradition or philosophy, that's our own business. Yes. But there are common practice of compassion, practice of forgiveness, tolerance, contentment, self-discipline are common practice. So we can share in these practices. We can learn from our Christian brothers and sisters. Very useful."

To satisfy a variety of people, there are a variety of religions? Makes sense.

"A different approach is necessary. There are different circumstances, different geographies." In a later Q&A the subject of tolerance itself would again arise. A sore subject considering the ever tortured relationship between Tibet and China, where diversity of thought or cultures still seems to be considered more a threat than a strength. But when debating on a religious difference with a Christian, the Dalai Lama laughs to recall announcing fondly: "This is Buddhist business, not YOUR business!" Would that nations could be as tolerant as these two friends of differing beliefs had succeeded at being. How easy then would be the separation of church and state, of cultural and political divide. "Even in the Tibetan community, most are basically Buddhist. But there are also some Muslim there, also some Christian there. This shows the right of people. So my main commitment is promotional. So always we should carry the same message. The same potential. So. But my main sort of effort is –without touching religious concept– simply using scientific datas and our own experience and on that basis make known, make clear to the public, we have this inner value that is immensely beneficial."

He offers an example: "I always tell people, this group in this current economic crisis, that of course with ordinary people also there is some sort of impact on their life. But here I believe, and of course, you have to watch, you have to sort of check, check those people who think only money has value. Always thinking about money, money, money --like that. No other interest. No other values. No other concern for others."

Not that money doesn't have value.

"Certainly without money you can't survive, you can't work, you can't have an end product. But beside this value, material value, is this other inner value. A successful, happy family. A compassionate family. Compassionate community. Inner peace. Of these two kinds of people I think those during an economic crisis –I think those who feel only money have value– are the ones that are hit most. They are the most distressed. Certainly, for the other one there is a money crisis there BUT still very happy in their families and their relationships. They are more oriented toward their inner value."

Philosophy and civics collide, which is about as political as this talk will get. He thinks aloud that, "a basic, modern, efficient system itself should pay attention only to the greater moment, to accept this inner value." But that, educational institutions have evolved apart from the religion and family in the teaching of values, dealing only with educating the brain. "Then that educational institution alone have the responsibility. So therefore on many occasions I express, and also many people agree, that now in modern educational system we need some lesson on moral issues. Then how to put that? That we need more research work on the basis of universal value and including some scientific findings on these things. So that my main sort of commitment wherever I go I touch this subject and make known or share with the public. ...At least pay more attention toward our inner values and then where it is concerned, no difference of color, no difference of social background, whether rich or poor. No differences. And also not depend on faith. Even without faith we share a good quality, by birth already there. In fact, compassion, the seat of compassion, is a biological factor." Science is, indeed, backing up this supposition with research. "We are social animal and I am told that the very way we are grown up, need others' care. In order to develop others' enthusiasm, caring, emotionally this needs something. That's affection. With affection then all this care be there."

He resorts to parable, humorously telling of how on a recent extended plane trip he observed a mother staying up all night to take care of her fussy young child long after her husband had fallen asleep. "So mother all night take care... This shows from her actions that mother has tremendous determination and willing to sacrifice for others, willing to face any difficulties, any sort of problems. Sacrifice own sleep for her own child, for others' sleep. ...So it is indisputable that she has compassion. True compassion is oriented towards others' attitude."

But there's the hitch. And here is where a lifetime (lifetimes?) of study reveals itself. "So long as others attitude friendly towards you that kind of compassion can be maintained. But as soon as their attitude changes, then that compassionate attitude could turn to hatred. So therefore, naturally that type of compassion cannot extend towards people who you perceive as an enemy, whose attitude is negative to yours. So that is why it is limited much in the way of what it's attachment to you. However, that way might succeed then through that which I call, what Buddhists' call, analytical meditation. By analysis of the values of compassion, not contemplation of anger or of selfishness. Through these, sort of, events you can know you can prolong your condition." Some of the best health advice I'd ever heard.

"Now for example all human beings, all creatures by nature want happiness under the sun. Therefore, every human being, but really every being, has the right to walk in the sun. Use that reason to settle your concern for one's self or also check each other." The interpreter intervenes: "changing one's self." "Change one's self not on basis of for you yourself, like that, but simply: I have rights to walk in the sun. Because of that I have rights towards sun and decide. So therefore, thats the reason – one hundred percent – say to other people also, by nature, therefore they have every right to walk in the sun. Using that for a reason, that philosophy of concern toward the welfare of others including your enemy. That's why attitude is a bit different. All are sensitive beings, on that unbiased compassion not oriented toward attitude but on being of person. That infinite, not based on attachment. Friend? Friendly attitude. Enemy? Hateful attitude. New to people, you feel nothing. But as the rightness as such, all are sensitive beings. They have the right to walk out there. On that I base as much as possible an unbiased compassion not oriented towards attitude but oriented towards being of people, of person. Like that. That unbiased. That infinite. Not based on attachment. So. That I call universal compassion, it leads to true, mainly democratic, unbiased compassion. That I think true education that we can look at."

My mind wanders again, trying to understand. Universal compassion based, not on one's relation or attitude towards another person, but on the simple right of everyone to exist? It's a very American thought in a way – live as you like, believe as you must, at least to the extent that it does not infringe on anyone else's right to be as they are and do as they must. An almost biblical thought – judge not, lest ye be judged? This was an axiom my Gram lived her whole life. She was stubborn in her right to be as she willed, yet always strove to be mindful, 'in service' to others. A loving nature I'd treasured, but not always been able to live up to. But now I find I can not be too hard on myself over that lack. If the Dalai Lama is correct, then that right of being must also apply to one's own being. It is a call to be compassionate towards one's self as well as others. Being well cared for from the beginning simply helps one experience it emotionally, but what he seems to be calling for is an awareness, an acceptance of it intellectually.

"So that's my talk. So if you feel some sort of interest over my thought then please pay more attention and familiarize yourself, with investigation, from experiment, then you gain more, I think, deeper experience. And those of you who may not have much of an interest, then, no problem. After our talk, when you go outside... **** it." The audience explodes in surprised laughter. "But that no problem. I will be leaving tomorrow and so will be saying..." Laughing too hard to finish. "I will get to say 'Bye, Bye.'"

Suddenly jostling out onto the street again, I am not quite able to decide whether to walk or take the bus home – let alone parse all I had just heard. I feel the concentration of smiling experience dispersing around me up side streets and out in all directions into the greater mind of my city. A pleasant, different kind of feeling for the place. The music of this afternoon, not yet beginning to stir from my subconscious, had had a very different voice to consider. It was not a forceful celebrity sound-bite by way of the press, nor the oration of a statesman, not even a sermon for a willing congregation. We were not monks capable of being instructed in the art of spiritual debate. With humility, yet a commanding self-possession, the Dalai Lama had mused aloud on the effect (or even lack of it) that his sharing might have. As if it were routine to answer questions no one but he could think to ask.

• "Meditation for Piano" a spontaneous composition inspired by the Dalai Lama's visit recorded that evening.
  

Days, weeks later, this experience has become for me yet another of those moments that can be re-visited outside of time. Always fresh and yet familiar as the grasp of a loved one's hand on the way to a new adventure. Like a sanctuary in the cradle of mountains, or some sandy beach of contemplation at the edge of a vast expanse; it is a memory where one can listen to the roar of mental tides or curl-up peacefully and wait for a muse's song from high in a favourite climbing tree. In this imaginary landscape the Dalai Lama now presides like a bemused, eye-shaded Buddha. Cross-legged in an overstuffed leather chair, his empty shoes always at the ready to move on, ready to explore how to balance curiosity with belief, disappointment with delight, hardship with joy, discipline with freedom. Just the type of person who might paint clouds on a ceiling because they are beautiful. He has painted a portrait of himself with this lifetime not unlike the mountains of his Tibetan homeland. Creatures of earth and air, towering clean with snow, quiet but for the swoosh of eternal winds and the colors of prayer flags fluttering forever about them.


Here are more clips from the World Ethical Foundations Consortium. The full event DVD will be available for purchase at http://www.worldethicalfoundations.org.







*This post was derived in part from an unauthorized recording.
Official sanction is not implied, nor has it been given by either
the Office of the Dalai Lama or the World Ethical Foundations Consortium.

In Memory of the Health Care Marchers of '93

It had been on the local evening news. Busloads of people from across New England were stopping at a local college on their way to a march on Washington, DC. In just an hour, or so the reporter implied, Hillary Clinton herself might be there to greet them. History seemed about to be made and within walking distance, too!

I wandered about the waiting throng, looking for the best vantage. There was a taped off area by an inner parking lot. I settled there next to a handsome fellow with a friendly smile. There was excitement in the air. It was a good feeling. Democracy was on the move, getting things done for the good of all, and here I was, a part of it. Or so I thought.

The buses started to arrive. The passengers were slow to disembark, many needing assistance. Suddenly, the handsome man next to me called out, "Go home, you commie pinkos!" I whirled around in disbelief. "What!?" Who says that anymore? What is this? An old 1950's B-movie? "Dirty commies!!" He yelled again, sporting an appalling grin at me, as if expecting my approval. I watched his expression change as he realized he wasn't going to get it.

I watched myself through his eyes becoming one of 'Them' and not one of his 'Us.' I glanced past him and saw the rest of the crowd likewise dividing between the irate and the confused. "How did you... Who sent you here?" was all I could think to ask since I'd only just heard about this rest stop myself. "Rush Limbaugh!" he answered triumphantly over the din. "WHO?" The man literally stepped back away as if I'd insulted a household god. I followed his hatred of me (and all my kind) down the clench of his arms and saw a rock in one hand and an upturned beer bottle in the other. I was too shocked to be as afraid as maybe I should have been. Then again, I was never one to run away from a bully.

But what had I, or any of these people, ever done to this fella? This wasn't the welcome the marchers had expected. What about their rights of free speech and assembly? How could this simple bathroom break have been turned into such an ugly, dangerous gauntlet? Most of the cops were out of sight beyond the buildings, the few left guiding traffic seemed just as unprepared as I felt. Then I happened to look down. Just beyond the tape an older woman gripped helplessly at her wheelchair, desperately trying to move and getting nowhere fast enough. She looked up at me beseechingly.

To help her, or stand idle next to her gleeful tormentors was hardly a choice. Without a second thought, I'm proud to say, I and about two-thirds of the crowd took hold of the tape and ducked under it as one. I grabbed the wheelchair and all of us rushed back and forth until everyone was helped off the buses and safely inside the building.We looked out through the glass doors of our sanctuary at the befuddled mob still screaming and shaking their fists at us. Now they looked unsure after suddenly finding themselves not only in the minority, but left behind. Or perhaps they couldn't move because this Limbaugh guy didn't seem to be around to tell them what to do. All there was between us was a length of plastic tape and a row of unlocked doors, yet they didn't close the distance.

And I had never felt so distant from other Americans or so far away from the country I love.

Just a few city blocks from home I felt like a refugee sipping juice from a paper cup while local dignitaries gave half-hearted speeches of reassurance --even though they thought it better we all stay inside for the time being. Suffice it to say Hillary never showed up either. We waited over two hours, still a little in shock. "Anybody here REALLY a communist?" someone piped up. Everyone laughed wanly and groaned. "Just wondering," he added in mock self-defense. As night fell, the street finally cleared. We quietly loaded our marchers back onto the buses and tried to put friendly faces on our fears for them. Their bravery, like the march itself, barely made the news and now seems almost entirely forgotten. That was back in 1993, and I've wondered since how many of those people survived their health and money troubles once they were yet again left on their own. How many of them are left today who would still be willing, or able, to call out for a better way?

We would never let a child go hungry on our doorstep or a stricken neighbor die for want of aid. Yet children are hungry in America and people next door are dying every day for lack of resourses. Rationalize it all you want, make of them an 'other' somehow less deserving of concern, much less our care, the fact remains that we are all affected. Those who will tell you otherwise are cheats with something to gain from the deception. Time and time again they have been proven wrong, but how they can bank on all our short memories. To the Newt Gingrichs, Dick Armies, Karl Roves, Boehners and Palins of this moment, I repeat what was said to your fellow Republican Joseph McCarthy so many decades ago: "Have you no shame?" Your party finally held every power this nation allows but still you wanted more. Eight years of incompetence, cronyism, corruption and unabashed greed have left your, our, nation nearly bankrupt and in some ways, disgraced.

But we, as a nation, will step away from your angry, misled mob. We, as a nation, will finally unite as a matter of necessity and find a fair consensus upon which to build a better life for all our people. We will not fight you. No one will take away your guns or put you in jail for wearing a t-shirt. There is no conspiracy to deny tea-baggers anything but the right not to think for themselves or be a responsible citizen. In this information age there is no excuse for not fact-checking even those that you'd like to agree with. Speaking of whom, and to, Rush Limbaugh and Fox 'News,' may God forgive the misery you and all your patsies have caused. If nothing else, believe this: continue to bring only self-serving vitriol to the public forum and you will be found out. As one honorable Republican (who must be perpetually spinning in his grave) once said: "You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time."

There's someone who knows the truth, and she's looking you right in the eye. She's sitting in a wheelchair about to brave alone a gauntlet of illness, debt, and despair. She's not the first, but she could be the last. It all depends on which side of the line you're on.

Blindsight/Deaf-Hearing Spontaneous Composer

On July 1st, 2009, having just watched the excellent PBS Nova "Musical Minds with Dr Oliver Sacks" ( http://ow.ly/h2eD ) I felt compelled to sum myself up and ask a question on its forum:

Dr Sacks, I was born consciously blind on my right side as well as unable to understand language in my right ear. I taught myself to play the piano as a child and became adapt at spontaneous Bach-like composition before receiving any formal training. I've long believed that I would be much more impaired if it had not been for my mother's passion for reading aloud and being allowed to play -at a very young age- with her classical record collection. Now, saying "what" a lot at parties or "excuse me" to my own reflection in a full-length mirror, a lack of depth perception and an inability to think/learn in any particular linear fashion (greatly improved by the advent of computer-aided thought) are now my only bothersome disadvantages. Are there many others in my situation, or could I be of use to some study? Steff

What with all the questions submitted I'm not surprised I didn't get an answer. There may not be one. But thought I'd give it a blog and try Facebook on the off chance that this may ring a bell, so to speak, for someone else.

A Dream about David Carradine

Note:  I'd been saddened by the news of actor David Carradine's death, remembering his work fondly. "Kung Fu" was a particular favourite and was responsible for many in the U.S. taking up meditation and the martial arts back in the '70's. I know I benefitted from discovering tai chi and yoga thanks to the series. This may explain the following dream, although I'm not sure what those that study dreams and/or the sub-conscious mind might make of all these metaphors. I'll add though that the 'temple dog' described below is itself from an earlier lucid dream. I've interpreted it to be a personal symbol for becoming assimilated into eternity and the universe...

Dreamt I went to a Chinese restaurant to see David Carradine perform as a magician. An old friend had rather unenthusiastically provided transport. I remember only that we enjoyed the show and afterwards I went up to Carradine to thank him. He said nothing, looked at me with his head tilted for a moment then produced a fuzzy little ball out of nowhere and tossed it at a bank of apothecary drawers on the wall as if prescribing something for me. He nodded to the proprietor and the contents of the drawer was made into a bowl of tea which I drank. Given the bowl to keep I followed him to another room to thank him yet again and return the ball, asking  "didn't he want a souvenir?"  At first he looked pleased, then disappointed when he realized I was only returning his own magic toy. He declined and told me "you keep it. "

When he saw that I was sorry that he had not accepted the gesture, he bade us and all the staff and crew who were starting to pack up the show to sit down again. He would perform one last time for us and his co workers. The special effects crew obliged him, reanimated a huge glittering golden prop sitting in the middle of the restaurant/theatre at the center of a streaming fountain. It arranged itself to be a huge temple dog with one forepaw atop a ball. I thought to myself that this signified the dog's guardianship of our experience of the world. The orb's shape reminded me of the toy still in my pocket. The dog bobbed, shivered and bared its teeth menacingly all pomp and ceremony glittering in a play of multi-coloured lights and sparkling water. Carradine took a long, running dancer's leap, arching gracefully into the air, arms flung wide flying over and past us into the lights, looking supremely happy. He disappeared face first dissolving completely into the body of the dog. It threw its head back and roared triumphantly, then went silent and still as the mere statue that it had seemed to be before. The lights faded and only the waters of the fountain still moved.

As we were gathering up our things to leave after this last encore, some of the waitresses went around tying a friendship(?) bracelet made of a stalk of grass or reed around each person's wrist, then rested a common pearl button on the forearm above it.  One of them said something in Chinese that I did not understand but that I took to mean that the memory would last as long as one kept the button balanced there. 

I was complaining to my friend that this was difficult to do whilst awkwardly carrying my coat and the suddenly huge and unwieldy tea bowl back to her car. The button must have slipped from my arm because I suddenly found myself awake.

A Gaze of Expectation

On the highway something attracts your attention and keeps it. Maybe it's the spectacle of a disaster or just a simple, interesting, something. Ever so slightly your car crosses over the white line between the safety of the open road and a questionable shoulder. Perhaps this is why surprises are so feared and yet so treasured. Constant normalcy isn't all it's cracked up to be. A road without potholes to avoid, without twists and turns, detours and distractions would be too boring, too meaningless a road to travel for long. Fixating must be built-in to the way we are aware for a reason. It's supposed to safeguard against being surprised by danger. Yet there you are being unwittingly drawn, and if you're not careful, driving right off the road. The safeguard itself becomes a danger. Yet, all you did was follow your gaze.

Your concentration breaks at the bumpy edge of the pavement. You swerve harmlessly back into the middle of your lane without even a first, let alone a second thought. No harm done. What you never notice might never have happened if it is not there in your mind to remember, let alone question. But what if it did make you aware of your own actions? Continuing down the road as you have always done could come with the realization that you are still just following your gaze in order to stay in your lane. But what fills that moment- to - moment gap between where you intend to be and getting there? What is really directing your gaze? Cruise control? Some unconscious thought process as autonomic as breathing itself? You don't necessarily need to know where you'll end up to have the will to put a foot back down on the gas pedal. But you do need at least the illusion of somehow knowing, don't you? There's a word for this 'just what's up ahead' and it may always have been in your driver's seat all along.

Expectation requires nothing but itself to become self-fulfilling most of the time. It does this so easily it's often confused with fate - although confusing the two nearly always gets one into trouble. There are a lot of distractions going on along our world's roadways these days... Financial pile ups. Menacing immoral monsters at home and abroad empowered by lust, or fear, or greed. The spectacles of so many other travelers sidelined by the loss of a job, pulled over by a health crisis, or just having run on empty into a ditch of despair. Living as much of our lives on cruise control as we do, relying so heavily on the dictates of past experience to guide our way, it would be all too easy for one's gaze to follow just a little too long and to go off the road ourselves.

We learn from the expectation of our parents, as much as from what is denied and what is nurtured, who we are and how we ourselves will form our own fortunes. Without even realizing it, you yourself will decide long before life makes those assumptions real or proves them mistaken, how you will feel about the actual experience. And in that lies the secret to many a motorist's achievement of mobile bliss or road rage.

It has long been known that dreams are made up almost entirely of surmise born out of previous experience and cogent suggestion. Follow this gaze and you realize that what you think shapes the experience of the dream itself. You gain conscious control of where you are going moment by moment and thought by thought, managing your expectations and so altering the dream itself as you experience it. Even old recurring nightmares can be transformed into pretty scenery with merely an intention. This 'lucid dreaming' has been well studied, and has been put into practice by many seeking to escape nightly monsters, confront waking fears in private safety, or just to explore and enjoy their own imaginations at will.

In a dream this knowledge gives one control over each coming moment that one can continue on with the habit of remaining lucid. The car may leave the road entirely, sprout wings or disintegrate away, leaving you floating in mid-air amid a landscape of clouds. In waking life, you can become aware of what can change and what cannot. Preconceptions fall away and reality becomes your guide rather than your adversary. Expectation ceases to be the harbinger of fate, and instead becomes but the touch of the steering wheel in your hands. Your gaze perceives the beckoning road as it is, ready for the delight of surprise and alert to danger, but not entranced by anticipation. Try it. Just step on the gas.

Listen to music spontaneously derived from this blog...

What does Kindle mean to Authors?

My oldest client, an author for whom I've been webmaster, virtual secretary and all-round internet concierge since 1996, discovered yesterday that her latest book had been put on Kindle at half it's retail price. She had not been consulted by its publisher. This lady knew she needed a web presence long before she had a computer. She's had e-books for sale on her site before Kindle was a twinkle in Amazon's eye. But still, she found herself asking of this latest innovation: "What does this mean to me? "

I'd been doing a bit of research on my own behalf, so I shared what I thought of the gathering 'tea leaves.' Kindle is a bit of a bogeyman for the Author's Guild et al, but the benefits for the reader are undeniable. And with their addition to the iPhone, e-book readers are going to become an inevitable force to be reckoned with. So, how does the industry retool? How do they pay an advance for a book and bear the costs of production, editing, & design (which remains the same no matter what the media) when first-printing sales of hard-copy books may dwindle? POD and E-book sales, so far, are subject to price-pressure and seem to resemble more a flat stream rather than the customary first tsunami of bookstore shipments. Without that surge of capital, can a publisher pay an advance, let alone employ editors and book designers to finish a project?

The industry has already cut back on advertising expenses, leaving writers themselves to take on more, if not all, of both initial and on-going promotions. Like any other industry, publishing will shrink in proportion to how much it can or will risk. It has become up to a book's author to prove, before hand, that s/he can successfully promote a book –thus guaranteeing the publisher enough sales to make advance/edit/design/first-printing a worthwhile expenditure.

Authors will always be motivated to wager their own time and treasure to achieve their dreams. Even as the benefits of garnering an agent and/or a publishing house's seal of approval are giving way to online endorsements and the testimonies of readers themselves, the 'printing/warehouse' costs of POD and E-Books have also invitingly dwindled. The time will come when authors will all have to self-publish first, whether or not they hope to ever find their efforts on bookstore shelves. Many will successfully risk doing the entire job themselves, others will wisely turn to professionals for help. Editors and book designers once needed full-time by the industry will have to freelance, working directly for the authors who have already had to hire webmasters and PR firms.

To Be Known

‘MysticKid,’ what a moniker. And yet, ever since my friend and writing coach coined it, the name has stuck. I’ve gone with her working title “Adventures of Mystic Kid on Planet Earth” for my memoir in its final stages. Now there’s this. To Blog or Not To Blog? What a question. I’ve plenty of reservations about displaying so much of my mental laundry out on so public a clothesline. I’ve been a pretty private person up ‘til now, until I got my feet wet Twittering. The prospect is scary but also liberating. Like exploring a new path without knowing where it will lead. “Put your life on the web” to quote an old Apple ad-phrase. No kidding!