Mandatory Christmas post

It's been a while since I've felt any kind of spirit at Christmastime. Cynicism (you only have to be nice until Boxing Day), letdown, rip, tear, and it's over. And then the debt. It's been easier to just tune out the whole thing and focus on the sweets and treats. My frustrated credit card, thankfully, rests at zero.

But now, there's the boys. Damn kids: they change you even if you don't want them too. Despite my obstinate self, they are chipping cracks in my scumbug veneer with their constant smiles and dimples. There is some magic to the spirit that's out there. Some of it is real. This is the darkest time of the year in my part of the world and all the purdy lights taste delicious to my eye-buds.

Photos from last night in Edmonton. The house owner has a warehouse to store his goods off-season and his yard has room for his obsession to grow. (I wonder if this counts as hoarding?)


Walking in a winter ... nevermind, December 2010


There's always room for more (advertising works), December 2010


I want these for next year (advertising works), December 2010


Even the inside, December 2010


Walking in a winter wonderland, December 2010

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Saskatoon summer night

Morocco, Saskatchewan, August 2010


Stand in for the moon, August 2010


Album cover for some arty pop music, August 2010

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The last drive in

My wife and I started our early dating life in the drive-in. I would pick her up from her hair salon job on Saturday night and we'd head right over to the drive-in. Summer long weekends were the best. Triple feature. Corn dogs. Pickle on a stick. Corn on the cob dripping in butter. And onoin rings. That was 20 years ago and drive-ins are long gone from our home city. Thankfully, change happens a little more slowly in Saskatchewan. There are two drive-in theatres that I know of. The Jubilee at Manitou Beach and this one, the Sundown, in Saskatoon.

The Sundown has a big FOR SALE out front. It is run by a couple that should be retired by now, but they must truly love their business. Or they can't afford to quit. A few people still come out and even though the place hasn't seen any cosmetic maintenance for 20 years, the projectors still run and the screen is more or less white. It works.


Still working, August 2010


Better not touch that, August 2010


When you live where you work, August 2010


Update? Nah..., August 2010


Just ghosts now, August 2010


Blue bulb spider webs, August 2010


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Michael invites the universe for tea

A space that can't be filled, December 2009


Plenty of room for the infinite, December 2009

"What is it then that this desire and this inability proclaim to us, but that there was once in man a true happiness of which there now remain to him only the mark and empty trace, which he in vain tries to fill from all his surroundings, seeking from things absent the help he does not obtain in things present? But these are all inadequate, because the infinite abyss can only be filled by an infinite and immutable object ..." (emphasis mine)

Blaise Pascal – Pascal's Penses

I was led to this quote after listening to a CBC program about Gabor Maté's recent book called In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts.

The French philosopher Blaise Pascal believed there is "a God-shaped void in the human being," a kind of longing which can only be filled by the Eternal. If there's a God-shaped void in the human being, somehow or other, it is going to be filled. With alcohol? Drugs? Work? Music? Shoes? (source) (emphasis mine)

How did "infinite abyss" get transformed into "God-shaped void"? No matter, the intention behind the two phrases is similar enough.

What strikes me is the comparison of drug or alcohol addiction (tobacco anyone?) to more benign compulsions like collecting James Bond movies, plucking chin hairs, lining up the shoes in the entry way so that the toes are out and the heels are towards the wall, watching every single episode of "How I Met Your Mother" in chronological order, ... (only some of these are mine, ha ha). There is potential for an insanely complex discussion about differentiating good, bad, and neutral compulsions. I'm going to avoid that for now. The idea that is pushing me is that of blind compulsion and obedient attempts to fulfill them.

These days more than ever, I am keenly aware of an insatiable desire that drives me, has driven me for as long as my neurons have been holding on to memories. I'm never satisfied with myself. I want to be better at everything! Meditating, writing, speech-language pathology, breaking boards with my feet, running far, holding wacky yoga poses, the list is endless. (This is why I'm resisting the idea of the bucket list: it would be infinite!) I want. I want. I want. I want to earn more money, have a nicer house, I want to travel EVERYWHERE, I want to learn Chinese for God's sake!

When I meditate these days, I feel a strong urge to get up and do something. Leave my cushion and get busy. I don't like this. I yearn to be satisfied "with things present" as Pascal says above. Just look at that last sentence: "I yearn." It seems to be hard-wired! Is this a fruitless pursuit? Is pursuing what it means to be human? I'm still thinking the answer is NO. So, I'll keep trying.

"Hello Universe? Do you hear me? I surrender. See? I'm waving a white flag. Why don't you come over for tea and we'll chat for a while?"

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For those who are trying

A stop along the way, December 2009

I've been trying very hard this past year to build a mountain with a teaspoon. So many goals, it's pathetic really. Some have stalled, many have failed miserably, and some have caused great harm to those around me. (A few have quietly moved ahead, but are so obscured by the noise and dust of my efforts that I've lost sight of them.)

This is the time of year for re-visiting lists and updating goals of self-improvement. My one goal is to understand why I have so much on my list. Aren't I good enough just the way I am? Isn't my life perfect just the way it is? My brain says yes, but my heart doesn't agree. Or is it the other way around?!

"...it's usually better not to set out on journeys like this with too many plans and expectations. Or even much hope. Do not forget your goal, but let the way to it find you ..."

- Thomas Wharton, from his novel The Shadow of Malabron

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And the light returns

Offend no one, December 2009


A study of impermanence, December 2009


What it's about, one, December 2009


What it's about, two, December 2009


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Glowing in the darkness (for Ginny)

Prairie faith, December 2009

Christmas is a cruel season. So much darkness arises for me. The lack of light; the emptiness of mandatory gift-giving; my present-greedy children; the once-a-year excuse/expectation to be nice to strangers; the "now-what" letdown of January; and the what's wrong with me questions when I just don't feel it.

I still haven't figured out what to do with this holiday hoo-haw, except to go along with it. I am making progress though. I'm starting to see how my own thoughts and actions cause what I feel.

These things make me feel better:
- meditation
- yoga
- lots of sleep
- Johnnie To movies (like this one)
- spending less money
- time with my family
- Ginny's blog (despite her dark wit, she is full of good stuff)
- when I help a client communicate better
- Christmas lights

My measure of success: when Christmas is a celebration of the compassion and joy I feel all year long. Nothing special, yet everything special.

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Waiting in the dark

Black is cold. Moving through it without protection would be like drowning, the light of life slowly fading to empty silence. Black is cold.


The air freezes what it touches, December 2009


Unwelcome oasis, December 2009


Winter beacon, December 2009


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A day spent chasing the light

Quiet breakfast, November 2009


Self-portrait with lights, November 2009


Lights on the edge, November 2009


Riding with penguins, November 2009


Stillness at a dance, November 2009


Waiting for some snow, November 2009


Quiet under the moon, November 2009

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My highway guardian

An old Ford rolls through the dark, November 2009


The road glows with life, November 2009


There's a new movie in which some of the characters see a snowy owl perched outside their bedroom window late at night. 3:33 in the a.m. Just staring at them. And it's not an owl. It's an malevolent alien who has edited out their screaming memories. Last week on my way home from work I passed an enormous white owl sitting atop a power pole. "Aliens," I scoffed. That movie has its symbols messed up. In the desperate reaching of my racing high-beams, my owl glows like an angel, a Bodhisattva. She is my old friend who tells me everything will be fine. Everything IS fine.

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Trotting beside me on the crumbling shoulder, I'm doing 60 and he's doing 5, a coyote barely glances at me. Like me, he has someplace to go this morning. I see him for a second, then we are both gone. Recently, a woman was attacked and killed by coyotes. They are efficient hunters. Coyotes. Misplaced survivors.

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A doe with shredded hindquarters lies on the road. I tack slowly around to avoid disturbing her. The colours are vivid. Red that was so recently alive has no place to go now. Black and white magpies cling to her. They look after the body she no longer needs. Guardians of her passing. Jagged white ribs stab through her sienna chest like prison bars burst open from inside. They free her heart to roam on another plain.

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It is so dark in these hours before most people wake. I'm a racing island of light that reaches into a vast universe of black. Lonesome in my arcing capsule. My mobile cocoon. The owl appears again. She swoops through my headlights and disappears in a blink. I'm startled. Awake now, she has reminded me that I am alive and breathing. My eyes relax and I can see a little farther into the dark.

I believe the owl is my guardian. She guides me safely through the blackness. She helps me understand what is true.



My guide, November 2009

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Hallowe'en postscript

Winspear stage and organ, October 2009


The Davis Concert Organ (the ultimate ax), October 2009


Ooooo, November 2009


Ahhhh, November 2009


The concert was grand. It really was., November 2009


Finally, the point, November 2009


Evil candy pusher, November 2009

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Prospective gratitude

An offering of dreams, February 2009

Instead of noting things that I am grateful for in my life, I am going to start expressng gratitude for what I wish to happen in my life. As if it were already present. Not so much this: "I'm grateful for batteries so I can use my electric toothbrush." More like this: "I'm grateful for my job that lets me travel to Asia four times a year." Or "I'm grateful for my energy self-sufficient home in the country from where I can write my next best-selling book." Or "I'm grateful for waking up day after day without a single ounce of fear."

I read in a psych journal that if a person were to express gratitude for five things once per week, then he (or she) would be 43% happier than the person who didn't (don't quote me on the exact number or ask me to find my reference). Seemed like good odds so I gave it a go. Lasted five weeks before I wrote down how happy I was to have an electric toothbrush. This made me pause and wonder if I wasn't just brainstorming a list of cool stuff. Not a bad thing, really, but it also seems like an inventory of things to cling to. That sounds cynical, maybe it is, but for me, I worked through the important stuff, the people that really matter to me, the Buddha, the sunlight, in the first few weeks. After that I was just thankful for my reliable car, my house, my stuff ... things that I could live without if I had to.

I'm going to try giving voice to my dreams for a while. Time will tell if that kind of longing is just another form of grasping. I'm told that this will help me align myself with the universe, make those dreams come true.

What are your dreams, honest reader? Feel like sharing them?

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I choose movies

Picture House, August 2008


Just what you need, August 2008


In-between, August 2008

If I had to choose between books and movies, it would be painful, but I would have to pick movies. I see a couple every month. Before kids, my dear wife and I used to see a one or two per week. Before I found my little French lovely (that's my wife), I would see three or four every week. I lived a half-block away from the Princess Theatre in Edmonton.

I know someone who can't go to the movies. The large screen is disorienting and sick-inducing. I would consider it over-the-top suffering if I were ever to contract an inner ear disease that left me permanently motion-sick and out of the movie house. All the Bourne movies made me want to barf in my popcorn bag, but I breathed deep, took Gravol, and made it through. Good movies, but I have to watch them on the the small screen now. (I'm a big fan of tripods.)

Today, I began my 44th year in this realm. I celebrated by riding my motorcycle into Edmonton and watching Vicky Cristina Barcelona. No kids, dear wife at home, just me, my popcorn, and the romantic world of Barcelona. I felt like all of the characters had a bit of me in them. Vicky: solid and material, yet moved and confused by "what if." Cristina: wanting to say something with her art, but not sure how and perpetually haunted by the demon of dissatisfaction. Juan Antonio: brave enough to ask for what he wants in life, loving its beauty, and living it today. (Javier Bardem acted his character with the spirit Pablo Picasso. Perfect.) And Penelope Cruz's, Maria Elena. Oh my. Actually, I don't see much of myself in her, but damn, she's radioactive with charisma. You'd need a lead suit not to be moved by her flaming presence.

Great movie. See it if you can. It won't be in theaters for long.

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Photos: Still posting shots from Waterton. The theatre picutred above is owned and operated by a man and woman (husband and wife?) who live in the apartment above the lobby. They drive a vintage Saab and appear to be living their dreams. Mine too. Except for the Saab.

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Waking in the night

Sea of night, June 2008


The Lohwinkel Police Department, June 2008

This vague scene (another night, another drunk) stood around for 127 minutes last night as first the police, then the ambulance, then the fire department, and finally the tow truck came and went. Starting at 1:00 a.m. Next time I'll pull on a pair of pants and walk over for a lookie-see.


Waking in the night from Michael Offworld on Vimeo.

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