Be The Change You Want to See in the World

I believe that one is Mahatma Ghandi. Another wonderful quote is right on this site -- "My life is my message." So what is the message of your life?

Life is getting very hectic -- job changes, work environment changes, all of which I'll be able to talk about more in the New Year. I also have an idea for a new blog that I'm very excited about, but don't know if I'll be able to sustain both. I am officially taking myself out of the pressure situation of blogging here every day, although I do want to write here as often as possible.

Little proofs of the good that comes from connecting and asking for what you need have been everywhere in my life lately. It makes me wonder, who is asking for what I need? And is it working?

More soon.

Taking a break

Need a break today, hope to post by tomorrow. Take care.

The (Overwrought, Overdiscussed) Butterfly Effect

Since we're nearing the end of the year I thought I'd go back over these posts and see how things have transpired since I picked up the megaphone of this blog and started shouting into the dark heavens.

I took another look at post#1, Universe Please Help Me Find A Name for This Blog (with apologies to RG who made it very clear he never again wants to read about just what Judy Blume helped me find. I owe him a nice, calming post about baseball.)

What struck me most is that I had totally forgotten the incident in the bar that had led me to start blogging in the first place. Some strangers told me a couple of small stories and nudged me in another direction, one I wanted to go in but just didn't have the map to. And if it hadn't been recorded here, I'd have forgotten all about it.

A good friend of mine recently went through a bad breakup. She said a story I'd told her ten years ago about my breakup with my first love helped her, as did other stories she'd heard about breakups. This was her first real breakup with a longtime love. She said having no experience at this, all these stories prepared her, and she leaned on them, thinking about how her friends had felt and how they'd gotten though it, and it helped her follow a path that others had already walked.

I guess what I'm learning is that life is not a series of big dramatic moments. It's a constant weaving of thousands of threads. You're weaving other people's lives without even knowing it.

The love I have for Owen, my friend who died years ago, still reverberates even though he's not here to tease me about it. After a very bad recent day, when I only saw my badness and all the reasons why the couple of people I know are angry with me right now absolutely should be, and I said "I don't think I can handle this pain anymore," well, there he was. I came home from my evening class and sitting in the lobby of my building were a few true-crime novels. (One of the things I've come to love about my building is the neighbors leave books and magazines for eachother). At the top was Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, Owen's favorite contemporary book and one I've never read. I'm reading it. And all the things I loved about him -- his humor, his warmth, his sense of the absurd and of the good -- are still right here in the world and even in this book with its strange blend of lurid and lovable. And of course I can take any pain there is to be doled out.

Insert Mary Tyler Moore Theme Here

Personally, I adore the Husker Du version. But, in a word, love is all around. I've spoken to five of my favorite women in the last 36 hours, and I'm struck by how many more people I could easily put among my favorite people. I have been, in so many ways, a big jerk about letting in the many people who would be so happy to be here, and in return I've been nowhere for them. So, I'd like that to change, starting. . . . . . . now.

Tiny little miracles

1) My computer rose from the dead this morning, bowed low at the waist and tap danced around the room. While it was making me some tea in an elaborate ceremony, the doorbell rang and the new battery for it came. The computer clicked its heels in glee. After two hours on the phone with (remarkably nice and helpful) Dell tech support people on Friday, who had me do everything short of attaching jumper cables to the laptop and starting it off the engine of my car, I'm in genuine shock that flipping the on switch this morning actually worked.

2) I may have an opportunity to periodically go to London for work, neatly and shockingly solving the problem of how I am ever going to see my best friend from childhood who lives two hours from London by train. Even the possibility of this blows my mind. Who ever actually gets what they want? Me?

3) In the debacle following the computer's three days on the slab (I guess it's Happy Easter for the computer), my fabulous Andrea offered me the use of her home office, which I am going to take her up on starting this week. This is another one of those unbelievably lucky and generous happenstances -- I really need to work somewhere other than my house with the working husband next to me at least some of the time, and I would not be able to afford an office space on my own.

4) We loaned a friend of ours a chunk of money several months ago when they couldn't make their rent. We later told the friend they didn't need to pay us back. Genuinely felt that way. Said friend has since gotten lucrative work and not only wants to pay us back but offered to help us start a college fund for our son and make sure our investments line up. Said friend is in finance industry. Said friend rocks.

5) I stopped drinking coffee this weekend after having food poisoning Friday night and figuring that it might be a good time to clean the slate of abusing my body, mainly with caffeine and sugar. The miracle part of this is by taking vitamin supplements and sleeping when I needed to, I somehow never turned into the Jabberwocky nor ate my friends and family whole in one big gulp.

Til later.

Newsflash -- God Hates Knowledge!

Or, when you look into the atheist, the atheist looks also into you.

Obviously this website does not reflect the beliefs of most Christians or even Evangelicals. And obviously I have to stop reading it. Like now. But I can't, Yahweh-dammit, I can't.

From www.needgod.com (which, by the way, you wind up at with the same types of web searches that seem to lead people here, poor souls.) Italics are mine. Here's how to read them. Picture me screeching with laughter whenever you see italics.

<< 10.If you know the Lord, nothing will shake your faith. It is true that the man with an experience is not at the mercy of a man with an argument. Take for example a little boy who is looking at a heater. His father warns him that it's hot. The child says, "O.K. I believe it's hot." At that point, he has an intellectual belief that the heater is hot. When his Dad leaves the room, he says, "I wonder if it really is hot?" He then reaches out his little hand and grabs the heater bar with his fingers. The second his flesh burns he stops believing the heater is hot. (Note -- No shit! He also stops believing he's the best judge of what's hot and starts thinking he should have listened to his dad.) He now knows it's hot! He has moved out of the realm of "faith" into the realm of "experience."

In comes a heater expert and says, "Son, I have a B.A. in the study of heat. The heater is definitely not hot. I can prove it to you." The child would probably say, "Mr Expert, I don't care how many B.A.'s you have. I know that heater is hot -- I touched it! I'm not in the realm of belief, I'm in the realm of experience. (Note -- Don't kids just say the darndest things?) Goodbye."

If you have touched the heater bar of God's love and forgiveness, if the Holy Spirit has "born witness" that you are a child of God (Romans 8:16), if you have received the Gospel with "power, the Holy Ghost and much assurance" (1 Thessalonians 1:5), you will never be shaken by a skeptic.

When cults tell you that you must acknowledge God's name to be saved, that you must worship on a certain day that you must be baptized by an elder of their church, don't panic. Merely go back to the Instruction Manual. The Bible has all the answers, and searching them out, will make you grow.

If you feel intimidated by atheists -- if you think they are "intellectuals," read the book, God Doesn't Believe in Atheists. It will show you that they are the opposite. It will also instruct you on how you can prove God's existence, and also prove that the "atheist" doesn't exist.>>

I'd much rather eat the pasta of God's love and forgiveness, or maybe knock back the sidecar on the rocks of God's love and forgiveness. I don't want to BURN THE CRAP OUT OF MY HANDS on God's love and forgiveness.

As for the atheists, I love this logic. It means that not only do I regularly speak to people who don't exist -- including, paradoxically, my son's godfather, love that -- but that the few atheists I can't stand never existed in the first place, and if they do ever want to exist, they'll have to promptly go burn the crap out of their hands on some of God's love.

OH MY. . . . goodness

My computer died this morning. It's true. It's not a lie. Because if it were a lie, clearly I'd be going to hell.

Thank. . . .goodness this quiz is a handy guide to whether or not I'm going to hell. And the answer is a hearty yes. In fact, even the answers that appear to make you a good person sometimes turn out to be lies that you didn't even know you were telling, so it's the lake of fire for you.

I'd like to think trying to work toward being a better person, doing good deeds and helping others would bear more weight than lying just once on where your soul ends up. I also think these particular Evangelical Christians could learn a thing or two from Cosmo when it comes to quizzes. I mean, not even a single secret sexifying move to make him squeal with delight. Come on, now.

Last Minute Save

At this very moment, as I was about to say I had nothing to write about, our friend who has been waiting for her green card for 6 YEARS just called to say it was in the mail as of yesterday. She is now legal.

We've been asking the universe for this for a good long time now, so many thanks to the universe for helping a very deserving person take the next steps toward a productive and wonderful life.

Strangely, my husband just called her yesterday, and there has been a long-standing tradition of her getting some news on the progress of her green card within minutes or hours of speaking to us. She says we're her good luck charm. I'm very happy to be that for someone.

Stop, Hammer Time

It's hard to write the Christmas-countdown freak-out I'd planned to when I'm simultaneously watching The Hebrew Hammer. I have to go play "Gentile Invaders" now. Boy, am I sorry people I work with read this blog. I bet they're sorry, too.

File Under -- Please help the people of New Orleans

And I'm sure most people reading this have asked for that over the last three years.

I've been struggling with the idea of holiday gifts this year, for myself and for others. My kid doesn't really need the metric ton of toys he is going to get and the people I work with really don't need another -- MILKFAT SPOILER ALERT -- Junior's Cheesecake .

We finally finshed our lists last night, but what I really want is to get someone in New Orleans a hot water heater. And it looks like I can.

This awesome-seeming organization, Make It Right NOLA, (hat tip to the New York Times)spearheaded by Hottie McHottie Pants -- er, Brad Pitt, which means Hottie McHottie pants in at least 8 languages -- and a group of eco-conscious architects, is working to help rebuild the Ninth Ward with 150 sustainable homes. You can apparently pick something specific to donate, like a hot water heater or a tree.

So, Mom, because I know you read this, let's talk about making small donations to eachother's charities of choice, along with the 707 stuffed with Muppet paraphenalia that I know is due your grandson, or He Who Flies Around The Room On Golden Angel Wings, and Never Does Anything Irksome At All, at least, Not In Front of Grandma. It would be a nice lesson in giving for He Who Flies, and it might be a nice new family tradition.

And by the way, Brad Pitt, well played, but you are totally stealing my husband's look. Knock it off.

The Mind Boggles, I blog (gle)

Boy, that was bad. You can tell how close I am to my English teacher roots on any given day by how bad the puns are.

Coming back to this blog after a holiday always seems to be difficult due to work pileup. We also weaned my son off the bottle this weekend, which was kind of like being snowed in during a blizzard -- you stick close to home and create fun with whatever is at hand, but really, it just kinda sucks. The countdown to this event -- stockpiling treats, tense strategy meetings over grain alcohol -- was as close to planning the survival of a war as I ever want to get. End result, however, is that the kid is bottle-free.

My mind is boggling over how much my life has changed in the last few months and particularly in relation to this blog. Some of it I can't write about quite yet and some of it is still in the planning stages. I still have to write about one of my vacation adventures but want to get a sign-off first from other people involved (attention ridiculously beautiful and wonderful newly married couple -- I mean you). In the next week I'd like to go back over what I've discussed here to date and what has come of it so far. And, once again, not like I have any pipeline to the universe that you don't, but if you think a snarky girl in Brooklyn writing your hoped-fors on her blog might help you out, I do take requests.

Til later.

The Ghost Log

When we went to Portland, OR, during the second leg of our trip, we stayed at the Edgefield, a former county poor farm that has been converted into more or less a resort hotel located in the suburbs of Jerry Garcia's mind. From the hallway walls to the steam pipe caps in our room, the place is slathered in murals that nod to its history as the residence hall for that poor farm, then a nursing home, then a squat complete with real live anarchists, at which point it was rescued and refurbished.

When you walk up the stairs to your room, there's a huge painting of two gleeful old ladies riding a silo as a rocket ship, followed by beatific and bald angels in wheelchairs. The fuse boxes make heads of Shiva-like gods whose many arms are playing with yo-yos. Chagall-like brides and grooms fly around on the third floor. For the duration of your stay, you are living inside some art.

Our first night there, all three of us had nightmares. Mine is just too scary to relate; my husband's involved both running from something and running after something. Our son just said "Bad dream." When I went down to the front desk the next afternoon to ask a few questions, I hung there for another minute, wondering whether to maintain the appearance of a normal person or just go for it. I went for it.

"Can you tell me," I asked the nice lady, "do people often have, uhhhh, intense dreams when they stay here?"

She smiled this potent smile, a blend of kindness and absolute what-the-f*** spooky I've never seen before, and said "Would you like to see our ghost log?"

She handed me one of those marbled school notebooks, filled with handwritten stories from guests and employees about their various experiences over the years, from thumps to dreams to full-blown non-existent people standing right in front of them.

I sat in the lobby, having some of the best coffee I've ever had in my life -- and free! -- pondering the ghost log. I'm not sure what this has to do with this blog, other than that the universe has some very interesting nooks and crannies, and travel is one of the only ways you can ever stumble upon them. That, and that I sometimes expect that asking for all of these things is going to have an inevitable backwash in the form of nightmares and ghost logs. To get the miracles, I worry you have to pay a price.

I'm a tunnel and a bridge

Close friends of ours threw us a barbeque while we were in San Francisco. The directions to get there, to Stinson Beach, said at the end "over a hill and down to the beach". "Over a hill" actually meant 45 minutes of ascending haripin turns. The first 35 minutes I was fine. Fine with my eyes shut and chanting to myself while my husband said "This is SO AWESOME" over and over again about views I could not see through my very very shut eyes. The last ten minutes I lost it. I also figured we must be lost and would just be making hairpin turns up into the sky until our rental car ran out of gas, at which point we would have to make some decisions akin to the cast of Alive.

Once there, I had a good time at the barbeque, but I felt like a wuss. We eventually left the park area and went for a walk on the beach with some friends and our son. New York has some nice beaches, but they are nothing like the West Coast in terms of sheer breadth. My son's comment was "Wow, Mommy. Big big water." I wandered over to the shore line and had my daily universe conversation. I said please let me find some balance. Please let me find some serenity and balance. I'd been frazzled and tired since we'd gotten there a couple of days before and felt like I hadn't had enough sleep or a minute to myself. I attempted a tree pose (standing on one leg, raised foot resting against knee of standing leg) and promptly fell over. Then again. Then again. A friend later pointed out to me -- OK, so you couldn't balance on sand.

I got pretty frustrated and went into a small tailspin in my head, I can't be peaceful, I can't enjoy the moment, I suck at yoga, blah blah blah. So I did what I thought was giving up and did a downward facing dog (hands and feet on the ground, tush in the air) thinking at least I won't fall over from all fours.

I stayed there for a minute and then heard my son calling my name. Before I could get up he had clambered underneath me and looked up and said excitedly "It's Mommy! Mommy is a tunnel! Mommy is a bridge!"

I made a promise then and there to accept this wonderful phase of my life. One where we're running around and doing too much and having lots of exhausting adventures. One of joyful chaos. One where I am a tunnel and a bridge (believe me, I'm going to think about that one some more) and this wonderful little person is here with us, because he will be a big person before long. If you catch me complaining, remind me that I asked for peace and serenity and quiet and stasis and the universe very clearly said "No way, chica. It's time for something else."

Honey, I'm home

And have been for three weeks. Vacation was wonderful; I'll be blogging about some of the major events here in the next week or so. Since getting back I've been catching up with work, dealing with various welcome-to-winter ailments of everybody in my house and going slowly insane as a result of communications breakdowns. Both between me and other people, and actual breakdowns of my email server and cell phone.

Before I left on vacation, I blogged a bit here and there about a friendship that had stopped working long ago and had many things left unsaid. I had a long meditation/prayer session where I asked for the friend in question to be freed from what I perceived as an overarching state of anger that has been holding them back in life. I asked for their happiness. I asked for them not to be held back by what happened between us. I asked for them to come to some understanding of my side of things.

Careful what you wish for. I'm still glad that, within a week, the wheels were set in motion for all of those above things to begin to happen. I just wish clearing the air felt less like a baseball bat to the skull. This is some really dense and painful air.

I don't want to disrupt this person's privacy, so this is the last I'm going to discuss it here, but I felt it was important in the context of what I'm trying to do here to mention that I'm still having alot of trouble with this lesson, and I think it's an important one, that I don't get to be exempt from the workings of the universe and if I'm going to ask for things, the universe looks like it's going to make damn sure I participate, even if I'm picked last and the uniform is a really ugly color.

Be well, more tomorrow.

Gone Travelin'

Off on vacation until the 28th. I may try to post, but who am I kidding, I probably won't. Be well and check out the links here if you really need something to look at.

Be Well,

Jen

God, Me, Same Diff

On the way home on the train yesterday afternoon I saw a little girl get the absolute crap slapped out of her by her mother. I went to tell a cop and the train pulled away. I found myself praying to the universe, actually, to God-- stop being so stupid, get off your ass, God, and help that little girl.

God, me, same difference.

When I get back from vacation, I'm going to start here and find out how I can best volunteer. Nothing upsets me more than children being harmed by the people who are supposed to be taking care of them. Freud and tribal myths agree -- 0-5 is what forms the self, and 0-5 is where so much damage is done.

The URL for God

Apparently quite a few people stumble across this site by typing "God, please help me" into a search engine. I work in the tech industry, so I can't help but wonder if this is one area where vertical search of domain names owned and operated by actual gods might be helpful. Google just sends these poor people to a snarky woman from Brooklyn, that being me.

I tried it last night myself to see what other snarky people came up, and lo and behold, God has a website. And one of the many faces of God, as I've suspected ALL ALONG, is former Smiths frontman and the godfather of shoegazing pop, if not the patent holder of teenage angst, Morrissey. You can also pray to Oprah, as most of America already does.

http://www.deargodpleasehelpme.com/

You can click on a web interface button to pray for these people. God has disabled comments. That's SO like him.

Be That Kid

I saw my twenty year old cousin at a family party this weekend. The Kid is one of the few people in my life who I would step in front of a bus for without hesitation. I know this because he is the only person I ever rode the Cyclone with at Coney Island, when he was twelve and I was alot older than twelve and I saw how disappointed he would be if he didn't get to ride in what is basically a cigar box on rails that holds you in with a piece of baker's twine. This is what passed for a roller coaster when it was first built in 1927. Six Flags be damned, there is nothing so scary as a ride that is showing every possible sign of crumbling to bits underneath you while you are in it. I'm calling him the Kid here to protect his privacy but also because he is my kid, and in my heart he will always be my kid. In reality he is a wonderful young man.

So I see the Kid at this party and he comes over to me and the first thing out of his mouth is "Jennifer, I want to be a computer animator." I nearly sing I'm so happy -- he says it with total conviction and he is studying graphic arts. After really searching searching searching for what it is he wants to do he seems to have found it. We talk for a few minutes about it and I say, "You know I don't have any friends who work in animation but I do have some friends who draw comics. In fact, my friend Jamal Igle, who draws Green Lantern or something--" and at this point the Kid's eyes have shot out of his head and are rolling around in the lawn. I forget how cool this is because I've known Jamal forever and six days. But I've just been reminded of how cool that is.

He asks how Jamal worked his way to being Green Lantern or something man (what a bad friend am I that I don't know what the man is drawing right now), and I say "You know, when he was ten years old--" and the rest of the story is Jamal wanted to draw Superman and set out to do it. He had good jobs and crappy jobs and no jobs, he spent some time drawing storyboards for the movies, he kept working and working and now here he is.

But before I could say any of this, the Kid said "That was me! I was that kid! I was that kid."

So today's request is for our childhood dreams to come rolling back into our lives and propel us into the sky, down rickety wooden rails or into zero gravity. For a wonderful lecture on how to achieve your childhood dreams (and go into zero gravity), go here (with thanks, as so often my thanks are, to R). The lecturer is Carnegie Mellon professor Randy Pauch giving his last lecture, on this topic. It is quite literally his last lecture, as he is dying from pancreatic cancer. It is rather phenomenal. Take a look if you have the time.

Until later.

Hey Universe

So I'm all set. I want to sing, make jewelry and write for a living. I will do marvelous things, and help people and I'm open to whatever path this takes me on. I want to be wildly successful, and for that success to ultimately make the world a little better.

Let's make it happen. You and me, universe. We're the same thing anyway.

Happy Friday everybody.

Yay, Or Who Am I To Know What I Need

I got back in touch with an old friend from college yesterday and we've been pelting eachother with emails like it's a snowball fight. Now that the flurry is dying down, I wondered rather stupidly -- did I ask for this? Did I need this? I know I never sat in meditation and said "Hey, universe, can you make sure so-and-so gets my email address?" But another little window of joy in my heart just creakily slid open, so I'm just going to say yay.

Another thing. I was writing my friend about recent travels and I found myself saying "You know, we go to San Francisco every year to visit family and friends and after that it's hard to travel anywhere. Well, we do visit family at the Jersey Shore every year. And in Vermont. And last year we stayed on a houseboat in Paris for two weeks, but that was just an opportunity that came up to celebrate my friend's birthday."

Here I am, judging my own fantastic experiences, because they just sort of happened to me as opposed to me getting to plan them. I'm complaining about my own serendipity; I'm complaining about my good fortune; I'm complaining about, perhaps, the gifts I'm being given by the universe.

I'm like this with everything. It is very stupid. I shall stop now.

And should you ever get to stay in a houseboat on the Seine, pack sweaters and cough syrup, it gets bone crushingly cold at night. Sometimes the heat won't work and then the most gorgeous strapping blond electrician in the known universe will show up on his moped and fix it for you, which ain't so bad. Oh, and also, enjoy every damn minute of it.

I petitioned the universe the other day (for more on this, go read Eat, Pray, Love , in fact, go get it right now and read it ten times. I've almost finished it and when I'm done I'm just going to read it again).

There's an old emotional injury of mine that's sort of like a psychotic teacup poodle -- it gnashes it teeth and snarls at me and I still carry it everywhere and clean up its poop. Rather than work through the issue or pray to have it removed from me, I just stated my case. I asked to be free of the problem so that I could be happier and have a more fulfilled life, and be a better contributor to the planet.

And regarding the other person involved, the one who poisoned my poodle and made it nuts in the first place, I asked that s/he be free of this pain as well, that s/he is a marvelous person who can do great things with his/her life, but they need this cloud removed from their sky as well.

And don't you know, I didn't get some miraculous phone call the next day with tearful apologies, but that's good because that would just be continuing the drama for all involved, which isn't what I want.

However, the weird thing I did get is that my posture visibly improved. It's like I got new shoulders. Which I needed, because the old ones were carrying around this old wound like it was this season's oversized "it" bag.

Oh, so that's how it works

Over the weekend, I saw my dear friend R, she of the divine serendipity and the hatred of John Donne. We were walking across Houston Street at a busy and bright 6:15 on Saturday to catch a cab to a restaurant and meet some friends for dinner. We'd just spent an hour and a half getting makeovers, and hadn't really spoken much beyond rhapsodies over eachother's sparkling eyelids.

She asked how I was doing, and I blurted out:

"I'm okay, I just wish all these little physical problems I'm having would clear up."

"Like what? What's wrong?"

"Oh, stupid little things. My hand was hurting for awhile but then it stopped but now the pinkie on that hand is hurting again. My knees ache. I have headaches, but just once in a great while. Doesn't seem worth going to doctor, but I do need to get all these things cleared up."

The next day I got this message on my voicemail that said I'd won a prize in a raffle that benefits children's programming at our local playground. I won a free hour of acupuncture.

At first I was disappointed, despite the faint shimmer of the thrill of winning something, anything, by chance. But acupuncture didn't seem too glamourous, not like dinner at a restaurant or a manicure at the local day spa.

But acupuncture might help fix my pinkie, my knees and my headaches. Duh.

I slapped my achey head with my gimpy little hand.

Me and The Husband

"So what should I ask for on my blog?"

"What should you what on your blog?"

"What should I ask for? I haven't written in a couple of weeks since I was sick and then had to catch up on all my work and I kind of want to get back to the pure format of asking for things."

"Have you asked for anything for yourself lately?"

"Not really."

"Well, you could ask for the fortitude to accomplish something?"

"Fortitude?"

"Fortitude."

"I don't really need the fortitude for anything right now."

"Then ask for a donut."

"Do you have a donut?"

"No. But wishing for one could score you one."

"The only way I'm going to get a donut is if you get up and go get me a donut."

"Wish granted. I am part of the universe too, after all."

"I'm writing this whole thing down."

Try The Crazy Thing

I have to go catch up on actual work after a long sick break, but I have so much to talk about. I'll try to get back here later today. Here's kind of a hint -- an appearance by Tilly and the Wall on David Letterman last year. They don't have a drummer; they have a tap dancer.

Til later. Take care.

#26 -- More dancing and singing please

This blew my mind. Since I'm doing nothing but blowing my nose (the exhaustion has morphed into an actual cold), here's a fantastic story from the life of one of our modern masters of creating his very own reality, Peretz Bernstein --er-- Perry Farrell. From his Wikipedia entry:

"In December 2001, Farrell risked his life by flying into politically troubled Sudan with other members of Christian Solidarity International to negotiate the release of Sudanese slaves. Jane's Addiction donated their earning from one concert for the redemption of over 2300 people, who had been enslaved under terrible conditions. Once the redemption agreement was signed, Farrell started up freedom parties at various redemption sites "armed only with a boom box and his legendary voice."

"He began dancing and singing," said an associate; "I wasn't sure what would happen, but then everyone joined in. Everyone was dancing. Even the Arab retrievers joined in. It was Christians, Muslims, and Jews all dancing together. Arabs, Africans, Americans, and Europeans — all."

This says a little about why, as I get older and more decrepit and creaky, I see less and less personal value in finding the subculture that accepts you (maybe because I've done that already and admittedly, it's a good place to start because then, a, you have a community and, b, you have some empirical evidence that maybe you are not insane) and more value in this -- showing up and dancing and singing in a crowd of people who are nothing, at all, like you.

Until next time.

#25: Let Everyone Find Their Bliss

I know there's only about 20 of you reading this regularly -- and to those 20 of you, I say hail the tastemakers! I've been too tired to write anything substantive -- and by tired, for a change, I don't mean lazy. I'm literally exhausted and working to find out if there is a root cause.

Having spent nearly a week going through periods where I can't really move, I've gotten a little desperate, and a little whacked out, so I started asking the universe point blank for what I need the most last night as I lay in bed.

Please let me have my energy back so I can accomplish the things I need to.

Please let my son feel better (he has a cold)

Please let my friend K find the love of his life, cause I'm pretty sure he needs outside assistance.

Where the hell did that come from?

Next thing I know I'm asking for everything, for everyone I can think of.

And here's the thing. I've come to believe that we can all achieve what we need to in this lifetime. Joseph Campbell, Mr. Find Your Bliss himself, believed that reincarnation was a metaphor for continuing to die and be reborn in this lifetime until you achieve enlightenment.

I worry sometimes that this blog is just so much navel gazing. But I also think that as a society we have a responsibility to get ourselves in order. To be positive, to treat others with kindness, to be conscious of why we do the things we do.

So, here's what I want. For you to find your bliss, and for me to find mine. Let me know what I can do to help.

Tomorrow, I'll start to go beyond that.

Three Little Words

Still to tired to post, but if you'd like to be uplifted, amused and turned on to the commonality among us, by ABC TV of all things, take a look at this:

http://ugv.abcnews.go.com/player.aspx?id=694149

Sorry I couldn't embed it as a video.

Thanks to Ryan for the tip, and I shall now steal his description:

"ABC has a weekly summer fill in show called iCaught. It’s basically a show that tells the back story behind some of the most popular viral videos on the web. Well one of the things they do every week is something called Y3W. It stands for “Your Three Words”. They ask their viewers to record themselves showing three words that describe what they’re doing or feeling or thinking this week. They then put it together to music. It’s hard to explain but very cool to watch. Very moving."

Hope to have more to say soon.

Can't You See She's Pooped?

I'm taking a break for health reasons. All I know so far is that I'm so, so tired. Take it away, Lili Von Schtupp.

#24: Jump into life

My darling friend RR, she who I owe the apology to for the John Donne quote (short version -- the man wasn't a feminist), has created this interesting stepladder of inspiration for me. I once gave her a card with a photograph of a girl in a pinafore jumping in the air, I think the title was Alice in Wonderland. She framed it, kept it, and eventually decided to dedicate the year of her thirtieth birthday to leaping into life. She proceeded to jump out of an airplane. And now the thing I kind of inadvertently inspired her to do continues to inspire me, as I think about ways to push myself into living more, being more, and leaping.

Or, as Laurie Anderson said, walking is just falling and then catching yourself from falling.

I love this:

www.thejumpproject.com

but the artist says in her notes that the online store included home appliances, and when I took a look it seemed like that meant coasters and clocks. Disappointing, because I would totally buy a dishwasher with a photograph of a man in Marrakech jumping so high he can touch his toes.

I've decided to spend my upcoming birthday with my husband playing hooky and museum hopping in Manhattan, then I go to my second jewelry class where I will hopefully take a blowtorch to some gold. Sounds like a perfect day. I'm excited to look at some art and grow some more ideas that I never might have had otherwise.

Until tomorrow.

#23: Let me dissipate rage

I was on the playground with my son the other day when we saw one kid jump from a great height on top of a younger kid, intentionally. When the younger kid started to wail, the older kid got right in his face and yelled "Well, it's your fault for getting in my way! It's your fault!" and ran off.

I helped the younger kid get up while a couple of other moms tried to locate his mom. The kid hurt his arm and hit his head and just wanted his mom and was wailing. The older kid came back, saw me standing next to the hurt kid, and ran off again. The mom came over and carried the little kid off. I didn't see the older kid again.

Over the course of the day, I felt angrier and angrier at this kid. One, I felt bad for my own kid, who was confused and upset by the whole thing and asked me to explain what happened about five times and acted the whole thing out a couple of times. But I was angrier about the kid telling the younger kid that his getting hurt was his own fault. The reality of that situation was the younger kid was "at fault" for being anywhere near this enraged, angry, out-of-control kid.

And I became completely infected by his anger. I became obsessed with what had happened. My own anger got wrapped around this kid and this incident, and it paralyzed me for the rest of the day.

As I was falling asleep I envisioned speaking with the kid. The first few times, I wound up screaming at him. The last couple of exchanges went kind of like this.

"So what happened out there on the playground?"

"He was in my way! It was his fault!"

"I think you were angry before that. I noticed when I walked in that you were mad someone else had teased you. But you were really really angry about that, and that was a pretty small thing. I think you've just always been angry, and I don't know why. I'm sorry I can't help you."

Annie Dillard wrote in "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" a passage about how when you chop wood, you need to look at the chopping block and not at the wood you're cutting. I think people are sort of the same. When their behavior is insane, you have to look right past what you see and what they tell you, to what makes sense underneath. That's usually a wounded animal who doesn't even know where the wound came from anymore or how to fix it, so they attack you.

I'm not going to let other wounded animals turn me into a wounded animal anymore.

On another note, I'm listening right now to the podcast interview of the director of the National Institute for Play on the value of play and how it positively shapes our human character and socialization. Very interesting stuff.

http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/play/index.shtml

See you later.

Rufus Wainwright - 11:11 at UofP

11:11

#22 -- A wish for peace, everywhere

I don't want to write much today, although I have a couple of essays brewing. With apologies to RR, here's the John Donne quote from Meditation XVII Governor Spitzer read today at the 9/11 Memorial, which says it best for me:

"Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee."

Couldn't find any video of the NYPD Emerald Pipe and Drum Society, but Rufus Wainwright's 11:11 should post here shortly (come on YouTube, you can do it).

My friend Sally Herships conducted an oral history project in the weeks following 9/11 where she and Laura Dotterer interviewed over 200 members of the public about their reactions and experiences to 9/11. More information is here:

http://www.documentnewyork.com/Newsday.pdf

http://www.sohosally.com/sound/listen.html under “Special Projects”

Much love to everyone today.

Numberless Musing

Thank you to Jamal and Elayne for their kind posts.

A few words on why I'm doing this, as much to solidify my own thinking as anything else.

Really, it started with a good title. I work in public relations, so I have years of training in coming up with a good line and worrying about the content later. But eventually you do have to come up with the content, or the good line falls apart.

I figure I'm human, not to mention American, so I want things all the time. Not material things so much but for "things" to be better, richer, easier, to finally come up with the grand scheme that makes life work like clockwork.

I realize that's a crock. Crockwork.

I've also been irritated by things like "The Secret", that have some good ideas behind them, and Scientology, which, whoo boy never mind. I'm irritated by the idea that you have to put down a bunch of cash and then someone comes out from behind the curtain and tells you the meaning of life. (Although if Leah Remini is any example, a bunch of cash does seem to buy you A-list friends, so I won't knock the Xenu-worshippers. Oh who am I kidding, yes I will. Anyway.)

The meaning of life is in the living. This blog is about speaking my voice, making my intentions clear to myself and connecting with other people. I do want to see if I can make locusts swarm the Scientology Center on 42nd Street (how cool would that be?) but mainly I want to see if this can be an experiment, and hopefully a successful one, in learning the meaning of life without handing some faux Wizard of Oz a big wad of money. And that then maybe you can do it too.

More later. Much love.

#21

A late night wish to move on

There are times I wish I’d never met you.

Never taken your roommate’s offer to lend me money for the bus home and never gone to your room to tell him never mind but thank you, I’d gotten a ride with someone from off campus.

Never seen you with the grin that burst out of your face as you sat on your own bed in your own room at 8 p.m. on a Friday night, alone, with your shirt buttoned up to your chin and covered in so many clothes that I remember you, probably incorrectly, dressed in an overcoat and boots. Never been amused by you sitting there grinning as you listened to music you loved that I loved too and never invited you to the party at my house, impulsively, because you seemed so full of life.

I wish I’d never become your friend, and never held on to that friendship after I left that haunted, unhinged valley -- and the school squatting at the bottom of it -- behind. I wish I’d never heard about how impassioned you were about saving the soul of that rotting school and how beautifully you spoke about the education it had given you, pushing through the scrim of your dyslexia and delivering literature, turning on the light you didn’t know was there and making manuscripts start to push out of your skull, unformed glimmering arms and legs of potential future Athenas.

They fired your teachers anyway, and they shouldn’t have, they should have listened to you when they had the chance.

I wish I could hear “Not So Manic Now,” “All My Ghosts” and “#1 Crush” without thinking of you. I wish my friends who became your friends never went through their own muted or jagged versions of the same pain I did. I wish I’d never, with my husband, spent hours and hours agonizing over how to fit your name inside the vowels and consonants that would represent our newborn child without bursting into tears every time I called him in for dinner.

I wish I could hear news reports of strangers getting shot and just think “Oh, how terrible,” and not “Left temporal lobe,” which is where the bullet entered your brain and took your grin, your sardonic near-evil wit, your embrace, your singing voice, your constant irritations and your deep desire to fix everyone you loved, your freckles and every other piece of you that I loved so dear, away in an instant.

I wish I’d never felt your hand on the shoulder of my fear the night it appeared that I’d miscarried. I wish you never guided me in my dreams. I wish you hadn’t told me I’d marry my husband without ever having met him when we didn’t really know it yet ourselves. I wish I’d never seen magic or joy or love.

I wish I’d never vacationed with you, cleared the dishes with you, sat shoulder to shoulder with you dreaming about the future and laughing about how the hell we would ever get over our pasts. I wish I didn’t see actors from the t.v. shows you worked on and only want to hear your stories about them and your adventures.

I wish I’d never told you, the last time we spoke, that all I wanted was you to find a partner to spend your life with only to have you reply “I don’t think that’s ever going to happen for me.” I wish 3 weeks later, you hadn’t been proven right.

The only thing I do wish, sometimes, late at night, is that I’d called you back that week, or gone to visit you in L.A. like we were discussing, or somehow moved the earth and the heavens and the angle of that goddamned gun. I wish I’d changed time, set the clock off balance, set the world on fire. Maybe you would have walked into that parking lot five minutes earlier, or ten minutes later, or not at all.

I wish I’d stopped what killed you.

I wish you were here.

I wish this would stop hurting. It’s been seven years.

#20: Please please please let me find Little Larry

Full disclosure: My son Will started nursery school this week and I just dropped him off for his first full day. He was howling and screaming when I left, and everything at the moment is filtered through howling-colored glasses.

On the way there, we seem to have lost Little Larry, who was riding shotgun -- undergun?-- in the basket beneath Will's stroller.

Little Larry is one of a tribe of Larrys. Originally there was just Big Larry, a lamb baby blanket with soft satin paws that Will picked apart over time into cloudy pom poms of thread. He was a shower gift from friends and at one point in his life was actually white and not grey.

Big Larry was at first just Larry, named for my husbands now-late uncle Larry, who wouldn't eat lamb. Ha ha. Larry was eventually lost at the zoo where I like to picture him in the soft grass gazing happily at the clouds and not, say, frolicking with the baboons.

At that point there was a second Larry already, dubbed Larry Feingold, Certified Public Lamb, by my cousin. We ordered a third, and so we had two again. New Big Larry and Larry Feingold.

But the Larrys kept growing. The same friends who gave us OL (Original Larry) also gave us a tiny white Gund bear like the one my friend C had growing up. His was Mohatma Gundhi; we named ours Indira. By the time Will could talk, he let us know that clearly this was a case of mistaken identity. That bear was little Larry; the big teddy bear was Larry Bear; the little brown Gund (plucked from the Salvation Army when we were first talking about having a child and subsequently washed and washed and washed) was basketball coach Larry Brown.

So it's Little Larry, nee Indira, who seems to have made a run for it. I hope to find him in the nieghborhood or through the parents web group. I also hope to get through this morning without a big shot of whiskey.

As a parent you can control two things and two things only -- how much love you put into your children and keeping track of all their crap. In the face of howling-colored glasses and the sense that by God my baby is out in the world now, I'm trying to keep from hyperventilating over the few things that seem controllable.

For a very eloquent take on kids and their bears, go here: RIP, Minty Bear

#19: Please give Elayne the house that will best support her needs

Back in July I posted on my old blog, Set Cycle to Spin, about the seeming disappearance of PostSecret's man behind the curtain, Frank. You can go look at the old blog if you want the whole story. The whole ordeal earned me minute 3 of my personal 15 minutes of suspect fame when Wikipedia referred to me as a blogger who claimed to have called the police. So my only entry on Wikipedia makes me sound a little like a liar, a little like a hysteric, and a little like Ren from Ren and Stimpy ("Call the poliiiiiiiiiice!").

(Minutes 1 and 2 involved having stories published in national anthologies. As long as the last 12 don't involve anyone else posting footage of me on YouTube, we're good.)

The cool thing that happened, however, is lots of nice, interesting and literate strangers reading PostSecret and that Wikipedia link wrote me nice things and now I read their blogs, like Jessieh Speaks.

Elayne in particular wrote me a very detailed take on blogging etiquette with some good thoughts to chew on. But at the time I was about to go on vacation and when I scrolled down in her post and just saw more pesky words, I kind of panicked and didn't read the whole thing.

Blogging etiquette has been on my mind lately. I remembered the post and felt up to conquering all the words and went back and read it (good stuff) and then checked out her blog. She mentioned she's hoping to buy a house.

So, universe, please help Elayne that house, and if not that house, then another really cool house she'll love just as much. I don't know much about her, but it seems to me she has a big heart and a deep desire for this to happen, so give her a hand if you could.

Until later --

#18 -- Let's Move From Getting Well to Kicking Ass

Sorry I haven't posted lately. My son is starting nursery school. I didn't realize it would feel like the whole house came down with mononucleosis. Even the dog looks like she needs antibiotics and ice cream. My husband and I more or less lay on the floor of my son's room after dinner tonight, unable to move. The boy was too tired to jump on us. Transitions suck.

Much love --

#17: Help

Help anyone at the bottom find the ocean floor, bend their knees, and push back up toward the surface.

Help anyone with a voice to open their mouth and use it.

Help anyone coasting along to want more and do better.

Thank you for the roads that keep popping up under my feet right when I think my leg is going to disappear down into the quicksand. And thank you for all the fine folks who pick me up when I'm hitchhiking or chat from the backseat while I drive.

For those of you who know me and the fact that my main form of i.d. is still my passport, that last one is a metaphor, and shut up.

#16: Sing Out, Louise, or Being Public and Other Dilemmas

Today's request is for a public life.

Some interesting things have been happening as a result of this blog. For one thing, people are starting to read it. For another, they're starting to tell me what they think. And some of my co-workers are now aware of a part of my life I've kept private up until now, such as, for example, my clitoris.

(All I can say to that, dear co-workers, is that I've known and worked with some people who've made me MUCH too aware of their privates from the get-go, so be thankful and then put it out of your mind. I'll come up with a synonym. My "unicorn" perhaps?)

One of the great things about writing is the illusion that you're engaging in some kind of dialogue with the collective unconcious without the collective unconcious actualy saying anything back to you. Praise is great; opinion, critique, and the sense that I'm appearing in someone else's dream without my clothes on, not so much.

But that is the difference between living out in the yard, in the park, on the street, way up high on the mountain -- and under your bed, in your house, with the windows shuttered, locked and painted over.

I'm having trouble right now with writing every day when there are responses, which is riduculous, because I could just pick up a paper journal, they are typically pretty quiet. So I'm forging ahead.

I'm going to allow comments here for now because I do find it helpful and interesting, and because I do believe everyone has a right to express what they think. Unless what they think is that I belong in hell, or spam for a porn site, in which case they have no rights at all accoring to the Me States Constitution.

I am going to maintain a fourth wall however if I get an opinion on what I should or shouldn't be doing or feeling, because without the fourth wall, I can't keep writing this. I'm feeling very overwhelmed at the moment.

But back to the request -- to be comfortable showing whatever parts of myself I choose to whomever I choose to show them to. To not live in a segmented way. To not act so happy if I don't feel like it. To not be worried about seeming too happy. To be unconcerned with other people's responses, because that's what I'm usually trying to avoid. Integration, I guess.

One more thing. It occurs to me that nearly everything I've been asking for is for me. Well, at the moment, I'm trying to get my own house in order to go do some great things. I think change in the world starts with the individual. I've seen some little bits of evidence of that, and it's thrilling. However, I do plan at some point to ask you all to close your eyes and wish real hard for big changes in the world and see what happens.

Maybe we can start by conjuring a unicorn. And by unicorn, I mean unicorn.

Until Tuesday -- have a nice vacation.

#15: Just let me write

My problem is rarely a lack of ideas. It's usually that I have too many ideas and freeze. So here I am, writing, even if this is short, humorless and not that intelligent.

Insert joke here about guys I've dated. . . .

Regarding a previous post, my friend's dog is OK with total recovery uncertain at this point but I'm very thankful he's still here, both for the dog and for the friend.

Regarding another previous post, I have been invited to sing in the wedding of a friend. I haven't sung in public by myself in years without the aid of several cocktails and/or a karaoke video of people running along a beach while I croak out"Love Is A Battlefield." Not to say I haven't considered those options for the wedding, but I'll probably stick to one of the lovely standards suggested by the jazz band.

I'm thrilled about this. And by thrilled I mean really happy and honored with a side order of panic attack.

Perfect

From Overheard in New York:

How Can I Help with Your Typical Teenage Problems?

Teen: Are you there, God?

Techie in catwalks: Is that you, Margaret?

--Sheepshead Bay

Overheard by: Ilysse

http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/archives/011373.html

#14: My fantasy/science fiction wish

In the realm of the more wacky wishes, here's what I really want.

I want all local and state governments to hire geniuses and empaths. People who are so smart they can see 10 steps down the road what could happen and people who are so sensitive they can see 10 steps down the road what could happen. You know, the people nobody ever listens to. People who can look outside of how things are done to how things get done.

In the investigation around the recent fire at the condemned Deutsche Bank building, where two NYC firefighters were killed, it was discovered that the company hired to demolish the building had never demolished an environmentally or structurally hazardous building before, which could be why they still hadn't demolished the thing a year after winning the contract. In addition, the building has been more or less sitting there since 9/11 because no one remotely legitimate wanted to touch the project.

Hmm. Condemned building, sitting there for six years, harmed in 9/11.

I wish I could have taken the damn thing down myself. I wish the rules had gone out the window and a creative solution was reached.

I wonder how many more problems like this are sitting out on the street.

Rescinding

My friend's dog was badly injured last night by another dog so I'm taking back my previous request and making this one -- please help him recover.

Lucky #13: A New Myth

I am a big fan of the myth of Orestes. There are many versions of it since it has been translated and retold many times.

The baisc jist of it is this: Orestes' blood line has been cursed for many generations. Orestes' mother and uncle murder his father. Appollo shows up, all golden and glowy and pissed, and tells Orestes he has to avenge his father and make things right. Orestes is tormented by this, but he does it.

You'd think he's free now, but ohhhhh no. The Furies show up and torment him for what he has done and don't exactly accept his explanation. There is a trial and the jury is split right down the middle. Athena shows up and casts the deciding vote, showing mercy and setting Orestes free.

I love the basic idea here, that we have the power to end our curses, but don't think for a minute it's going to be easy. Orestes' "hero's journey" is not simply revenge, but ending the madness and illness that has plagued his family for generations, and in so doing, he frees himself to write the story of his own life.

But I think, as of now, I don't need this myth any more. If you'd like it, you can have it.

I'd like a new myth.

More

I have been getting headhunted. Terrible word for that -- I prefer the phrase my mother's company uses, executive recruiting, so civilized.

But it feels right now like they're coming for my head. Companies finding me and calling me and saying "So, you've been working by yourself with success for seven years. Come work for us! Sit in that cube! We want your head!"

And I'm talking to them. But in the end I know the life I want, and it's one where stars pour out of my chest and I see miracles in the real world and I have time to hold my friends hands and have mine held. It's one where real things are said and real problems are solved and pain is acknowledged and not drowned in the b.s. of happy hours and I am living my responsibility as a parent to help my son be whole and sane and safe and loved. It's a life where creation and thoughts and ideas and kindness are valued. it's a life with loud music. And loud laughter.

I don't have that life all the time but I feel I can make my life that life on my terms. And put that out around me.

My son cried in my arms for twenty minutes last night over not having a bottle, just limp across my shoulder, and I thought, thank God you can cry on me. Thank God I feel safe to you. And then he went and sat on his dad's lap at dinner and ate about a cup of salad and then I thought thank God you're eating lettuce and you think that's fun. And then he happily toddled off and put his train tracks together by himself and said "Look look! I did it!" And then he told me about all the friends he'd seen that day and what color their shoes were. And just about everything that comes into my head is thank God, thank God, thank God.

The world needs people who are centered, secure, happy. You get that by filling children up with love and not hurting them, abusing them, neglecting them. I want to somehow move toward aiding in that fight, I think it's the only fight. I don't know yet how to get there.

I'm staying right here.

#12: Let Something Ridiculously Cool Happen Today

I know it's unfair, but I feel like I need a little proof.

As for yesterday, it was my husband who asked for some part of his life to be easy. At dinner, around 7:00, I looked over at him and said "Remember how you wanted some part of your life to be easy? Well, it's about to get easier, because I'm going to bed."

Until tomorrow.

#11: Make some part of my life easy

This is not mine, but is for someone else, by request. Did you know I take requests?

I'm going to sing in public in October and I organized the medicine cabinet, so two recent requests are moving along.

I'd like to figure out some way to save the world's children and be fabulously dressed at the same time. Any suggestions?

#10: Help me get organized so I never have to think about what's in this house again

Sort of the Oprahfication of the spiritual, this, but the reality is, I don't want to think and labor and panic over it anymore. I want to walk through my house like I'm walking through a field or the surf falling on the sand. Serene, and oblivious, and with other places to turn my attention.

Happy Sunday. I'm off to attempt the poaching of eggs for an anniversary (not ours) brunch.

Until tomorrow.

#9: Let me make something beautiful

Even if it's just by reposting something the Dalai Lama said. I found this while surfing for information on human rights violations by China that are being watched by global organizations in the countdown to the Olympics. I was thinking about this blog, and how it feels selfish asking for things for myself in light of all the problems in the world. I do believe that change starts with the individual, but I'm eager for that change to start extending itself somehow.

If you don't feel like slogging through this, here's the part that hit me most:

"Under present conditions, there is definitely a growing need for human understanding and a sense of universal responsibility. In order to achieve such ideas, we must generate a good and kind heart, for without this, we can achieve neither universal happiness nor lasting world peace. We cannot create peace on paper."

Until tomorrow.

http://www.dalailama.com/page.62.htm#Individual_power

Individual Power to Shape Institution

Anger plays no small role in current conflicts such as those in the Middle East, Southeast Asia, the North-South problem, and so forth. These conflicts arise from a failure to understand one another's humanness. The answer is not the development and use of greater military force, nor an arms race. Nor is it purely political or purely technological. Basically it is spiritual, in the sense that what is required is a sensitive understanding of our common human situation. Hatred and fighting cannot bring happiness to anyone, even to the winners of battles. Violence always produces misery and thus is essentially counter-productive. It is, therefore, time for world leaders to learn to transcend the differences of race, culture, and ideology and to regard one another through eyes that see the common human situation. To do so would benefit individuals, communities, nations, and the world at large.

The greater part of present world tension seems to stem from the 'Eastern bloc' versus 'Western bloc' conflict that has been going on since World War II. These two blocs tend to describe and view each other in a totally unfavourable light. This continuing, unreasonable struggle is due to a lack of mutual affection and respect for each other as fellow human beings. Those of the Eastern bloc should reduce their hatred towards the Western bloc because the Western bloc is also made up of human beings - men, women, and children. Similarly those of the Western bloc should reduce their hatred towards the Eastern bloc because the Eastern bloc is also human beings. In such a reduction of mutual hatred, the leaders of both blocs have a powerful role to play. But first and foremost, leaders must realize their own and others' humanness. Without this basic realization, very little effective reduction of organized hatred can be achieved.

If, for example, the leader of the United States of America and the leader of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics suddenly met each other in the middle of a desolate island, I am sure they would respond to each other spontaneously as fellow human beings. But a wall of mutual suspicion and misunderstanding separates them the moment they are identified as the 'President of the USA' and the 'Secretary-General of the USSR'). More human contact in the form of informal extended meetings, without any agenda, would improve their mutual understanding; they would learn to relate to each other as human beings and could then try to tackle international problems based on this understanding. No two parties, especially those with a history of antagonism, can negotiate fruitfully in an atmosphere of mutual suspicion and hatred.

I suggest that world leaders meet about once a year in a beautiful place without any business, just to get to know each other as human beings. Then, later, they could meet to discuss mutual and global problems. I am sure many others share my wish that world leaders meet at the conference table in such an atmosphere of mutual respect and understanding of each other's humanness.

To improve person-to-person contact in the world at large, I would like to see greater encouragement of international tourism. Also, mass media, particularly in democratic societies, can make a considerable contribution to world peace by giving greater coverage to human interest items that reflect the ultimate oneness of humanity. With the rise of a few big powers in the international arena, the humanitarian role of international organizations is being bypassed and neglected. I hope that this will be corrected and that all international organizations, especially the United Nations, will be more active and effective in ensuring maximum benefit to humanity and promoting international understanding. It will indeed be tragic if the few powerful members continue to misuse world bodies like the UN for their one-sided interests. The UN must become the instrument of world peace. This world body must be respected by all, for the UN is the only source of hope for small oppressed nations and hence for the planet as a whole.

As all nations are economically dependent upon one another more than ever before, human understanding must go beyond national boundaries and embrace the international community at large. Indeed, unless we can create an atmosphere of genuine cooperation, gained not by threatened or actual use of force but by heartfelt understanding, world problems will only increase. If people in poorer countries are denied the happiness they desire and deserve, they will naturally be dissatisfied and pose problems for the rich. If unwanted social, political, and cultural forms continue to be imposed upon unwilling people, the attainment of world peace is doubtful. However, if we satisfy people at a heart-to-heart level, peace will surely come.

Within each nation, the individual ought to be given the right to happiness, and among nations, there must be equal concern for the welfare of even the smallest nations. I am not suggesting that one system is better than another and all should adopt it. On the contrary, a variety of political systems and ideologies is desirable and accords with the variety of dispositions within the human community. This variety enhances the ceaseless human quest for happiness. Thus each community should be free to evolve its own political and socio-economic system, based on the principle of self-determination.

The achievement of justice, harmony, and peace depends on many factors. We should think about them in terms of human benefit in the long run rather than the short term. I realize the enormity of the task before us, but I see no other alternative than the one I am proposing - which is based on our common humanity. Nations have no choice but to be concerned about the welfare of others, not so much because of their belief in humanity, but because it is in the mutual and long-term interest of all concerned. An appreciation of this new reality is indicated by the emergence of regional or continental economic organizations such as the European Economic Community, the Association of South East Asian Nations, and so forth. I hope more such trans-national organizations will be formed, particularly in regions where economic development and regional stability seem in short supply.

Under present conditions, there is definitely a growing need for human understanding and a sense of universal responsibility. In order to achieve such ideas, we must generate a good and kind heart, for without this, we can achieve neither universal happiness nor lasting world peace. We cannot create peace on paper. While advocating universal responsibility and universal brotherhood and sisterhood, the facts are that humanity is organized in separate entities in the form of national societies. Thus, in a realistic sense, I feel it is these societies that must act as the building-blocks for world peace. Attempts have been made in the past to create societies more just and equal. Institutions have been established with noble charters to combat anti-social forces. Unfortunately, such ideas have been cheated by selfishness. More than ever before, we witness today how ethics and noble principles are obscured by the shadow of self-interest, particularly in the political sphere. There is a school of thought that warns us to refrain from politics altogether, as politics has become synonymous with amorality. Politics devoid of ethics does not further human welfare, and life without morality reduces humans to the level of beasts. However, politics is not axiomatically 'dirty'. Rather, the instruments of our political culture have distorted the high ideals and noble concepts meant to further human welfare. Naturally, spiritual people express their concern about religious leaders 'messing' with politics, since they fear the contamination of religion by dirty politics.

I question the popular assumption that religion and ethics have no place in politics and that religious persons should seclude themselves as hermits. Such a view of religion is too one-sided; it lacks a proper perspective on the individual's relation to society and the role of religion in our lives. Ethics is as crucial to a politician as it is to a religious practitioner. Dangerous consequences will follow when politicians and rulers forget moral principles. Whether we believe in God or karma, ethics is the foundation of every religion.

Such human qualities as morality, compassion, decency, wisdom, and so forth have been the foundations of all civilizations. These qualities must be cultivated and sustained through systematic moral education in a conducive social environment so that a more humane world may emerge. The qualities required to create such a world must be inculcated right from the beginning, from childhood. We cannot wait for the next generation to make this change; the present generation must attempt a renewal of basic human values. If there is any hope, it is in the future generations, but not unless we institute major change on a worldwide scale in our present educational system. We need a revolution in our commitment to and practice of universal humanitarian values.

It is not enough to make noisy calls to halt moral degeneration; we must do something about it. Since present-day governments do not shoulder such 'religious' responsibilities, humanitarian and religious leaders must strengthen the existing civic, social, cultural, educational, and religious organizations to revive human and spiritual values. Where necessary, we must create new organizations to achieve these goals. Only in so doing can we hope to create a more stable basis for world peace.

Living in society, we should share the sufferings of our fellow citizens and practise compassion and tolerance not only towards our loved ones but also towards our enemies. This is the test of our moral strength. We must set an example by our own practice, for we cannot hope to convince others of the value of religion by mere words. We must live up to the same high standards of integrity and sacrifice that we ask of others. The ultimate purpose of all religions is to serve and benefit humanity. This is why it is so important that religion always be used to effect the happiness and peace of all beings and not merely to convert others.

Still, in religion there are no national boundaries. A religion can and should be used by any people or person who finds it beneficial. What is important for each seeker is to choose a religion that is most suitable to himself or herself. But, the embracing of a particular religion does not mean the rejection of another religion or one's own community. In fact, it is important that those who embrace a religion should not cut themselves off from their own society; they should continue to live within their own community and in harmony with its members. By escaping from your own community, you cannot benefit others, whereas benefiting others is actually the basic aim of religion.

In this regard there are two things important to keep in mind: self-examination and self-correction. We should constantly check our attitude toward others, examining ourselves carefully, and we should correct ourselves immediately when we find we are in the wrong.

Finally, a few words about material progress. I have heard a great deal of complaint against material progress from Westerners, and yet, paradoxically, it has been the very pride of the Western world. I see nothing wrong with material progress per se, provided people are always given precedence. It is my firm belief that in order to solve human problems in all their dimensions, we must combine and harmonize economic development with spiritual growth.

However, we must know its limitations. Although materialistic knowledge in the form of science and technology has contributed enormously to human welfare, it is not capable of creating lasting happiness. In America, for example, where technological development is perhaps more advanced than in any other country, there is still a great deal of mental suffering. This is because materialistic knowledge can only provide a type of happiness that is dependent upon physical conditions. It cannot provide happiness that springs from inner development independent of external factors.

For renewal of human values and attainment of lasting happiness, we need to look to the common humanitarian heritage of all nations the world over. May this essay serve as an urgent reminder lest we forget the human values that unite us all as a single family on this planet.

I have written the above lines
To tell my constant feeling.
Whenever I meet even a 'foreigner',
I have always the same feeling: '
I am meeting another member of the human family.,
This attitude has deepened
My affection and respect for all beings.
May this natural wish be
My small contribution to world peace.
I pray for a more friendly,
More caring, and more understanding
Human family on this planet.
To all who dislike suffering,
Who cherish lasting happiness -
This is my heartfelt appeal.

#8: Please let something fabulous happen to that poor lady at the WaWa who kept getting screwed over while she was trying to get gas for her car

Back from vacation. My hostess wrote my childhood nickname in the sand by my beach chair while I was swimming. Another literal sign, unasked for, but being loved by the people you love is always the most wonderful thing.

Until tomorrow.

#7: And thank you again

(From Thursday, posted Friday night)

I’m at the beach with my family, having a swim every day and watching ospreys and eating Springer’s ice cream. When I’m not doing that, I’m trying to keep my two year old reasonably unmelted. Between the two, I couldn’t think of a thing, other than gratitude. Oh well.

Until tomorrow.

#6: Thank you, and Paul’s signs

(From Wednesday, posted Friday night)

I’m just saying thank you to the universe today. It needs a day off, too, and I’m a big believer in gratitude. And not pushing it.

Also, I got my sign. But as mentioned, I can’t really talk about it. Suffice it to say I hadn’t told my husband I needed a sign and while we were walking on the beach he spontaneously wrote in the sand exactly what I needed to hear. I’ll take it.

A word about signs. This is a true story. I haven’t changed the name because it does contribute to the validity of the story. So Paul, if you’re out there, sorry about your first name anonymity.

I once knew a guy name Paul. He was living with friends who were supporting his attempt to become a published author. Paul didn’t have a job and I have no idea if he contributed anything to the household other than being witty, which he did very well. He was also kind to me on one occasion, and danced quite awesomely to Prince when drunk on cheap gin. This is the extent of his talents as I knew them.

Paul spent most of his days in the house, writing. One day he got completely fed up and frustrated and wondered if he’d ever accomplish his goal. He asked for a sign to tell him he should keep going and said that if he didn’t get it, he was going to quit and go get a real job.

Paul went downstairs for a cigarette. As he was standing on the street, a truck went by. On the side, it read “Paul’s Signs”.

Paul said, well, OK, and went back upstairs to get back to his writing.

Paul’s Signs is a real company in Brooklyn. What they do other than provide Paul with messages from God as requested, I don’t really know.

Until tomorrow.

#5: Please give me a sign

I can't really get into the specifics of this right now. Suffice it to say I need my monkey mind and my oozy messy heart to get on board with one another and make sure they are consulting eachother on major decisions. It feels lately like one or the other has pulled a coup, and maybe my brain is telling me things that aren't true, or maybe my heart is the wrong doer. I don't know.

In other news, #3 got answered big and strong when two of my favorite people wrote me lovely kudos on this blog, so forward we go.

We're off to the beach for a few days. I'll try to post from there, depending on the wi-fi situation in the house. If the universe is anywhere, it's hanging out on the beach, in the water, out by the stars.

Until next time.

#4: Help me to keep my eyes open to the gifts i'm being given, or, Duh.

I reviewed the last entry and mentally smacked myself in the forehead, which by the way still smarted just a bit.

I'm overweight. I'm just overweight enough to not be clinically obese, but I'm too damn overweight. I've made several attempts to lose it. Methods have ranged from by burning calories by complaining to smaller portions of dinner without changing much else.

This time I'm on an actual diet and actually exercising and by exercising I don't mean the ten sun salutations I slog through every so often. I mean running.

Encouragement from my best friend to go to the gym has helped as has general advice from my husband, a former college track runner whose primary nicknames were 'Legs' and 'Tiger'. Both of which are hot, and both of which I must start calling him again immediately, come to think of it.

The thing that tipped the scales for me was my son's pediatrician. Who by the way is tiny and cute and a wonderful doctor and if he would let me I'd put him in my pocket and have him live there.

When my son was first born I was scared I'd pass on some of my lesser traits to him (depression, asthma, addicition to Molly Ringwald movies). The asthma was the big fear, because having it as a kid terrified me. On any given day, you just suddenly can't breathe.

When I talked to Pocket Doctor about it he gave me some nutritonal advice and things to look for but the best thing he said to me personally was this: There's really no such thing as exercise induced asthma. You get that when you've never been toned or trained properly to be active (hmm, that's me), and then are forced to be too active (my high school gym teachers, who addressed everything from your period to a broken leg with "Stick a FIST in it! Walk it OFF!").

So, in the last couple of weeks I've determined that the time is at hand to get in control of my health and weight. The biggest motivator is honestly that my son is quite the climber, and I don't want to be the parent watching him be active from the sidelines and wishing I had the strength to do it myself. Cause that's lame.

And also so, I spoke to a total stranger yesterday who told me several ways that he works out dilligently and takes care of himself that he does so because he wants to live and is lucky to have had the chance to live.

Duh.

And so last night, I went out for a run. And I laughed the entire time.

Until tomorrow.

Question #3: Universe, I need to know if this blog is a good idea. I'll stop asking after this.

No direct answer from the great starry neverendingness, but I did hear a story from a stranger that I thought was worth posting, so I'll take that as a "yes" until further notice.

While on line at the drugstore today, my son asked me for a piece of gum. The gentleman behind me made a comment that he'd love a piece of gum but he couldn't afford the calories.

I said ten calories wasn't so bad. He said he watched everything he eats now because he'd had some health problems.

My husband chatted with him about running and we talked about our son and his grandaughter.

As my husband went to pay for our things, the gentleman told me he had been in 9/11 and had retired soon after and gained a lot of weight by 2002, and ever since he'd worked hard to take better care of himself.

"Were you in the twin towers?" I asked.

"I worked at Cantor Fitzgerald," he said. From his build and demeanor I expected him to tell me he'd been a cop, but he was a trader. I told him I was so sorry.

"Every Sunday I go the gym and I run on the treadmill and I burn 911 calories. That's my ritual."

"That's a good workout," I said, right before the number dawned on me.

"It's for 9/11," he said, without further explanation. I nodded and said I thought that was a good thing. I don't know what his exact reason is, if he has one, but any one way of looking at it I could think of was a good one. He's here, he's alive, he's taking care of himself, he needs to remember, he needs to honor the people he lost. Whatever it is.

We all said goodbye and I told him it had been nice talking to him.

And it's been nice talking to you. Until tomorrow.

Request #2: Universe, please help me to manifest my creativity into my life's work

This, after already starting this blog and signing up for an art class, now I suddenly want to sing in front of hundreds of people, something I've been terrified -- mortified -- to do for 15 years. And this came to me out of nowhere last night, after the ask, although I guess it's been there all along, just encased inside of my scaredy-cat brain.

I'd really like the universe to make the haircut I'm about to get turn out okay, but that would probably be pushing it.

Question #1: Universe, please help me figure out a name for my blog

Last night I started thinking about an experience I had a couple of weeks ago. I was missing a friend of mine who was killed seven years ago. The anniversary of his death is coming up next week. On my way to a bar, I looked up at the sky, told him I still missed him, and that I needed some help.

Within a few hours I was chatting with a few other bar patrons about travel and the education system and how to start your own business. One of the guys I was talking to -- handsome, charming, well-traveled, successful -- told me that his best friend from college had died in his arms. Soon after the bar owner mentioned to me that his father was dying.

It helped me. Those two little comments helped me so much. I thought, everyone lives with grief, everyone deals with death, everyone has some space in their life that they are still working through, no matter how perfect other things may look. And we can all help eachother. And I'll always miss my friend, and I think he helped me.

Then I wondered what would happen if I just started asking for answers or help or a sign or what have you every day and blogging about what happened.

I asked the universe for a name for the blog, because I suck at naming things. Then this came into my head -- Are You There God? It's Me, Blogging.

I went into the livingroom, where my husband was watching something with guns on tv with his headphones on and his other wife (our cat) in his lap. I told him the idea.

"That's great. Why wouldn't you call it that?"

"Because I love Judy Blume and without Forever I probably never would have found my clitoris, and I can't imagine anything more depressing than the woman who helped me find my clitoris issuing a cease and desist order for my blog about trying to find meaning in the universe."

My husband made several other really good suggestions, like Blogprints in the Sand, but they all sounded more Jesusy than I would like and they didn't hit the mark. He assured me he would have eventually found my clitoris even if I'd never read Forever. He gave me some great advice on web searching similar titles and then basically said, come on, you know that's the name.

Question answered. See you soon.