Writing and Being

Just finished watching the movie, The Soloist, with Jamie Foxx as the mentally disturbed musical genius Nathaniel Ayers who is living on the streets in Los Angeles and Robert Downey, Jr. as L.A. Times reporter Steve Lopez who befriends him.  We don’t watch many movies lately, when we do, we have to squeeze them in while Prince August naps or after he goes to bed for the night.  This one was a two-part segment, which was good in a way because I think it heightened our appreciation for it.

I had no idea where the movie would end up and I’m thankful for that.  Because it allowed me to be quietly surprised.  I love RDJ, and all the more now, as his character reached out of the movie, sat down on the couch with me and in a low, quick voice spoke into my ear with perfect timing, at just the right tone, with just the right inflection, using not a word too many, a simple profound truth that I hope will ring as clearly tomorrow, next week, ten years from now.

I would like to repeat it here.  To record it, tape it to my mirror, tattoo it on my wrists.  Though I’m not sure I can distill it as clearly as he did, as clearly as it fell from the sky with grace and sureness, where it lingered in perfect stillness in the center of my chest, on the curve of my tongue, in the soft light of the mind’s eye.  Still, it goes something like this:  Everything is perfect.  Just like it is.  The most you can hope for is to see it clearly and therein, to see yourself clearly and your connection to all things.  To see that you and the world are beautiful, whole, right where you need to be. 

The ego looks around and sees that everything is broken, from the pavement to the people who must negotiate its terrain.  It wants desperately to fix all the brokenness it sees.  It thinks that if it can fix even one thing, it might be seen as worthy of the soul’s affection.

I have a client who is set to be executed by the State of Nevada on the week of February 1, 2010.  He has it in his power to save himself, at least theoretically.  At least for now.  At least until I have effectively passed the baton to someone else.  Like most people on death row, some time ago he did some really bad things.  I say it like that not to trivialize his acts or the ripple effect of them on others, on society, but because for purposes of this writing that is not the point.  The point being the ego’s desire to fix things, to save people, even from themselves.  Even if they do not necessarily want to be saved. 

I have been his lawyer for approximately 5 years.  The time is not necessarily the point either, except to say I’ve been able to see some transformation over this time.  I also believed that he had gone from wanting to throw in the towel to finding a reason to live.  During this time I have done what I could for him.  I raised many constitutional errors in the various levels of state courts and though neither the lower courts nor the Nevada Supreme Court granted him any relief, I have preserved those claims for federal appeal. 

Last week he refused to sign the papers which would allow his federal appeal to go forward.  There were four lawyers, including myself, who sat in a room with him for hours and gave him different reasons to sign, different reasons to choose to go on living.  Four egos looking for some measure of salvation.  Four egos carrying wrapped bouquets and reciting poetry, trying desperately to talk soul into going out to dinner.

The egos see the criminal justice system as tragically flawed.  Beyond the criminalization of mental illness, they see that the prisons and the departments of parole and probation, not to mention all the counseling, rehab and medication, the urine tests and the mandatory deportation rules all need someone superhuman to come in and clean things up, make them right.  But who is to say what the right thing is.  What we know about being human is so small.  Our experiments in parsing out behavior, the brain, physiology, seem at best to be somewhat-informed guesses, at worst perhaps criminal interference.

The second part of the message delivered by the movie has to do with detachment.  I think I maintain pretty good boundaries.  Actually, I probably err on the side of them being too good, not unlike RDJ’s character.  I don’t want to be anyone’s god.  Don’t want to have that much influence or be made to witness the inevitable let down I will visit upon the worshiper.  Ego genuinely seeks salvation but not at the cost of long term commitment, not if it might cost something real, not if it means admitting imperfection.

But what if life asks neither from us.  What if we aren’t required to fix anything, to be superhuman, to promise that we can make everything alright.  What if we really can’t walk anyone’s else path.  Even if we want to.  What if the willingness to show up is all that’s required.  What if it is in the act of showing up that space is cleared enough for grace to visit us.  What if that is perfection.

What if we are (already) perfection.  What if the hardest thing to do is to see that.  And to let it be.  What if it doesn’t need to be that hard.

To be continued…

Namaste,

T.

For an NPR junkie like me, this is very cool.  How many times did we hear Garrison Keillor mention AbeBooks during the Writer’s Almanac every morning?  And now, anyone can go to http://AbeBooks.com and type in either my name or Waking Up at Rembrandt’s and up comes images of the book for you to buy. 

While I buy (and browse) at local, independent shops whenever I can, I think it is a good idea to support booksellers who support NPR and the Writer’s Almanac (which is almost as important to my morning as a good espresso).  And I have used AbeBooks a number of times.  After all, I can browse their whole selection at home, in my pj’s, by the fire.  Technically, I don’t even have to wear pants.  Though sitting in front of a computer without pants is bound to raise some eyebrows.  Second thought, just pull on the pj’s if you do this at home. 

I didn’t (and I still don’t) mean this to be some kind of advertisement for AbeBooks, though perhaps it is an endorsement of sorts.  I just like the up-side of technology.  And also the finding of myself in the middle of it.  And I’d like to believe that if I’m good enough for AbeBooks, I might just be good enough for the Writer’s Almanac.  Because really, then I can die. 

In the meantime, being on AbeBooks is something to celebrate.  Which got me thinking about other Almanac sponsors.  Turns out, Waking Up at Rembrandt’s is on Powell’s Books as well.  Next stop, the Poetry Foundation.

Namaste,

TQ

I beat myself up.  A lot.

I want to be better at things.  Like life.  I want to be a better father, partner, writer, lawyer, human being.  I want to stay in the present more, be more conscious, make better choices, let go of jealousy, envy, judgment, side-taking.  Walk my talk more often, and manifest my perfect life, here and now, not someday.

I want to be more efficient, more effective, and more prosperous.  I want to give more, to be less selfish, and to be able to do so while still standing my ground and holding my space. 

I guess what I am saying is that I want to figure things out.  I want to live as an example.  And I am conscious of the fact that by having and expressing all these wants, I am perhaps preventing these things from naturally and easily coming my way.

You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.  That’s what Camus said. 

Maybe we have the wrong idea of perfection.  Maybe the world — in all its perceived imperfection — is exactly as it should be.  Maybe then, the same goes for me.

What does this mean, then?  Was Camus saying to us, why don’t you just give up?  The world is a fucked up place and you mirror the world and it mirrors you and there is nothing that can be done.  You will both go on being fucked up so you might as well just settle in and stop thinking so much.  Is that the take-away?

Well, I suppose it could be.  It would certainly take a lot of pressure off.  And I probably wouldn’t get so mad watching clips of Fox News that way.  But I suspect that was not his intended point. 

It occurs to me that a river is — often — a good metaphor.  Humans spent a lot of time, money, and brain power over the previous century trying to understand rivers and to apply that knowledge to re-engineering them, in order to harness their energy and resources.  What resulted has been a lot of trouble, much of it in the form of floods, dead species of plants and animals, and poisoned water.  We are now having to spend ten times as much trying to undo what our brilliant minds once thought up. 

It is helpful to have tools.  It is helpful to study what we know of philosophy, science, world religions, mythology, and the origins of the universe, for example.  When looking for a mate, it is helpful to know what kind of person suits you.  When selling a book, one needs a marketing plan.  When planning a trip, some familiarity in the culture and language are helpful.  But, taking the last example, a too-carefully-planned adventure is no adventure at all.  As a teacher once told me, standing on the banks of the river and considering its flow is one thing, but it is not at all the same thing as jumping in.

When you are in the river, you take things as they come.  And it is better to be relaxed and to pay attention to where you are than to ponder why you are there.

Namaste,

TQ