Desiderata

Running is a desideratum in my life.

And I have to take a break because of my knee. Apparently according to my coach (MJ) and Bryant, the personal trainer at Track and Field, something is rotten in the state of my IT band*. This was confirmed in what was SUPPOSED to be sexy leg massage from MJ that turned into, "Oh my god, what the hell it this." ("This" being the giant knot in my IT band). Mood killer. Total mood killer.

See the gray part? The Iliotibial Band is a muscle that lacks the same blood flow as other muscles, therefore has a tendency to get less oxygen, hence tightening. Tightening would eventually lead to tearing so- RICE: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. Awesome motto for the next couple of weeks. Expect a lot of blog posts.

Such is my life that whenever bad news hits, happy mood-lifters make there way into my life:

First came the greatest nature video I have ever seen. The fact that this movie has not had commercial success in the United States speaks to our lack of empathy and integrity in this heartless society. I blame capitalism. Just try not to cry at the end of this clip:



The cougar represents the voracious nature of time, coming to devour us all. The bear represents myself, especially what I will look like after this running break.

**************

Then came the word of the day (I have a mild obsession with both Merriam-Webster and Anu Garg (wordsmith.org)). The latter has weekly postings where people contribute their personal relationship with words. Lexicographic therapy. Desideratum was one of the words that I used above to describe my relationship to running. It is a noun: something desired or needed. A word etched into perpetual memory by the Max Erhmann poem of the same name:

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

OK YES. This poem is cheesy. The subsequent greeting cards, T-shirts, billboards, day calendars, chain letters sent from my mom, etc. that this poem has engendered encourages the cheesiness. But during this running sabbatical I am going to take a few lines a day to focus on as my mantra. If I write about it, the 'Blues will be featured on Oprah in no time and I'll be sharing couch space with good ole Elizabeth Gilbert.

Tomorrow is:
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.





* Hamlet reference. We all make them at some point. Here is a video rendition of Act I, iv, when H confronts his father's ghost. Low budget but NOT Kenneth Branagh.

snow day dreams

Tomorrow there may be snow. The possibility of a minor pause in the universe (or at least New York) where everyone softens, eases on responsibility, understands the fellow man, ("Well, the weather..."). Before the Brooklyn Bridge connected the borough's commuters to their downtown offices, the suits would travel by ferry. On foggy days, people were expected to be late. It was alright. It was foggy. We are all subject to weather. But if man can take a bunch of wires and have them carry the weight of New York for 70 years, become a international symbol of American ingenuity, and muse an infinite amount of poetry and art then man can be on time.

But on a snow day, New York is subject to the weather. Even if it is just 6 inches. Because if this city can proginate the motion picture industry, and host the thousands upon thousands of Broadway shows, Off, off, off broadway theater, avant garde performance, improve comedy, high school productions of Godspell...then this city can be dramatic over a couple of inches of snow.

So tomorrow, in the quiet of your classroom, or your job...When everyone is commenting on the empty chairs of those who didn't make it 'cause "well, the weather..." And when people around you are drawn to the window creating pensive silhouettes, and everyone is talking in a lower voice. Grab a hot chocolate and indulge in something beautiful.

Like Neruda:

Verbo

Voy a arrugar esta palabra,
voy a torcerla ,
sí,
es demasiado lisa,
es como si un gran perro o un gran río
le hubiera repasado lengua o agua
durante muchos años.

Quiero que en la palabra
se vea la aspereza,
la sal ferruginosa
la fuerza desdentada
de la tierra,
la sangre
de los que hablaron y de los que no hablaron.

Quiero ver la sed
adentro de las sílabas:
quiero tocar el fuego
en el sonido:
quiero sentir la oscuridad
del grito. Quiero
palabras ásperas
como piedras vírgenes.


Verb

I’m going to wrinkle this word,
I’m going to twist it,
yes,
it is much too flat
it is as if a great dog or great river
had passed its tongue or water over it
during many years.

I want that in the word
the roughness is seen
the iron salt
The de-fanged strength
of the land,
the blood
of those who have spoken and those who have not spoken.

I want to see the thirst
Inside the syllables
I want to touch the fire
in the sound:
I want to feel the darkness
of the cry. I want
words as rough
as virgin rocks.

Translated by T.M. Lauth


Or this friend of MJ's Koury Angelo, a photographer I recently I have now be-fanned:






Friend his on Facebook to see more pictures of New Orleans and LA. The whole album is phenomenal.

I sometimes get lost for hours here. There is something calming about watching old silent films. Combined with a snow day may induce coma. Awesome. A snowma.

Happy Snow Day. Add another marshmellow. Cheers from the 'Blues.

Self-Help Yourself

There is this scene in Apollo 13 where a group of physicists back in Huston are asked to make a filter by fitting a table's worth of tubes and shiny science-thingys into a small box. They look at the box with furrowed brows, knowing that the task is almost impossible, they stare catatonic and daunted by where to begin. The brilliant minds eventually fit everything into the box, relay the message to space, and Tom Hanks survives.

I actually found the clip on Youtube and will defend the internet for as long as I live:


I was taking with coworkers about Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist and this other book about mice called Who Moved My Cheese. A genre of books and audio tapes all meant to inspire and show us what we already knew but we just couldn't see until we saw ourselves as animals. It is biblical and Aesopical and proverbial. And I just contributed Apollo 13 to this trope. However, I'm going with it. I can't pinpoint when, but along the way people told me I could legit go to the moon if I wanted and I believed them. I was probably 5 or 7 or a senior in high school. I want to write to all the authority figures and public service announcements from my youth and demand to know where my goddamned lunar landing is. And, in order to survive the trip back to earth, I have to fit into a round hole when I am actually square.

(Here we arrive at some of the holes in this metaphor. For example wouldn't it be more appropriate for me to the the round peg in a square hole, because of the connotations that square and round have? I am definitely not square. Also, what is my role? Am I one of the scientists or am I an astronaut? Are the scientists representing aspects of my personality and logic working together to let the 'outside' me survive? Like something out of Jung? Or perhaps it is me working with other people to try to get this life thing worked out together. Like something out of Public Television and Sesame Street. Who is on my team? Definitely Lauren and Jill. We need a villian. My Mom is the coordinator that keeps calling. Boys? Should I invite boys?)

Here I am, holding shiny 1960s NASA junk, considering self-help books. Trying to appreciate things around me and let go of it all at the same time. Opposition. Yoga. Buddhism. Loss. Elizabeth Bishop. One Art.

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.




We can find inspiration in the most quiet of places.