Welcome To Hawaii C S

Honolulu Airport
April `73

When I picked up Carol Sue at the airport, it was great to see her. If
it was possible, she was even more excited than I was about getting
back together. We rode the bus back to Makaha. It took me a while
before I figured out how to ride the buses, but after I did, it turned
out that for 50 cents you could go anywhere on the island.

I introduced C.S. to the "tribe." Rich was gone, but everybody else
was still there. Things didn't stay that way, though. Everybody left for the
Mainland soon after she arrived. After that, Eddy was the only one left on the
beach. People would still come and go, but during the month C.S. was
there, the place kind of lost its sense of community.

Don, the unemployed bartender from Wisconsin, was a regular visitor.
He would frequently show up right around sunset. When I first met him
he was looking for work. Later, he got a job managing the bar at the
Makaha Towers. The Towers were located about a mile down from the
park, but they were still north of Makaha. The Towers were an impressive
twelve stories of condominiums, and they had hotel space available
too. Don still came to the beach after he got his job, but he was not
the same person. I also found work. I worked part time at Cornet, a
K-Mart like store in Makaha. I did custodian work there.

Living on the beach with C.S. had been as rewarding as it had been
difficult. In the beginning it was great. Two lovers on the beach in
Hawaii; what could be better than that (talk about sweaty bodies, we
spent many an afternoon sealed up in the eighty or ninety degree heat
inside our tent). C. S. made friends easy and often. She was very
social. I, on the other hand, enjoyed peace and solitude as much as I
liked being with people. Our different personalities put a strain on
our relationship.

Learning Love

Downtown Honolulu
Repeat Post With More History
April ‘73

Back on the beach, Eddy needed money, so he found himself a painting
job in downtown Honolulu. Poor Eddy, he spent four hours a day going
to and from work on the bus. He read a lot of newspapers, though. That
was how I got to read the blurb in the classifieds: "Friends of the
P.D. Ouspensky School of Thought," and underneath the blurb was a
phone number. I had read two books by this Russian mystic, and
although I wasn't in love with his books, I did find them interesting.
I had never had an opportunity to talk to anybody about Ouspensky
because his stuff was not easy to talk about. I saw this as an
opportunity to speak to someone who knew more about him than I did.

When I made the phone call, I must have caught the girl on the other
end of the phone at a bad time because she cut our conversation short.
Fortunately for me, I was able to make an appointment with her on the
same day that I was supposed to pick up Carol Sue at the airport. C.S.
was coming to Hawaii to stay with me for a while. Not only would I get
to talk with a knowledgeable person about Ouspensky, I would also get
to pick up Carol Sue at the airport. I was really excited.

I took an early morning bus and went to the Waikiki Hotel where I was
supposed to meet the girl on the phone. I arrived first and took a
seat in the restaurant next to the window. I had told her I would be
wearing an orange flowered shirt, so she could recognize me. When a
girl got out of a taxi and smiled at me from the sidewalk, I knew that
it had to be her. As she entered the restaurant and came closer, I
could not help but feel that this girl was different. Her dark lips,
black hair, black blouse and blue jeans did not make her all that much
different. (It was pretty hot to be wearing all those clothes,
though.) It must have been the way she carried herself. When she
approached my booth, she lit up a cigarette and introduced herself at
the same time. "Hi," she said, "My name is Lorna. Why don't we go out
on the patio; it's nicer." There was nothing strange about her
introduction, but, once we got out on the patio, and she ignored me
when I asked if I could bum a cigarette from her, I knew something was up.

It was nice on the patio, and the view of the ocean was the best.
"How did you become interested in Ouspensky?" she said. I told her I
had read a friend's book, and then I went out and bought a second
book, Tertium Organum. I told her the books were good, but sometimes
the mystical stuff went right over my head. "All facts were mystical
until they got verified and understood," she replied. I was about to
respond when she asked me, "What brought you to Hawaii?" "The sun, the
sea; why not come to Hawaii?" I said. "It sure beats California." And
then I asked her for a second time if I could bum a cigarette. She
gave me a weird look and said, "I'm afraid not." She then excused
herself and went to the bathroom. I just sat there thinking, "What a
strange lady."

She was a bit friendlier when she returned. She even gave me a
cigarette, but it didn't come free. I had to listen to a speech on
"self-reliance." She told me, "People who go around asking for favors
are weak and not very dependable." "Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "All I
wanted was a cigarette. I had no idea." After that, she was quiet. I
was no stranger to the silent treatment. I could be silent too. Then,
quite suddenly, she turned to me and said, "Have you ever thought
seriously about getting into these teachings?" I didn't know what to
say. My yoga class required my attention and Carol Sue was going to
demand my attention as soon as she arrived. As much as I wanted to
pursue this opportunity, I couldn't. So, I responded, "Yes, when I was
reading the books. But right now I'm pretty busy. I'm pressed for
time." If looks could kill, I would have died on the spot. Without so
much as a word, she took a huge drag off her cigarette, turned, and
stared at the ocean.

I was debating whether to butt out my cigarette and leave, when she
looked at me and said, "Isn't that beautiful. It's the song of the
(she named a bird I couldn't pronounce). Off in the distance I could
hear something like a bird chirping, but if it hadn't been pointed out
to me, I would not have heard it.

"Its probably looking for a mate," I said.

"Oh, and why would you say that," she replied.

"I don't know; probably because that's why birds sing," I said,
"to find a mate and have little birdies. Go forth and multiply, I
believe the big Guy said. Right?"

"Do you think birds sing just to fuck?" she exclaimed.

"Hold on," I said, "I'm not an expert, but I read somewhere that
birds sing to attract mates. It sounded like a good explanation when I
read it. Why else would they sing?"

"Sexual attraction is secondary," she said. "You guys got it
backwards. Birds reproduce in order to sing, not the other way around.
A higher purpose is involved. With their songs, the birds express that
higher purpose. In the larger picture, it is all about the creative
expression of love and beauty."

"I guess I hadn't really thought much about it," I said.

"Nature, by creating different species," she continued, "sent forth
love, and consciousness of love. It was all about the creative
expression of that love. That's why we're here. We exist for that
purpose."

"Hey, you're probably right," I said, "but one or two biologists
might disagree with you. If it weren't for singing birds, far fewer
birds would get reproduced, and with no progeny to reproduce the
species, gone would be the songs, the singers, and the potential for
greater creative expression, at least among birds. Right?"

"So what are you saying?" she replied. "Is it that love and beauty
amounts to nothing more than guaranteeing a sufficient number of
births? Are you telling me that, after the baby payoff, that's it,
there's nothing more to life, to love? Everything after that is just
afterbirth?"

"All I know," I said, "is that love doesn't prevent babies from
happening, and the more babies, the more love. It has to be that way.
That was all I meant."

"Have you ever been in love?" said Lorna. "I mean really in love?
Where you couldn't stand to be apart from your lover? Where you
overflowed love, not just in `sex,' but in the `push and pull' of
every emotion imaginable?"
"I guess not," I replied, "I've been in love, but it wasn't like
that. Being in love, for me, created more chaos than it did bliss.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, "bear with me for a moment while
I tell you what you've missed."

"Okay, be my guest," I replied.

"Love," she said, "propelled by the beauty it creates, when truly
felt, saturates every manner of emotion, feeling, agitation, desire,
thought, and fantasy. It doesn't vanish with orgasm. To find that kind
of love you have to "think for yourself," not with your balls. Love
isn't just a fuck away, but it can be right around the corner if you
are sincere enough to find it. Only a tiny fraction of love goes into
the propagation of the species. So, how shall we honor what's left?
How shall we honor the love that surrounds us? If love is anything,
it is creativity in its purest form. It burns
through the senses in music, poetry, literature, painting, dance—all
artistic forms of expression follow from it. Love animates and grows.
Without it, there would be no work ethic, no survival. Perhaps,
someday, you will have the inclination and the time to look beyond
yourself, to that world where creativity and love burn brightest. If
that day comes, I dare say you will come to know a love that you have
heretofore not dreamed possible."

Without so much as a goodbye, she stood up and walked away.

The Seat Of Kundalini

Waianae, Hawaii
April ‘73

Yogi Bhajan, who was a master of Kundalini Yoga, said, "Without doubt
the Kundalini resides at the fourth vertebra of the spine. By mixing
prana and apana (positive and negative cosmic forces), heat warms that
spot, initiating the movement of Kundalini. From the forth vertebra
the Kundalini descends to the Muladhara Chakra, and then its journey
upward begins."


The Chakras

The Chakras were energy centers in the body. Subtle currents flowed
around them, but the Chakras were not physical—that is, you could not
see them.

Invisible though they were, the Chakras did correspond to certain
areas of the body. Certainly they had a profound effect on
consciousness. Seven in number, they formed a kind of step-ladder for
the Kundalini's ascent.

If consciousness was at the lowest center, Muladhara, which was at
the rectum, a person was thought by some yogis to have an anal or
animal consciousness. It would be animal survival at the crudest
level, and that person would tend toward homosexuality.

At the second center, located at the sex organs, thoughts became
concentrated upon sensual pleasure. The primary concern was to feel
good. If consciousness stagnated here, perversions were the result.

Chakra three was the center for ego and power games. It was found at
the navel point. It was comparatively easy to bring awareness up from
the first Chakra to the second, and then to the third. But most of
mankind still lived in these three centers of consciousness.

As a person evolved, however, they became dissatisfied with living in
their lower natures and wanted to progress. As man rose in
consciousness, though, things became difficult—he was tested and made
to prove himself worthy of the benefits of a happy, positive, and more
spiritual way of life. He reached the fourth Chakra by practicing
compassion and love for all. When the fourth Chakra opened (at the
center of the chest and next to the heart) deep love and brotherhood
was felt for everyone.

At the throat center, the fifth charka opened. Here man felt in such
attunement with the creator that all he wanted to talk about was God.
This was also called the center of Truth. Sometimes, at this Chakra, a
person would become impatient. When others spoke on superficial
subjects this person would speak on things only divine!

At the sixth Chakra, the Third Eye, man knew all wisdom. He knew
everything past, present, and future. He would not reveal this
knowledge to those who were not ready to hear it. There were many
psychics and mediums that could "read" the past and the future. They
did not (or could not) refrain from revealing "futures" to people who
were not strong enough to handle that information. Considerable harm
could be done as a result. The hard-working student of Yoga had this
intuition inside himself. He didn't have to go to mediums.

Even at this level of consciousness, however, something held a person
back from total happiness, total peace. He was still separated from
God. Only when the entire ego got transcended, when consciousness
reached the seventh Chakra-- the Thousand Petalled Lotus at the top of
the skull—was bliss achieved. After that, the yogi was free to leave
his body or stay in the world. At that level of consciousness, death
was conquered, and the yogi was truly free.

The Awakening of Kundalini Energy

Waianae, Hawaii
April ‘73

Yogi Bhajan was the guy who started the 3HO (Healthy-Happy-Holy)
Foundation. Sahash was his student. "Yogi Bhajan came over to America
from New Delhi, India, to cleanse people of their negativity and to
train teachers," or so said Sahash. The Yogi, after twenty-two years
of searching for truth, came up with his 40-day plan. Yogi Bhajan's
yoga consisted mostly of Kundalini Yoga principles and practice, and
was called by Sahash, the "Yoga of Awareness." Apparently, this yoga
borrowed from other yogas, but, ultimately, it was supposed to awaken
the Kundalini energy coiled at the base of the spine. With the aid of
"right breathing techniques" and "right sincerity," this energy was
then used to liberate the soul. To understand Kundalini, one had to
first understand prana.

Prana was energy's most elemental state. All things were created from
this energy. Prana was usually translated as breath or air. Without
food, water, or shelter we would die. Without air, we would die
quickly. Prana also referred to the energies and subtle magnetic
currents that flowed through the body. Sahash taught that increasing
the flow of prana around the body was the first step in yoga practice.

Kundalini Yoga was about the release of this creative energy. Once
released, the energy would travel up the spine and charge the higher
centers of consciousness. By using breathing techniques such as the
"breath of fire" or "deep breathing," Kundalini Yoga was supposed to
do just that; turn unconscious energy into conscious energy. In order
for this to happen, channels had to be opened and maintained. By
conscientious yoga practice, one could raise consciousness to higher
and, ultimately, to the highest level.

Chanting the name of God was another important aspect of the "Yoga of
Awareness." "Ek Ong Kar Sat Nam Siri Wha Guru" was the mantra that we
used to chant the name of God. Chanting this mantra cleansed the mind
of negativity, washed away karmas (the effects of bad behavior), and
brought the senses under control. The mind was brought to a state of
one-pointed-ness in this way. The result was, ultimately, a merging of
Atman (soul-consciousness) with Paramatman (universal-consciousness).

But, as first time students, it was not our goal to become gurus. When
all was said and done, after 40 days of practice, we were supposed to
learn the causes of negative effects. With a command of that
awareness, we could then direct the awakening of our own
consciousness. Teaching that skill was what Yogi Bhajan's 3HO society
was about, and success in that area meant that the Yogi was further
along in realizing his dream and purpose; that is, to create a world
of healthy, happy, and holy people. According to the great Yogi, man
once lived in God's consciousness, but then he turned toward
materialistic, sensual pleasures, and moved away from God. God's
consciousness then separated into two halves. Man lived his earthly
life using only one half of that consciousness, leaving the other
half, the higher one, dormant. This higher consciousness was waiting
until man evolved far enough into the future to regain this higher
consciousness--and now is that time.

The Yoga Of Powerful Forces--Kundalini

Waianae, Hawaii
April 1, '73

Yoga class met on Monday and Thursday. It lasted for about an hour
and a half, and I was usually finished and back to my tent by dark. I
didn't really get to know the students. Very little socializing was
done at class. Upon entering the room, you immediately started
stretching. Then came the light exercises. The more rigorous stuff was
practiced towards the end of class.

Right from the beginning, Sahash told us that Kundalini was a
demanding yoga. Powerful forces were at work, and if the right
"mindset" was not demonstrated during practice, harm could come to the
disciple. In fact, we were told that we were not yoga beginners.
Typically, only advanced students were attracted to Kundalini Yoga. It
was suggested (I guess to make us feel better) that we had been
practicing yoga for many lifetimes, and it was now time for our yoga
practice to bear fruit.

Babbet surprised me. She had been a dutiful student. She had been
doing the exercises right along with the rest of us, but now she was
beginning to complain about her back. Actually, I never expected her
to last this long. She was short and heavy. Even I had a difficult
time doing the exercises. Her pain must have been extreme. I
couldn't blame her for wanting out, if, in fact, that was what she
wanted. Time would tell on that one.

Before our meditative silence (which ended the class), Sahash would
ask how we felt. That was the signal to begin the question and answer
period. We needed that period because sometimes while doing the
exercises, it got pretty spooky. You felt all kinds of things, but you
didn't have a clue as to what was actually happening to you. During
these sessions Sahash also filled in some of the history of the
organization that he (and by default, we) belonged to

40 Days To Health And Happiness

Yoga Class
Waianae, Hawaii
March 30, `73

Yoga class was a good fit for me. Although I couldn't commit to
everything, I did enjoy the exercise, difficult as it was. I may not
follow the teachings to the letter (or practice them either), but that
didn't mean they weren't beneficial. I planed on giving the class as
much effort as I could muster, otherwise, why even go?

Babbet picked me up for the first class. We drove to Waianae. When we
arrived we entered a large room in a public building. There were
already a half dozen people sitting on the carpet, stretching their
legs. A dozen more showed up before the class ended. There were a few
guys, but most were women. At the front of the room, Sahash and his
wife, Siri, sat facing everybody. They were dressed in loose fitting,
all white clothes. A cloth turban adorned Sahash's head. Both looked
to be in their mid twenties, and both were very beautiful people. The
first session was kind of informational, but we did some breathing
exercises and chanting after the lecture.

The class was advertised as "40 days to health and happiness."
According to Sahash, if a person could maintain a positive attitude
with promoting habits for 40 days, he or she could change their
destiny. I figured, what the heck, it was "pay as you go by donation,"
so I planned on giving the class a good effort. The teachings were
based on the premise: "a liberated person is always a happy person."
According to Sahash, once liberated, you became free from harm and
lived in grace and equanimity.

In order to become liberated, (in addition to taking Sahash’s class), we
had to promise that we would guard against letting the "evils" of the
material world usurp our "higher spiritual nature." In other words,
we had to practice a "good attitude" and stay away from things that
were bad for us, like alcohol, lying, and cheating. In order to do that,
to not be victimized by this dirty little world, we had to practice yoga
with heart. Via the heart, good habits would make one physically,
mentally, and spiritually happy. When all habits were promoting habits,
according to Sahash, liberation was near.

The hard part of course, as he pointed out, was that to become
liberated you couldn't practice demoting habits, or habits that made
you unhappy (I could have used more clarification there, but I let it
slide). Pursuing bad habits would leave you a physical wreck, mentally
insane, and/or spiritually defunct. More precisely, bad habits had to
do with greed, anger, lust, attachment, and negative ego. Only good
habits made it possible for you to avoid negativity. If you practiced
only promoting habits, you would change your destiny. It all sounded
too good to be true. I figured I would give it forty days and see what
happened, though.

Answer To The Big Questions

An Easter offering: Below you will find “cut and pastes” from two future posts. The chronological placement of part of this post, however, is only a week away, so expect to see it “in total” in about a week’s time. The title of this blog—the answer to the big questions—references a past blog entitled The Big Questions. If interested, here is the ID of the post describing the questions

http://bwinwnbwi2.wordpress.com/2010/12/28/the-big-questions/

Look at all those people who read Jesus; how many really experience the meaning of the words: Love God with all your heart and do on to others as you would have others do on to you? Probably not many! I want to end this post by describing a relatively recent event (the meaning of which I am still struggling over). Maybe I should call it a revelatory event, or maybe not. Anyway, the actual event I’m about to describe took place a very long time ago. I’m going to let the woman in the event do the talking here. At the time, she was advocating a particular mystical tradition and when I begged off her invitation to join the group, she stood up and walked away. From afar I continued to watch her meander down the beach as she strayed in and out of the clinging ocean surf, but, while watching, I reached for my bag and took out pencil and paper and began to write down the highlights of our conversation. She was a strong woman, very impressive, as can probably be guessed from what follows:

Scene: Enjoying the ocean view drinking coffee on an outdoor patio of a Waikiki hotel.

“I was debating whether to butt out my cigarette and leave, when she
looked at me and said, "Isn't that beautiful. It's the song of the
(she named a bird I couldn't pronounce). Off in the distance I could
hear something like a bird chirping, but if it hadn't been pointed out
to me, I would not have heard it.

"Its probably looking for a mate," I said.

"Oh, and why would you say that," she replied.

"I don't know; probably because that's why birds sing," I said,
"to find a mate and have little birdies. Go forth and multiply, I
believe the big Guy said. Right?"

"Do you think birds sing just to fuck?" she exclaimed.

"Hold on," I said, "I'm not an expert, but I read somewhere that
birds sing to attract mates. It sounded like a good explanation when I
read it. Why else would they sing?"

"Sexual attraction is secondary," she said. "You guys got it
backwards. Birds reproduce in order to sing, not the other way around.
A higher purpose is involved. With their songs, the birds express that
higher purpose. In the larger picture, it is all about the creative
expression of love and beauty."

"I guess I hadn't really thought much about it," I said.

"Nature, by creating different species," she continued, "sent forth
love, and consciousness of love. It was all about the creative
expression of that love. That's why we're here. We exist for that
purpose."

"Hey, you're probably right," I said, "but one or two biologists
might disagree with you. If it weren't for singing birds, far fewer
birds would get reproduced, and with no progeny to reproduce the
species, gone would be the songs, the singers, and the potential for
greater creative expression, at least among birds. Right?"

"So what are you saying?" she replied. "Is it that love and beauty
amounts to nothing more than guaranteeing a sufficient number of
births? Are you telling me that, after the baby payoff, that's it,
there's nothing more to life, to love? Everything after that is just
afterbirth?"

"All I know," I said, "is that love doesn't prevent babies from
happening, and the more babies, the more love. It has to be that way.
That was all I meant."

"Have you ever been in love?" said Lorna. "I mean really in love?
Where you couldn't stand to be apart from your lover? Where you
overflowed love, not just in `sex,' but in the `push and pull' of
every emotion imaginable?"

"I guess not," I replied, "I've been in love, but it wasn't like
that. Being in love, for me, created more chaos than it did bliss.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, "bear with me for a moment while
I tell you what you've missed."


The following is a paraphrase of Lorna’s description of Love:

“Love, propelled by the beauty it creates, burns through the senses in music, poetry, literature, painting, dance—all artistic forms of expression follow from it. Love animates and grows. Without it, there would be no work ethic, no survival. Perhaps, someday, you will have the inclination and the time to look beyond yourself, to that world where creativity and love burn brightest. If that day comes, I dare say you will come to know that love is what the Absolute Affirmation is all about. It is love that must be affirmed. You are not the liberator. The real liberator is love. Lover and beloved become as one in love. All opposites come together in love. Love is where real liberation takes place. There is no substitute for it. Separation does not exist there. Love is the greatest apperception. You have no power before love. Freedom, beauty, and completeness are embedded there; the psychic and the cosmic are embedded there. It is the same in death as in life, and I know that you know that, even if it is beyond you! You cannot change the unchangeable!”


Where self-consciousness, life, and duality—the affirming structures of God—become transparent to mind, Divine Love emerges. Love is, according to the great mystic sage from India, Aurobindo (1892-1950), “a union of self with self, soul with soul, and spirit with spirit.”

Happy Easter!

MV’s Answer To The Void

End MV Conversation
Waianae Beach

"For Christ's sake," I said, "Give it up. I never said I had all the
answers. That's your department, remember? Anyway, it's my life not
yours. I'll live it my way. Right or wrong I'll live it my way. You
are my misfortune, that's all, a misfortune. Perhaps you have
forgotten our deal?"

"No, I have not. Of that you can be sure," MV responded. "Your talk of
a meaningless life has left me a bit perplexed, however. You seem to
be saying that a void pressures a person into creating angles, `angles
in the void,' your reference, not mine. You also say that those angles
are self-perpetuating and keep existence moving along. So, I want to
know, without them, the angles, what? The world blinks out of existence?"

"No. Without them, culture wouldn't exist." I said. "That's where
culture comes from. And that's all we are, a mixture of culture."

"Are you sure," replied MV, "What about the less pronounced cultures,
the ones produced by bees and ants?"

"That's not the same thing. We are aware that we live in culture," I
responded. "Insects are not aware in the same way. Besides, we are
also aware, at least some of us anyway, that we can't live outside of
culture. We're not talking bumblebees here."

"Okay," said MV. "Explain the void. According to you, it works to
create culture—the angles of the void, right! You, on the other hand,
fill up the void by trying to escape from it, and by extension escape
from culture, right!"

"I hadn't really thought of it that way, but that sound's about
right," I said.

"Well then, if culture didn't exist, you wouldn't exist either, not to
mention your `freedom to escape the void.' Right?"

"I suppose so."

"And yet you believe in nothingness. See the contradiction!
How can there be `no footing in nothingness' when your
desire to escape turns that nothingness into something? Doesn't that
make nothingness a co-conspirator in the very thing that it negates?
If there is no way out of emptiness, `no footing in nothingness,' then
how do you explain your escape? The fact that you keep yourself at a
distance from the void, a distance that varies no less, is proof
that nothingness cannot exist without culture. In fact, the two are one.
Between you and the void, a relationship exists that requires both
nothingness and culture to exist, and that co-dependent relationship
means, my melancholy friend, that there is more to nothingness than
you surmise. Do you get the picture yet?"

"Listen," I said, "As far as I am concerned you're just another one
of those angles. Your purpose, like the purpose of every other angle,
is to make the void unrecognizable. The only thing that makes you
different is that I have a harder time getting rid of you. But that
can be fixed. Unless things have changed, my uninvited guest, it is
time for you to depart. Go! Get out of my head. I want you out
of my head, now!"

"Okay," said MV. "But just one last word before I go. If I am just
another angle, then why do you put up with me? If everything is just
`filler,' then why do you persist in looking for answers? What's wrong
with that picture? If you really believed that everything was just
`filler' you couldn't live with yourself. You'd be better off dead.
But that's not the case; you're desperate for answers. Admit it. You
hide behind labels and generalities that suck the life out of what's
really important. I will go, but you will welcome me back because you
know I can help you find those answers; enough said!"

"You have nothing to say to me that I haven't already heard," I said.
"You are just a fragmented part of my psyche. What you know, I already
know. You may think you know something I don't know, but in the end
whatever you know could not possibly make a difference, so just go
away. Leave me alone."

"I'm going," MV replied, "but on your way home as you glance down
at that diseased and dying cat you will remember me as you ask yourself
if you can afford to forget me!"

Playing The Game

MV Conversation Continues
Waianae Beach

Nothing more had to be said, and little had to be done. I walked up to
the store and bought some cat food. I knew this was an empty gesture,
but it was all I could do. As I put food under the car, my nausea did
not go away. As I piled the rest of the food at the base of the tree
trunk for the sick cat or any other, I felt like I was caught up in a
recycling project, a recycling of absurdity. I turned my back on the
cat and walked away, far away. When I finally sat down at another
picnic table and started reading my book, I heard: "Why do you persist?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I said.

"If everything is, as you believe," replied MV, "all filler, then why
read books that pretend to `know why?' Isn't that being hypocritical?
If you're a product of somebody else's successes and misdeeds, a
cultural artifact, so to speak, then why do you work so damn hard at
being consistent? What for, so you can imitate a culture that for the
most part, you despise? Is that being consistent?"

"What do you want from me," I said, "If I'm going to play the game, I
need to be informed. Don't you think I ought to familiarize myself
with the playing field and the rules? Or would you deny me those
skills? Its not all rote you know, sometimes `playing the game' calls
for a little originality. Those skills can be improved you know. At
least my reading gives me a little different perspective, a
perspective, for the most part, that eludes the rest of the players."

"That sounds a bit strange to me," replied MV, "didn't I just hear
you say that there was `no footing in nothingness, no way out of
emptiness.'"

"Don't put words in my mouth," I said. "Creating angles in nothingness
is not the same as escaping from it. And, besides, there's some
freedom in recognizing `states of affairs' and responding to them.
Right? Most people don't even know they're in a game, leastwise the
absurdity of it all. Creativity is found in the power to perceive
differently, and for me, the meaningless of it all adds a little
humor, and that almost makes it worthwhile."

"Oh, and that's why you're taking up yoga," replied MV, "so you can
respond to angles with more angles?"

Exercise In Nothingness—Begin Conversation With MV

Sitting at a picnic table reading Sartre
Waianae Beach, Hawaii

A cat had walked out from beneath a parked car, and I stopped writing
in my journal. I watched as the cat moved from the shaded underside of
the parked car, nose in the air, attracted to the smell of garbage. As the cat
jumped to the rim, it slipped and fell to the ground. It was not the typical
cat landing, though. The cat hit the ground on its side. Slowly, very
slowly, it moved back to the shaded security of the underside of the
car, turned, and crouched next to the front tire as its bulging eyes
looked in my direction.

The cat, skin and bone, was sick. Its ribs appeared to be bursting
through its skin. White mucus drained from its eyes, which looked to
be about ready to fall out of their sockets. The mucus ran all the way
down the cat's nostrils. All feline prowess had left the animal; a
hungry ghost remained. It sniffed the air. It could still smell the
food, but the heat of the afternoon sun had sucked from its body
whatever energy it had. The whole scene was over in less than a minute.

I felt a knot in my stomach. My head sank to my journal, as I hid my
eyes from view. I tried to swallow but couldn't. I found some release
in the blackness of my cupped hands. How could a cat, the most
self-sufficient of animals, deteriorate to such a decrepit condition?
Why? What purpose could be served by all this suffering? Accepted
realities, logical systems, and concrete facts, the stuff that made
the world sane, couldn't make sense out of the scene before me. I was
screaming inside, and then, above the decibels, I heard a voice, "But
haven't you been here before?" it said. "Come on; what's new about all
this?" I knew immediately it was MV.

"Who among us has had a role in making creation sacrosanct? Who among
us has not felt the torment of unasked for needs? Who among us can see
what tomorrow brings? You of all people," he said, "should know this.
Stop faking it. Stop venting, and get on with it."

"Get on with what?" I said. "There's a soon to be dead, dying cat under that
car, and you are intruding on what had been a very solemn moment for me.
So, I repeat myself, what's to get on with?"

"You call this a solemn moment? You slay me," replied MV. "You see
death, and immediately think `boogieman.' You see death, and recoil in
fear and loathing. Death is a gift, but I wouldn't expect you to
understand that."

"Stop that," I said, "the last thing I need is to hear my own
voice praising death."

"You're right," said MV, "what's to praise? I misspoke myself. I meant
to say death should be a constant reminder that life should be lived
well. Comprende!"

"Haven't you any compassion, man. Don't you see the agony on that
cat's face," I said.

"Well, actually, no, I don't," replied MV. "I see resolve; that is
all. Animals' know more about death than you do. Ever wonder why that
is? And compassion! Its way too overrated if you ask me. If people
stopped feeling sorry for themselves and others, maybe more would get
done to prevent the `need for compassion.' Like right now, what
actually do you see, a flaw in Mother Nature, or just a dying cat?
Let's say, for instance, that you were that cat. Would you feel
compassion for the guy feeling sorry for you because you didn't have
enough to eat? No, I think not. So what's all this about anyway? An
`exercise in nothingness?' You know what I mean, eh?"

The Void—Living On The Edge

Bank Of Bad Habits
Now let me tell you about the 7 Deadly Sins:
1. Pride...Thou shalt not have pride in thy neighbor.
2. Coveting...Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife.
3. Lust...Thou shalt not lust after his neighbor's wife.
4. Anger...Do not be angry with your neighbor's wife.
5. Gluttony...Do not eat thy neighbor's wife's ........popcorn.
6. Envy...Do not envy your neighbor's wife.
7. Sloth...Do not be a slob.
And the eighth deadly sin is............PIZZA!



Flattened Angles And Deflated Values
Waianae Beach

I needed to get away from Babbet. She was driving me crazy. The
monotonous beach life was starting to get to me too. I decided to take
my book and go to a different beach. It wasn't much different than
Keaau, but it was seven miles down the highway. After getting a ride
there, I sat under a shaded picnic table and took my book and my
journal out from my bag. I was stagnating, but writing helped.

I had been feeling different for quite some time now. It was almost as
if I had been living in some kind of vacuum. I was reading Sartre, but
his book was awfully dense, and there wasn't anybody around to talk
with about it. There wasn't anything to measure time against. The
weather wasn't any help. It was always the same. Eat, sleep, and read,
day in, and day out. I felt like I was living close to the edge. No,
that wasn't the right word. I felt like I lived close to the void,
maybe the edge of it. Oh, well, whatever! Most people didn't even know
there was a void. Living on the beach, though, kept me in tune with it.

Social fillers and addictions kept the void away. Bad habits—alcohol,
cigarettes, television, etc.—kept the void at a distance. With every
addiction came an entourage of social fillers. Take for example
smoking. Better yet, take smoking back in the Victorian era; it was a
more celebrated addiction back then. Houses had special smoking rooms.
There was a time and place for lighting up. Smoking good tobacco was a
"gentleman's right." High culture—fine food, fine clothing, fine
tobacco, etc.—came layered in levels of richness. In Victorian times,
you didn't just have a cigarette; you had a multi-leveled smoking
experience. Every fabricated satisfaction, then and now, added angles
to the void and those angles insulated the person from the void.

On the most basic of levels, it was all about desire, and what
motivates desire. The more desires, the more angles, the more angles,
the more distant the void. It was only when angles flattened out, when
values deflated, when desires lost their means for satisfaction that
a person began to feel the presence of the void. A sure fire way to
bring about that "presence," was to experience the death of a loved
one, or perhaps become diagnosed with an irreversible illness. Tragedy
flat-lined most angles, and evaporated all fillers. When everything
else went flat, the void got exposed. Living on the beach as I was,
with few social fillers at hand, I was becoming all to conscious of
the void, uncomfortably conscious.

Getting My Mind Ready For Yoga

The Spiritual Development Game
Keaau Beach, Hawaii
March 26 `73

It was another beautiful day. My invitation to join a yoga class
continued to produce benefits, even though I hadn't gone to class yet.
I couldn't stop thinking about my own philosophy and the parallel
stuff that was both in it and in Eastern philosophies. Negation seemed
to be at the heart of everything.

It had been a while since I had come to the conclusion that negation
was at the center, lying dormant, of all meaning and purpose. Life was
"just a moving on." There was nothing there except the "stuff that
moved ya," and kept you breathing. Beyond survival, and sense
gratification, nothing else really mattered. There was expedience, but
forget about good and evil, right and wrong. For the people who had
it, opportunity and advantage worked swell. But, for those who didn't,
things were not so good. The message was, as it always had been,
change things if you could, otherwise endure, endure, and endure some
more. It was your trip; enjoy the ride—if you could. But be aware,
like the clouds in the sky, nothing changes, it just moves around.
That was it; if you could rearrange the dust and keep everything mixed
up, and you're a good liar, you might actually make yourself believe
that things were getting better. Be my guest; just don't expect me to
join in on the chorus.

I guessed that was why I liked Buddhism so much. It cut to the chase.
Suffering was it; suffering was everything. When you looked at things
that way, life was so simple. There was no holding on to the "good
stuff." In the end, everything either broke down or died. Buddhism
offered some hope, though. It said, "Do this and that," and the pain
would go away. It wasn't boastful either. It said, "There is `a way'
to end suffering; take it or leave it." I liked that, short and sweet.

A couple of days ago, Babbet came to see me. I wanted to talk about
Eastern philosophy; she just wanted to talk, and she did. I listened.
When I met her again, we did talk about yoga, but it wasn't good. She
had appointed herself my spirit guide. I had very few contacts with
people that were into Eastern religion. I knew religion could become
an opiate if you let it, but I really wanted to join the yoga class. I
also knew I would do it with caution.

Down on the beach lived a group of Jesus freaks, three guys and two
girls. They kept themselves busy reading their Bibles, but when I
walked past them they would smile and sometimes wave. Yesterday, I
guess I got a little too close because the leader came forward to
greet me. He was a dark-skinned Hawaiian with dread locks hanging
down to his shoulders. He had a condescending attitude towards me, but
it was nothing substantial. I guessed he just wanted to save me. Our
conversation was important because it got me thinking that maybe I
also had a condescending attitude towards him. After all, I wasn't new
to the spiritual development game.

Sure enough, after a bit of introspection, I concluded that I too was
harboring feelings of spiritual superiority. I guess that was
inevitable. I was into Eastern philosophy both before, and after, I
glimpsed the nothingness at the center of being. It was only natural
to hook my wagon up to that program, which had spiritual development
built right into it. Once I latched onto their ideas, I automatically
felt myself on the fast track to somewhere. It was anybody's guess
where-- enlightenment, bliss, salvation, disappointment…?

After talking with the Jesus guy, I became aware of what I was doing,
and fell back to earth (or was it the abyss?). I still had "my ideas,"
and I believed in them, but they ceased to be progressive; there was
"no footing in nothingness." There was no way out of emptiness. I had
not met the Yogi yet, but his influence had already made an impact on
me. I would be ready for him at my first class.

Reincarnation And Spiritual Development

Yoga Philosophy Continued

In past incarnations we had lived different lives, played our parts,
and died. Death was just a temporary loss of consciousness. In each
lifetime we had gained experience, learned lessons, and profited by
our mistakes. We may not remember much about a certain day or week
that took place twenty years ago, but the influences of those events
are still with us. In the same way, we may not remember our previous
existences, but those lifetimes are still affecting our behavior
today. After each life lived, according to yogi philosophy, our personal experience
gets boiled down (metaphor here) with the leftovers going into
our new life -–our new and improved lives (hopefully)—which, after a while, we
took (are taking) to a new level of spiritual enfoldment.

And so it continues on into the present. Spiritual development and
growth is continuous, and, accordingly, we are much more than a
product of local influences. Our souls may have existed for ages,
working their way up from lower to higher—always progressing, always
unfolding. That development had, for the most part, taken place
unconsciously, but then we met a yogi who told us that we could take
the "bull by the horns," so to speak, and propel our spiritual
development towards enlightenment. To accomplish that, however, we had
to follow him and practice yoga. From our point of view, the
perspective of the struggling disciple, it's a huge struggle to get
from the lower to the higher, but from the Spirit Level of
consciousness (and here is the ironic twist), all levels became
enfolded into one Being. So at the end of the line, after all the
effort, we would arrive back at the beginning.

In terms of the cost/benefit ratio, I was not sure what to make of it
all. I guess it turned on how uncomfortable you were with your present
life. "Spirit" developed anyway, whether you practiced yoga or not. I
took comfort in that thought and I looked forward to attending yoga class.
Passing up an opportunity like that would have been stupid,
especially since I had the time and inclination.

Yoga Philosophy

Shiva-Vishnu Temple Bay Area California

Writing About Yoga
Keaau Beach, Oahu

When I got back to Keaau nobody was around. I was glad for that, so I
used that time to write down everything I could remember about yoga. I
had the aid of the pamphlet that I picked up at the Vishnu temple.
When I tried the temple doors, I found them locked. It was time for me
to return to the beach anyway, but before I left, I took with me one
of the free yoga pamphlets that were in a box.

Yoga was at least as old as the Vedic hymns (Indian spiritual
teachings). The hymns went back many hundreds of years before Christ.
Ever since that time, yoga had been passed down from teacher to
disciple, and, according the great Yogis, it taught how to communicate
with the divine. Underneath everything else, we are all divine, or so
sayeth the great Yogis.

The highest-level divine manifestations came in two forms,
soul-consciousness and universal-consciousness. On a personal level,
soul-consciousness was our real self, or our atman. That self was not
our body or even our mind. Body and mind, according to the pamphlet,
fell under the category of "personality." Our real self was what
produced our individuality. It was independent of body, which it
inhabited, and mind, which it used as an instrument. Our real self was
a drop from the divine ocean. Yoga practice, the age-tested means to
soul-consciousness awareness, was the method used to raise
consciousness up to the level of divine awareness. Usually, exercises
in meditation and rhythmic breathing were considered part of the
practice. All of these skills helped in the liberation process.
Acquiring atman-consciousness was one's admission ticket to the big
one, or universal-consciousness.

The human Spirit (which was really the same thing as
soul-consciousness) was a drop in the ocean of Spirit, a drop in the
ocean of universal-consciousness. It appeared separate and distinct,
but it was really in touch with the ocean itself and with every other
drop in the ocean. Yoga practice allowed spiritual consciousness to
unfold, and the practioner (in theory at least) would become more and
more aware as the developmental process continued. Eventually, if all
went well, the disciple would almost achieve at-one-ment with
Universal Spirit (and in some cases, they did). According to the
pamphlet, meditation and rhythmic breathing were the tools that
enabled one to attain higher states of consciousness. At the highest
level of consciousness, soul-consciousness and universal-consciousness
merged.

The most basic of all spiritual levels was the physical. Here, the
body was trained in motion and posture. Next was the level of psychic
phenomena, the Astral level. This was the level of spirit closest to
the body. Next up, was "vital force," or Prana. Breath, for the yogis,
was life, and life was breath; master one and you mastered the other.

Instinctive-mind was the next level up, and above that was the
Intellect. Sensation ruled on the level of Instinctive-mind, while the
first glimmer of self-consciousness was felt at the level of
Intellect. Spiritual-mind was the level above Intellect. Hunger for
more consciousness (more light) was supremely felt at that level. Even
if the desire for more light at the Spiritual-mind level was not felt
directly, it was still there. According to the yogis, consciousness
raising was a push/pull affair. The spirit got pulled (as it got
pushed) into higher levels of consciousness.

Finally, on the Spirit Level of consciousness, the seventh level,
True Being got realized. The few, who had achieved it, according to
the yogis, experienced it through a love that encompassed the lowliest
of the lows and the Holiest of the highs. On that level, there were no
exclusions. Everything got included.

Freedom Train--Last Stop--All Aboard

People get ready
There's a train a-coming
You don't need no baggage
You just get on board
All you need is faith
To hear the diesels humming
Don't need no ticket
You just thank the Lord
People get ready
For the train to Jordan
Picking up passengers
From coast to coast


A Homecoming Story

A young child may desire more freedom, but what she lacks in freedom, she makes up for in family connections. Eventually, she comes of age, leaves home, and gains more freedom. She’s still connected to family, but that connection does not interfere with her new found freedom. Desiring even more freedom, she goes off to university, earns her PhD, and obtains employment and a compensating salary befitting her educational accomplishments. In other words, she has earned her freedom, but in the process, she has left family connections behind, or, perhaps a better way to say this is she left behind the stifling aspect of freedom-denying family connections. This liberated lady, soon thereafter, weds, has children, and begins anew this process which sustains life and her family linage. But, more importantly, freedom, at every turn, requires a break with the past. Sociologically speaking, these significant breaks with the past are called “rites of passage.” But, for the purpose of this homecoming journey (this blog), freedom generated “rites of passage” both define and produce new dimensions of freedom – a change in kind, not degree, of freedom.

We are born into a world of knowledge and knowing, and knowledge expands as a consequence of time, but the real throttle of this knowing process--the actualization of what is unique in human freedom, lies in our capacity to actualize our own non-being. Simply put, every time we ask a question we actualize in the question our own non-being. Whether we like it or not our knowledge expands, but when we ask a question we accelerate this expansion. Our passive experience of time does not produce a great deal of knowledge, but because we bring the logical relationships implicit in freedom’s structure to bear on an event, we are free to create judgments (and the values which follow from those judgments) concerning the significance and probable cause of an event. These judgments are determined valid across a continuum that ranges from sensation divorced from theory, at one end, to sensation reinforced by the most advanced and respected scientific theory available. There are no guarantees that the answers we propose in response to our questions will match up with corresponding events, yet scientists have a pretty good track record when it comes to the discovery and confirmation of these answers. In experience that is not accountable to scientific confirmation, however, we determine, via our judgments and emotions, appropriate behavior. It is at this level of preferred behavior, this level of "willed consciousness participation" (as it is called by Owen Barfield), that we encounter our potential for the highest order of expressed freedom—our ethical and moral judgments.

In our ability to step outside of our “mental space” (break with our past) and ask questions, we acquire the capacity to overcome the obstacles that restrict our freedom. When this ability was first acquired there was not much that separated humans from other animals, but after 300,000 years of actualizing freedom’s latent potential, we, the species Homo sapiens, are enjoying a wealth of freedom(s). The history of civilization records, albeit partially, the actualization of this “coming of age process.” To put this in the perspective of our little miss above—think of all the hard work and sacrifice that she put into her struggle to obtain her PhD; her task accomplished, she was rewarded with emotional, psychological, and financial freedom. Winning freedom is never easy. It begins with an obstacle and, with hard work and some luck, it ends with more freedom. There is one certainty that is inescapable, however; freedom is the rock--and we are all Sisyphus; and we remain as such until the end of the journey, the journey home.

Homecoming Train—All Aboard

As was pointed out in the “about section” of this blog, the retelling of my own homecoming journey is also about a more universal journey, a journey through the “stranger in each and everyone of us,” a journey back to the source of what it means to be a human being. During the three years I spent on the road from ’69 to ’73, I had no clue that I was on board this Homecoming train, but, in Hawaii, the clues started piling up. It wasn’t until the 1980’s, however, that I discovered that I was not alone on this train; and, like it or not, aware or not, all the rest of us are on board this train too!

Listed below are some of the more important “drop off--pick up” stations this train passes through on its way to its final destination. Let the words-- “The Pains of”-- precede each train stop; for instance, the first stop, “Love”, becomes “The Pains of Love” (The Pains of--the Buddha’s first noble truth).


1. Love—All aboard.
2. Void—All aboard.
3. Prejudice/ignorance—All aboard.
4. Percept Is A Product—All aboard.
5. Death/the inevitable—All aboard.
6. Knowledge—All aboard.
7. Science/method/structure/freedom—All aboard.
8. Religion/the journey inward—All aboard.
9. We’re not in Kansas anymore/the rediscovery of our lost identity—All aboard.
10. Human meaning/freedom—All aboard.
11. The Voice of Contingency/the voice that binds self to society, others, and God All aboard.

Two excellent observers peered into the abyss; both saw and described God differently. Hopefully, over time, this blog will make clear why the two observers below are describing the one and only God.
“The mind and the world are opposites, and vision arises where they meet. When the mind doesn’t stir inside, the world doesn’t arise outside. When the world and the mind are both transparent, this is true vision. And such understanding is true understanding.” Bodhidharma

“That you need God more than anything, you know at all times in your heart. But don’t you know also that God needs you–in the fullness of his eternity, you? How would man exist if God did not need him, and how would you exist? You need God in order to be, and God needs you for that which is the meaning of your life.”
Martin Buber

Different Times Required Different Methods-Lotus Sutra And Dharma Are One

Buddhist Worship Alter

Honolulu
Nichiren Shoshu, Buddhism

Greeted by the man opening the door, I entered the building and
the first thing I noticed was that the temple area was not opened for
viewing. It was behind closed doors. After I told the man I was
curious about his religion, he invited me into his office and told me
to have a seat. He asked me, "What would you like to know?" I replied,
"I was curious about what makes Nichiren Shoshu different from Zen
Buddhism or from Buddhism in general?" Actually, I already knew
something about this sect because many years ago some fluke of fate
got me initiated into it. I had no idea what I was getting into back
then, but, later, when I made some inquiries, I was not impressed. I
had come here only to confirm what I already suspected. I just played
dumb when the man in the suit answered my question. "We are all
Buddhists," he said. "The Buddha taught how to put an end to
suffering. All Buddhists work toward that end."

"How come I don't see any Buddha statues around here?" I said, "At
the Zen Temple a huge statue greeted me."

"All Buddhists want to put an end to suffering," he replied, "but the
methods for doing so are different for different Buddhists. At
Nichiren Shoshu, we believe in the teachings of the monk, Nichiren
Diashonan. He taught that different times required different methods
to put an end to suffering. After all, the methods that worked at the
time of the Buddha are not necessarily going to work in today's world.
Things are different for people living under the stresses of modern
society. In fact, the Buddha knew that his teachings would have to
change. He predicted that his teachings would lose meaning over time.
It was the monk, Nichiren, who revived the Buddha's teachings. He
taught the Lotus Sutra, the most powerful of all Buddhist sutras.
During the Buddha's time, the sutra was taught to only the few who
could understand its elevated truths. Here at Nichiren Shoshu, we
believe that the dharma of the highest Truth and the Lotus Sutra are
one. The Truth is in the dharma, not in the Buddha. That is why you
do not see Buddha statues in this temple."

The guy was convincing, but when I continued to question him, I got
the same old line: Reverencing "Gonyo," repetitive prayers to the
Lotus Sutra, eliminated suffering. I knew that to eliminate suffering,
according to the Buddha, you had to eliminate desire, attachment, and
craving, but the monk Nichiren, in a seeming contradiction, taught
that prayers were answered when desires got satisfied. Reverence to
the Lotus Sutra and the Nichiren Shoshu way in general, was all that
was required in order to get your prayers answered. What a deal! I
thanked the guy and told him I would probably be back to see him, but
I knew I wouldn't.

Zen Temple

Zen Temple which replaced the old one that I visited back in '73

Checking Out Nuuanu Ave.

I knew from past experience that the Honolulu's
"religious culture" was concentrated on Nuuanu Ave. I especially
wanted to go to Nichiren Shoshu, the Japanese Buddhist temple.
When I arrived, it was a bit intimidating. All the temples looked
exclusive and private. The doors were open to the Zen Temple, so I
walked up the steps and went inside. Up by the altar sat a large
Buddha statue (three times my size). It was painted gold with jewels
and other paraphernalia decorating the place where it sat. The Buddha
looked expensive and ornate. It was beautiful, though. I stood there
quietly. I had never been in a real Buddhist Temple before. I could
feel the presence of the spirit. I was in awe. I stood motionless for
a long time. Then, from behind a back panel, out walked this monk. I
guessed he was a monk; his robes were, like the Buddha, lined in gold
broche. He looked at me (scowled might be a better way of putting it)
and then began attending to the shrine.

In that one transforming glance, everything changed. When I first saw
the monk I wanted to talk to him. I wanted him to help me get to know
the Buddha better. But, under his stare that feeling all but
disappeared. I became uncomfortable. I felt like an intruder. I
remained silent, but when I looked around I no longer felt like I was
standing on Holy ground. Rather, I saw before me the established
church. I saw the mortar and architecture of a building. I saw the
rules and regulations that set people apart from one another. I saw
the private property that transformed me into a lowly vagabond, a
"threat" to somebody else's "stuff." I turned and, in silence,
returned to the street. When I went into the other Japanese Buddhist
Temple, I had a different experience.

Yoga For Beginners

Keaau Beach, Hawaii
March `73

A couple of days ago, I was sitting by the ocean, playing my
recorder, when two ladies walked up and started asking me questions.
After they finished with the initial introductions the short, heavyset
lady asked me if I had ever practiced yoga. After I told her no, she
told me a class was starting up, and she would be joining it. She said
her friend was the teacher and he was looking for students. She said,
"When Ruth and I saw you playing music by the ocean, I just knew you
would want to join the class." I told her, Babbet, that I had read
books about yoga, but I had never practiced. "Don't worry," she said,
"the class is for beginners."

Babbet offered to drive me to the class. It was going to be held in
Waianae, the next town down from Makaha. Although I was looking
forward to joining the class (the class didn't start for another
week), I wasn't exactly thrilled with Babbet. Apparently, I had
committed to being her beach boy confidant. Within a few days (she
visited me everyday) I knew her entire life story. I found out that
she and her husband were having problems, and that "growing old"
bothered the hell out her. I actually had to schedule a trip into
Honolulu just to get away from her. The excellent Asian food peddled
by the Ala Moana vendors was enough to get me to Honolulu all by
itself, but this time around I wanted to visit some of the religious
temples too.

Life – Eulogy For White Fang

Keaau Beach, Hawaii

I never really recovered from the dog pee in the eye incident. The problem went away,
though. The male dogs screwed little White Fang until she got sick and
died. I was doing business in Honolulu at the time, and when I returned to the beach,
Danny broke the news to me. He told me the ground was too hard to bury
her, so they threw her body into the dumpster. I needed a bit more
closure than that, and I got it by writing her this little eulogy:

White Fang

A stray dog; a hungry dog; a thief.
Provoked anger, mingled with supplication,
culminating in compassion;
a food cash now divided among two species.

Time passed, and a
new home proved expedient.
The dog followed.
Picnic extravagance was much appreciated.
Days of resolute effort turned into
days of tumble and roll.
White Fang had found friends:
Keoki, Mo, Yesika, Primo, Jack, and Short Tail.



The setting sun signaled the end of play
and the beginning of White Fang's vigil.
Witnessed by the light of the moon
two heads lay upon the same pillow.
The divine disclosure of ripe fertility turned
White Fang into the most popular dog in the park.

Pursuit embodied activity
interruption defined routine
excited dogs fighting among themselves
Chaos defined the night.
Evanescent organism
left more than memories.

Two weeks of flight
ended in unnatural quietude.
Exhaustion turned to sickness
leaving a drained and limp body.
Convulsions ushered in death.

Delivered into the garbage can
emotion was rendered neutral.
After two days of rotting dog
empathy lapsed into repulsion.
The garage man was applauded.
White Fang was forgotten.

Pissed Off—Dog’s Rule

Keaau Beach, Hawaii

Edible garbage never lasted long. There was always a stay dog around
to eat it. Every once in a while a dog would disappear from the beach,
but replacements were only a matter of time. Once, after I bought a
five-pound bag of dog food, White Fang reverted to her thieving ways
(there were no cupboards on the beach). That time she took her
boyfriend, Primo, down with her. The two dogs made a shambles of the
inside of my tent. Uneaten portions of dog food were scattered
everywhere. After that, she had to settle for table scrapes. There
were times she went to bed hungry, but that never stopped her from
protecting the tent from intruders. At night, under the light of the
moon, her white body could be seen from far away, and upon close
inspection, my darker silhouette could be seen sleeping right next to her.

Living together was always hard, and just when she and I were getting
along the best, the curse of curses struck. White Fang went into heat, and
after that chaos reigned. Dogs didn't just hang out around my tent after that; they fought each other for White Fang's affection. The problem was she wanted none
of it. I tried to keep the dogs away from her, but I was only
partially successful. There was really nothing I could do except be
irritated, and I was, very, very, irritated.

One night when I was sleeping, and White Fang was tucked safe away
inside the tent, a dog woke me up. Outside, above my head, I awoke to
the cocked leg of a male dog. Before I could react, I got an eyeful of
piss. What a stinging, hurtful, pain, to be roused from sleep at 4 a.m. with a burning sensation in your eye, and dog pee running down your cheek. I didn't
have time to think. I ran to the water faucet up where the cars were
parked and flushed my face with cold water. When I returned I guessed
the dogs could sense my anger because only a few remained.
The sad part was that I couldn't even identify the culprit, it all
happened too fast. When I laid back down, the smell of urine was all
over my jacket and pillow.

Doggy World—A Community Of Their Own

Keaau Beach, Hawaii

I first met the dog while camping on beer can beach (Makua); back
then she was just a stray, thieving, dog. For the most part, it was
food that came between us. It's hard to stay mad at a hungry dog,
though, so we sort of adopted each other. When I left Makuua, she
followed. At Keaau, picnic leftovers were abundant and a smart dog
learned quickly how to fend for herself. In other words, White Fang
(her camp name) no longer had to steal food from me in order to
survive. Actually, once I got my unemployment money, it became a
fifty/fifty proposition. I would feed her some of the time and she
would eat "can food" the rest. During the day she would hang out with
four or five other strays. On the beach, garbage kept the dogs alive.
Her two best buds, One-Eyed Jack, a half-blind collie, and Primo, a
dwarfed yellow lab, used to hang at my tent. At night, though, it was
only White Fang that would show up to sleep. It was her home; every
once in a while that caused problems.

When it rained White Fang figured I put the tent up just for her. In
the beginning, I tried to stop her from getting inside, especially on
that first night when she had her boyfriend, Primo, with her. I
blocked her from coming in the front, but she was sly and smart. She
went to the back and squeezed in from underneath. I could have kicked
her out, but I didn't. Instead, I ended up cramped, sleeping in an
undersized tent with two smelly, wet dogs. In that unpleasant environment,
upon falling asleep, I dreamt about dogcatchers, and they weren't nightmares.

Moving On Up—New Tent

In the pictures above, White Fang is under the cement picnic table and again, she is lying down in the dark patch of shade under the bush by the orange tent; hard to see, but at least she's captured on film.

My beach dog
March ‘73

When I picked up my mail in Honolulu I got a
surprise. Carol Sue was coming over to visit me. She would be here by
week's end and planned to stay for at least a month. I was surprised,
happy, and then anxious. Time would tell if that would turn out okay.
I'd postponed looking for a job for a while. C.S. probably was as
capable as anybody when it came to living in this kind of environment. I
just hoped she knew what she was getting herself into. In her letter
she said she was bringing the basics with her, meaning, I guessed,
that it was up to me to prepare for her arrival.

Before I left Honolulu I bought a new tent. It was big enough for both
of us. Back on the beach, after setting it up, I realized I was
embarking on a whole new lifestyle. The tent was huge, waterproof, and
private. My canvass pup tent, open in front, airy around the bottom,
not large enough to stretch out in, sat beside the bright, new, orange
nylon tent. It was now downgraded to mere storage. That faded piece of
canvass had a lot of memories attached to it, though. I swore I could
still see White Fang, the bitch terrier, sleeping on the blanket
inside. With my trusty terrier lying by my head, I used to feel safe
and secure.

Keaau Surfing—The Protocol

The Haulie Factor

Straight out from the park there was no beach, just a rocky coral
shelf. It was great to walk on, but swimming was dangerous.
More often than not, the waves would throw you up against the shelf's jagged
edges (not a pleasant experience). The swimming beach was at the north
end of Keaau, that's where the surfers congregated. That's also where
I tried surfing (I was given a surfboard as present when one of the surfers
went back to the mainland). I found the surfing protocol too demanding,
though.

In Hawaii, I was considered haulie (a white skinned non Hawaiian).
Among the locals, haulies were considered either a threat, or just
an undesirable part of the landscape. When it came to surfing, though,
haulies (at least at Keaau) were expected defer to the locals. To
avoid offending anybody, it was best to surf when nobody was out on
the waves, and that was only when the surf was down. Bodysurfing was
different, however. Those waves broke close to shore. Actually, I was more
than happy to let the locals have their waves. All I needed to make me
happy was to be able to see, hear, and feel the waves. If I had to, I
could do that from the rocky shelf or anywhere else.

In fact, I spent a good deal of time sitting next to the shelf’s tidal
pools. These natural aquariums offered up crayfish and other assorted marine
animals a breather from Ma Nature’s food chain. Cradled safely within
the pools, the young escaped from the ocean’s more dangerous waters and
tidal currents. Sitting above the pools, I would watch as the baby eel gracefully
plucked algae from the pitted rock surfaces while the more colorful tiny fish
darted to and fro across the bottoms of the larger pools. Occasionally, an
overzealous wave would wash across these tidal pools, sending crabs and
company back into the sea where dinner was constantly being served.
But, until high tide at least, most of these prodigious youth would remain
free from the meld that, ultimately, weaves everything back into the
patchwork of nature’s organic quilt.

Changing Currents Of Beach Life

Keaau, Hawaii

Sleeping night after night with my head and shoulders outside my
tent, and looking up at the beautiful sky, I felt weirdly in sink with
the phases of the moon. Over time, that experience would only deepen,
however, that said, the beach hours, days, and weeks were so woven
together that they were almost indistinguishable.

On the beach, people came and left on a regular basis. Rich, Eddy's
buddy, went back to the mainland because he didn't want to turn into a
Doobie Brother. He thought he was the last real person left on the
beach. He said, "Everyone has already turned," meaning, I guessed,
that over time, people on the beach turned into "Doobies." When Rich
left, he gave me his thick, cushy, pad to sleep on. I slept much
better after that. Rich was a "good Doobie."

The used car people arrived on the beach about the same time that Rich
left. Squeaky Robert (that's short for Squeaky Clean Robert) and Tony
Truthful (these guys picked their own names) sold used cars back in
L.A. They worked for one of the largest dealers in the west, and
because they were good at what they did, they got an expense paid
vacation to Hawaii (the dealers incentive program). This was Robert
and Tony's third year here. They told me, "Everything you've ever
heard about used car salespeople is true. Believe it, its all true!" I
found these guys exceptionally friendly. We did a lot of bodysurfing
together.