Alexandersmap

    Month: April 2024

    • Between the Mortal and the Enduring

      “When you are desiring things and fearing things, that’s mortality. The three temptations of the Buddha—desire, fear, and duty—are what hold you in the field of time. When you put the hermetic seal around yourself and, by discriminating between the mortal and the enduring, you find that still place within yourself that does not change, that’s when you’ve achieved nirvāṇa. That still point is the firmly burning flame that is not rippled by any wind.” — Joseph Campbell, A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living

      We each wrestle with the three temptations that hold us in place. Surely, it would be irresponsible of us to simply march off deep into the woods amongst the trees, or atop a summit amongst the clouds, or if you like, to sail off into bliss amongst the rolling waves. And yet it is the desire to hold on to what we already have, or the fear of the unknown, or perhaps simply a sense of duty to others that hold us in place. There’s nothing wrong with staying in place, mind you, but we must remember the price: Tempus fugit.

      To see the world as it really is—to reach nirvana—is to see ourselves as we really are. We are skating the line between the mortal and the enduring, but our bodies are decidedly mortal. The fragility of this life is exactly why we wrestle so much with those three temptations in the first place. We might feel we’re running out of time, or fear we’re missing out on true fulfillment, as we plod along in our chosen role as child, spouse, parent, employee, teammate, friend, follower, mentor… whatever. The shackles are ours alone, aren’t they? Enlightenment was never role-dependent. We become who we will be in our time or we leave this world with untapped potential. It’s up to us to choose the next step.

      We know intuitively what endures. This lifetime is a quest for connection and enlightenment, that we may pick up, carry and then pass the torch to those who follow. Of course, the torch is a metaphor, it is the light we carry within ourselves and pass along. We may burn brightly when we shed the things that dampen our spirit.

      The thing is, we don’t have to chase after dreams, we simply have to reach towards awareness. We may still reach for that place within ourselves that does not change. We may still choose something enduring, even as we accept that we ourselves are mortal. Even as we feel the hold of our accumulated obligations, desires and fears, we should realize that we shouldn’t be chasing anything—we are simply becoming something.

    • To See What We See

      “The traveler sees what he sees. The tourist sees what he has come to see.”
      ― G.K. Chesterton

      I’m curious about the world, and so I wish to venture out into it to see what I might see. It’s the same reason I walk out into the backyard every morning, to see what the sky looks like, to see the progress of the garden, to feel the coolness of the breeze and realize the potential in the day. If I feel this way walking into the backyard, it follows that I’d be equally curious about any other place I might go to, don’t you think? So it is that simply traveling to check boxes is not nearly enough.

      We know the old expression; to live an interesting life, we must be interested. To be curious about the universe spinning around us is the opposite of being self-centered. Looking outward inquisitively draws the universe into our orbit, enriching us all as the walls between fall away. We rise to meet the moment in such interactions, and become something far more than an empty soul.

      In this moment, I’m standing lightly atop a stepping stone, having landed from back-to-back trips and gathering myself to launch into the next trip. By the time I’ve done the laundry I’ll be packing up once again. These are days you’ll remember, I tell myself, even as I look around at this place I’ve landed in (home) with a fresh set of eyes. Every day should offer something to remember, if we remain open to seeing what unfolds before us.

      The best way to savor anything is to realize that it’s all going to fall away one day. We may never pass this way again. So make the most of it when we’re in that moment. That goes for travel as much as parenting or gardening or eating a great meal. There is only now, and this. So what do we see?

    • We Can Only Try

      I have often asked myself the reason for the sadness
      In a world where tears are just a lullaby
      If there’s any answer, maybe love can end the madness
      Maybe not, oh, but we can only try
      — Carol King, Beautiful

      We all know the old expression about the glass being half full or half empty. Are we optimists or pessimists at heart? A stoic might say neither are right, that the glass is simply at the halfway point and we ought to be realistic about that and nothing more. Perhaps. But we all move through this world carrying light or darkness, wearing it on our faces, and the world reacts to us in kind.

      If each step of the journey is the entire point of living, then we ought to find some beauty in the moment. We must learn to carry the light, that we may not stumble into darkness. And brighten the faces of those we encounter along the way. They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If beauty is also a reflection of who we are deep inside, shouldn’t that tell us something about ourselves?

      There are days when I quietly quit the world, feeling it’s not my role to be positive or to contribute to the greater good. I’ve done my part, I think to myself, and now it’s time to be less generous with my goodwill. Eventually I snap out of it, shaking off the narcissistic self-talk and come back to the light. What are we here for, after all, but to contribute a verse? Why squander that? We can only try to make that verse beautiful, that others may see.

    • Between There’s

      When we travel frequently, our sense of place is slightly askew. At the moment, fresh off a trip out west, I’m trying hard to immerse myself in the glorious spring days of home while focusing more and more attention to another big trip to come soon. It’s akin to waves rolling onto the beach: each worth of consideration on their own merit, each pulling at our feet as they recede away from us on their return to the sea. If we are to be present between there and there, we must naturally be here. Easier said than done sometimes.

      No matter how busy I feel myself to be, I stop and smell the roses. Alas, it’s not the season for roses just yet in New Hampshire, so I delight in the daffodils and purple hyacinth. My daughter used that expression when we were together on Sunday smelling roses in Los Angeles, and I thought of her as I stepped outside to smell the daffodils and hyacinth on a sunny Tuesday morning back at home. The expression fit both moments; locking in a memory of each place.

      One of the gifts to ourselves in gardening is to plant perennials that come back year-after-year. I planted those daffodils and hyacinth years ago, when the kids were home and life felt very different. Each spring I spend a few moments with each, a reunion of sorts, before moving on to the obligations of the day. Nothing is more “here” than a flower in bloom. They are forever grounded, often long after we ourselves move on to other things. We could learn a few things from them, I suppose, about the essential nature of here, and we scurry between there’s.

    • The Question of Questions

      Over the weekend I had the opportunity to visit both the Getty Center with its impressive collection and the Getty Villa, with its focus on the ancient arts. I could write a year’s worth of blog posts about the combined collected works we viewed there. Alas, we know how these things go. I’ve got hundreds of pictures and notes from similar encounters that have yet to be realized in creative output by this humble blogger. Every day something new may grab hold of us and demand our focus, leaving old ideas and stories to drift away, to be grabbed by someone else someday.

      We dance with the muse when we are blessed with its attention, whatever the topic may be. At the Getty Villa I came face-to-face with the muse, in the form of a Roman fresco from between 1 and 79 A.D. It’s been whispering to me ever since we met. I’m sharing a picture of the fresco here, that you may decide for yourself whether its power transcends plaster and pigment through bits and bytes.

      The thing is, I know only that I still have work to do beyond the blog. If we don’t listen to the muse it finds someone else. We must be deserving of its attention. My encounter with the muse was a reminder that there’s still work to be done. To answer the question of questions: Tempus fugit (time flies). So what have you done with it?

      Fresco with a Muse, displayed at the Getty Villa Museum

    • A Hike to the Hollywood Sign

      If there’s anything iconic in Los Angeles, it’s the Hollywood sign. It’s so deeply engrained in our cultural awareness that when you actually see if for the first time it doesn’t seem real. But there it is, atop Mount Lee, surrounded by chain link fencing, surveillance cameras and warning signs about trespassing. One should heed the warnings, if only to avoid the rattlesnakes and Mountain Lions said to roam the area.

      And that’s the irony of the Hollywood sign: for something so famously welcoming, it’s surrounded by signs telling you to stay the heck away from it. The neighbors don’t want you anywhere near it. The people who protect the sign from vandals take great measures to remind you to stay away from it too. What’s a hiker to do but press on in the face of all the dire warning signs? There are public trails leading to it, after all. The aim isn’t to get within arm’s length of the letters—it’s to be close enough to say you got there.

      We hiked up there early on a raw, wet Sunday morning. There were plenty of other hikers making the same trek, including a busload of tourists with umbrellas and a couple of small groups led by tour guides. The hike is roughly 5 miles round trip from the closest parking area, on terrain (access road) that is forgiving for the sneaker-wearers. Total elevation for our hike was 856 feet. So really, anyone healthy enough to walk it can make it to the summit of Mount Lee, just behind the sign. There are surely longer hikes, but in a land of mudslides those aren’t so fun in the rain.

      So why do it at all? Because it’s there, partly, but also because it’s got amazing views of Los Angeles on a clear day. And really, because it’s kind of cool to say that you’ve done it at least once. Hiking snobs may sniff at the elevation or the bands of tourists swarming around them, but who cares? Sometimes simply hiking for fun is more than enough of a reason to go.

      Los Angeles rising through the mist

      Access road signage designed to jolt the casual tourist to awareness

    • A Visit to the Getty Center’s Gardens

      “Always changing, never twice the same,” — Robert Irwin

      A day at the Getty must include a visit to the extensive collections exhibited in the museum buildings. Included in the collection are famous works like Vincent van Gogh’s “Irises” and Rembrandt’s self-portrait “Rembrandt Laughing“, along with significant works by Cézanne, Monet, Claudel and many more. One needs a full day at the Getty to see everything, and even then you feel compelled to return again as soon as possible.

      The gardens at the Getty Center are equally impressive and a must-see destination of their own. Robert Irwin’s Central Garden is a marvel in any season, and as with any magnificent garden, he practically demands that you see it in every season. In all honesty, I’d been wanting to see the museum for some time, but it was the gardens that really called to me. They don’t disappoint.

      Robert Irwin’s Central Garden is the star, with a stunning water feature, iron rod tree sculptures with bougainvillea rising through them, and an ever-changing flower-lined meandering path that leads you down to a central pond. It’s simply a must-see. Not to be undone, the Cactus Garden reaches out towards Los Angeles and the Pacific Ocean in a dramatic balcony seen from different levels. Other gardens fill the Getty as well: sculpture gardens, fountains and large rock gardens make wandering outside the museum as desirable as your time spent indoors.

      For me personally, it was time with my daughter in a magical place. She shares my love of art and the artistic process, and is pursuing her own dream to have a creative, expressive career. To share the Getty experience with her made the moment. For we too are always changing and never the same twice. And isn’t that also quite beautiful?

    • Killing Gods

      “You must kill your god. If you are to advance, all fixed ideas must go.” — Joseph Campbell, A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living

      “Do you want to change the world? How about beginning with yourself? How about being transformed yourself first? But how do you achieve that? Through observation. Through understanding. With no interference or judgment on your part. Because what you judge you cannot understand.” — Anthony de Mello, Awakening

      I was having a drink with an old friend this week when the conversation turned to transformative books. Anthony de Mello’s Awakening was the second book I recommended, but the one I said to read first. It’s foundational in that way, when we’re ready for it.

      Having recommended the book so strongly, I went back to it again myself while waiting out a flight delay. The quote above had been highlighted and most likely used in this blog a few years ago. Interestingly, the quote from Campbell was highlighted the same day. A sign that I’m on the right path? Perhaps. There’s no doubt that Campbell’s book stirs the soul similarly. When the student is ready, as they say.

      We must be open to everything to reach our potential in this lifetime. To move towards enlightenment (dare I say). And so it is that all fixed ideas must go. We must consume disparate thoughts and opinions and find the truth within ourselves. Make ourselves uncomfortable and birth new ideas. And maybe even write about it, that others may challenge us in our conclusions. To kill a god surely stirs others, as we ourselves have been stirred. In this way we may grow together.

    • Big Things

      “Big things happen because you do a lot of small things supremely well and they compound over time.” — Jim Collins, Good to Great

      The compounding effect of small things done consistently over time builds momentum in our lives. To do those small things supremely well all the time is a stretch goal, for that is reserved for those destined for personal excellence (Arete). Most people choose good enough.

      The daily standard we set for ourselves is thus essential to how close we ever get to personal excellence. I have a long way to go myself, perhaps you’re tracking better. The question we all must ask ourselves as we immerse in this daily reconciliation with ourselves and time is straightforward: what do we want from life? Every habit, routine and system is built with our why somewhere in our minds, and our success or failure in doing all those small things supremely well is the lag measure of our days (and a lead measure of our lives).

      Taking a microscope to our small things, which way are they directing us? Is today our high point for the balance of our lives or the base for an epic climb to greatness? These next steps matter a great deal given the answer, don’t they?

    • Only Us

      There is no them
      There’s only us
      — U2, Invisible

      Remember that feeling when we reached a point where we could safely gather with friends, family and colleagues again? After vaccinations and herd immunity overcame the underlying uncertainty of social gatherings? The feeling was connection: Face-to-face interaction, communication, a dance of ideas, hopes and dreams. There was no them, only us, once again.

      This week I’m at an industry event seeing people I’ve known for years and meeting some for the first time. The dynamic of collaborative exchange is positive and productive, and friendships are formed through mutual investment in the welfare of the other. The reunions have been profound. The introductions hopeful.

      The more we interact with others, the closer we approach our purpose. Could it be as simple as realizing and then acting upon the realization? Or are we tasked with forever discovery? Doesn’t it begin with an acceptance of who and where we are?