Dreams

¡Hola! Everybody...
This is one of my favorite times of the year. Coming from an extended family, I have some great, great memories of the holidays. Memories of family get-togethers, eccentrics and their outlandish behavior, scandals, and yes, lot’s of love. But this time of the year is special for me in a very personal way because I celebrate an anniversary of sorts. It was 20 years ago I first began the process of liberation... but I will recount that story over at Subversify this Friday.

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-=[ Dreamtime ]=-

You see things as they are and ask, “Why.” I see things that never were and ask, “Why not.”

-- G.B. Shaw

People think I’m kidding around when I say I used to study in my sleep, but it’s true. I used to take heavy workloads in school. 20-24 credits per semester, plus being married and the primary caregiver to young child didn’t leave me much time, so even my sleep was put to use. According to a Nobel Prize-winning biologist, dreams are nothing more than hallucinations produced as the brain flushes out neuro-chemical waste. I couldn’t disagree more.

I’ve written before how one dream changed my life, and I’ll repost that some other time, but there many forceful arguments against the above assertion. Take the life of Harriet Tubman, for example. After escaping slavery in 1849, she went back (!!!) to organize the Underground Railroad and personally led 300 slaves to freedom. Talk about a power of example. Anyway, what few history books choose to document is the fact that Tubman often relied on her dreams to provide specific information about where to find safe houses, helpers, and passages through dangerous territory. Robert Moss tells the whole story in his book, dreaming True.

There are countless examples of dreams working to change our waking reality in deeply transformative ways. The chemist Friedrich August Kekule von Stradonitz solved his scientific mystery with the help of a dream. In 1865, after numerous unsuccessful attempts to find the precise structure of the benzene ring, he had a dream of a snake biting its own tail. With this vivid image in his when he awoke he finally guessed the solution that had eluded him. What if the six carbon atoms of benzene formed a closed ring – the shape formed by the snake – and not a mere chain, as he previously believed? The resulting research that came after this “Aha!” moment revolutionized organic chemistry.

The Russian chemist Dmitiri Mendelyev worked for years to discover a matrix for classifying the elements, but the turning point in his search came in a dream. It revealed to him the system which is now called the Periodic Table of Elements.

In the mid 1800s, Elias Howe dreamt of being chased by cannibals holding spears with holes in the top. This inspired him to design a sewing needle with the eye in its tip, which in turn led him to invent the sewing machine.

Otto Loewi struggled for 17 long years to prove his hunch that the transmission of nerve impulses traveled chemically and not electrically as was the prevailing theory of the time. In 1920 he had a dream that revealed how to design an experiment to determine whether his hypothesis was correct. The experiment succeeded resulting in his winning the Nobel Prize.

Dante Aligheri finished his masterpiece, The Divine Comedy, before he died in 1321. But when his sons tried to assemble the manuscript for publication, they realized parts of it were missing. After many days of searching they had given up hope. Then the spirit of Dante appeared in one his son’s dream and showed him a hiding place in his old bedroom wall. Upon awakening, the son went to the place indicated in the dream and found the lost papers.

The great golfer, Jack Nicklaus, had more major tournament wins than any golfer in history. Of course, skill and practice were the keys to his success, but once he tapped into a different source. In 1973, he was mired in one of the worst slumps of his career. He was at a loss for an answer. Then one night he had a dream in which he experimented with a new grip. When he went to the golf course that morning, he tried the dream’s idea. It worked and his slump soon ended.

I once rocked myself to sleep in the throes of a deep and powerful heartbreak. Actually, I had spent a whole weekend so devastated that I could barely climb out of bed. All I wanted to do was 1) call my beloved, which I knew would be a huge mistake, and, 2) sleep.

Then one night during that weekend, I had a dream that would change my life completely. But that story is for another day.

Love,

Eddie

Sunday Sermon [Faith]

¡Hola! Everybody...
It snowed here last night -- a lot. Everything looks new. Check out the view into the garden from my apartment (my camera is acting funny, don’t ask):

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-=[ Ya Gotta Believe ]=-

Faith

Listen up my fiends because I am going to tell you a story, so gather around close to the fire, make yourselves comfortable -- you are safe here.

Sometimes you gotta have a little faith... that’s the punch line. If you stop reading now, you’ll have gone away with the gist of my message. I do, however, think how I get to the punch line is worthwhile. LOL

There was once this legendary French acrobat named Charles Blondin. He was famous in the nineteenth century for doing these impossible daredevil tightrope-walking feats. Once he strung a rope across Niagara Falls, a thousand feet long. A crowd gathered and watched as he walked on the tightrope over the falls, hundreds of feet above the gorge, and the crowd went crazy when he made it to the other side, clapping and cheering.

Then he addressed the crowd, “Do you believe I can do it again?” and the crowd cheered, “Yes!” And he did it. And the crowd cheered even louder, and he said, “Do you believe I can do it wearing a blindfold?” And this time some people in the crowd, fearing for his life, shouted, “No, don’t do it,” and others, perhaps anticipating the excitement said, “Yes! You can do it!”

No, he didn’t fall, stop it...

He did it, and the crowd went crazy, cheering louder, and he said, “Do you believe I can do it on stilts this time?” and the crowd shouted out, “Yes, you can do it!” and he did it and the crowd roared and become even wilder. So then he said, “Do you believe I can do it pushing a wheelbarrow along the rope?” And the crowd roared and cheered and said, “Yes! And Blondin said, “Do you really think I can? You believe it? And the crowd shouted in unison, “Yes! Yes, you can!”

Yes, this is a true story, stop it...

Yep. He did it. He walked across the tightrope hundreds of feet above the gorge pushing a wheelbarrow, and when he made it to the other side the audience, which had grown huge by this time, became frenzied and totally worked up as they cheered. By now, they were really into it. This time, Blondin turned to the crowd and said, “Do you believe I can do it again but this time pushing a man in this wheelbarrow?” And the crowd roared and yelled, “Yes definitely! You can do it! We believe in you! Yes! Absolutely!” By now the crowd was completely behind him. They thought he could do anything. So Blondin said, “Then who will volunteer to sit in the wheelbarrow?”

And the crowd suddenly went silent...

Totally silent. And he said, “What’s the matter? Don’t you believe in me anymore?” And they were silent for a long time before someone in the crowd finally said, “Yes, we believe in you. But not that much.”

Did anyone ever volunteer to get in the wheelbarrow, you ask? I don’t know

How did he die, you ask?

He died in bed, forty years later from complications from diabetes. While admittedly a bummer, it was better than falling to his death.

So what’s the point, you ask? That we all die eventually?

No. I’m just here today to tell you sometimes you just gotta have a little faith.

Have a great day...

Love,

Eddie

Willful Ignorance

¡Hola! Everybody...
Yes, I am still here, more contrarian than ever, thumbing my nose at the hypocrites, committing crimes of the heart, and saving damsels (okay! Okay! I know sodomy is not considered a good deed... ). Warning: some of my posts will be dangerous to your ignorance.

I will be gone for most of the day, so play nice kiddos. Today I mourn a death...

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-=[ Ignorance & the Death of Reason ]=-

To be ignorant of one’s ignorance is the malady of the ignorant.

-- Amos Bronson Alcott (1799–1888)

American teacher, philosopher, writer, reformer

If you think education is expensive, try ignorance.

-- Derek Bok, president, Harvard University

There are two things which cannot be attacked in front: ignorance and narrow-mindedness. They can only be shaken by the simple development of the contrary qualities. They will not bear discussion.

-- John Dalberg, Lord Acton

Due to a national tragedy -- the death of Reason -- today’s notes will seem more strident than usual. I offer no apologies for that. Reason died a horrible, tragic and unnecessary death. And please hold your prayers! If you want to offer condolences, I appreciate it, but I would rather that instead of praying, or extending your condolences, I hope that today you make a pact to learn, or help someone learn something new today.

In this way, you honor what Reason’s life was about.

That is how Reason was; she always stood for the value of education. She dedicated her life to it, and she had many flaws, believe me, but the worst was the one she and I shared: an absolute abhorrence toward ignorance. She detested, most especially, that people paid more attention to their cars than to developing their critical thinking abilities. Her mission was to open the eyes of the willfully ignorant -- those who shunned her presence

Alas, she failed…

We were raised poor in some of the worst neighborhoods in the country, but Reason always valued education. She and I were both “smart,” but she always said I left her in the dust when it came to the brains department. However, I know that was just Reason’s way of reinforcing my thirst for knowledge. She showed her love by her actions and not through mere words or religious dogma.

When I was growing up, other kids would often make fun of Reason and me because we were “smart.” Moreover, throughout my life, I have been the recipient of personal attacks because people perceive the manner in which I express myself as condescending. However, Reason taught me that most of those attacks come from people who, loathing their ignorance, attack others instead of attacking their own ignorance.

For a time, Reason stopped talking to me because I decided to fit in and ignore my intelligence. Eventually, many years later, we came together again and she was the most happiest when I entered university and graduated first from NYU and when I was accepted to Columbia later. She was the one that taught me the responsibility attached to the gift of intelligence and she made sure I understood that the responsibility is to give it back, to give back to the larger familia, La Communidad.

Today, I choose to honor reason by questioning everything and prodding others to do the same. She never let me forget that was my responsibility, no matter how much I fought to deny it and tried to “fit in.” And for that, I am eternally grateful. I love you Reason. Your absence is felt all across this land of ours.

Love,

Eddie

Note from the Editor

¡Hola! Everybody...
I would like to thank Damaris and Martina for graciously accepting my "invitation" to join our little group... Your 10% will be in the mail shortly *grin*

Today... why read me?

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-=[ Why You Should Read my Shit ]=-

I was elated to read a message from a reader saying he looks forward to my blog on a daily basis. His exact words were "primo reading." So, why read this, right? I mean, there are literally millions of potential outlets for you to read. There are millions of other blogs, newspapers (at least the few that are left standing), there’s Twitter and Facebook, s-exting (ladies: feel free to send me photos of your ass), you name it. So in the midst of this avalanche of infotainment, why should you come here and waste maybe the five to ten minutes it takes you read me?

Good question!

For one, if you’re my friend and you don’t least fake it, I will leave yo ass. That’s right, I’m not beneath emotional blackmail to get my fuckin’ attention! LOL Like any other whore, I will go elsewhere to get my Johns/ Janes.

I think I offer something of value -- I seriously feel my blog offers more stimulation per ounce than a hit of coke laced with X and Viagra.

Over the years, people I barely know (often didn’t even know they read me), have written to tell me they’ve done something positive that started as an idea in my blog. Whether it was going back to school, quitting smoking, or drugs, fucking more often (and in a better way), or actually entertaining a different political point of view, people have told me they found my blog useful. When I think I’m indulging in something narcissistic here, I’ll get a note from someone telling me that something they read here made a little bit of difference in their lives, or led them to an action. (Note: I'm not your baby's father! And that rash that won't go away isn't my fault.)

Don’t misunderstand, I don't believe “I” have anything to do with that -- I see it as part of a creative process we all engage here and in life generally. You may not like me -- in fact there are those who dislike me (LOL!) -- but you can’t deny my transparency, my willingness to be as honest as possible. I share here because I think what I have to share is valuable, not because I’m the big “I am,” but because experience has taught me that my message resonates.

In an increasingly insane, fast-paced postmodern world, we reach out for some kind of connection, something other than the TV Machine. We all come here for different reasons and if merely being entertained by humiliating those who are already humiliating themselves publicly is your idea of fun, then you won’t last long with me. But if you’re looking for ideas, creativity, connection, and some laughter you’ll probably hang around, because that’s what I’m about. For the most part, those that are here are about that too.

I want to challenge your deepest held beliefs and question your thought constellations. I do that all the time mostly because I am a trouble maker and because it’s fun. Before I post most things, I study them, making sure I have a firm grasp of my topic. Some people don’t like that shit and that’s OK. Maybe now that we have an articulate president, it will be more in style to know what the fuck you’re talking about before mouthing off. I don’t give a shit about opinions. I consider some opinions better informed than others and if that makes me an elitist, well, fuck it, I’ve been called much worse. I think it’s far too easy to offer an opinion from the perspective of our small world. I think it’s far more challenging and infinitely more interesting when we attempt to form an opinion that includes our community, our city, state, nation, country and even the world.

What happens to our opinions we stop it with the bullshit knee-jerk opinions and instead attempt to understand something from a larger perspective? That’s the main question addressed here. It’s where the un in the [un]Common Sense comes from.

Finally, this is where I’ll be posting some of my creative fiction. I have been writing for some time now and after losing two years of hard work in a home robbery, I have been able to get back in the saddle with some things I hope you will find interesting, funny, or at the very least, inspiring.

I hope you come to me and join us in an interaction that will result somehow in a community. Who knows, maybe you’ll make me change my mind or vice-versa.

Paz, Amor y Dinero,

Eddie

What Really Matters, pt. II [Noche Buena]

¡Hola! Everybody...
So! Through no design by me, I find myself writing Christmas-type shit. LOL

My mother was a zany woman who went through this adventure we call life with her kids in tow. The following is fiction. It is based on actual events and is the foundation of one of the stories in my forthcoming book of short stories tentatively titled Ataques de Nervios (Nervous Attacks) or 704 E. 5^th St. (or some shit like that). However, I have taken huge liberties with parts of the story, the characters, and time line.

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-=[ Noche Buena ]=-

“Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom.”

-- Bertrand Russell

It’s so cold she can’t feel her feet. She’s wearing only slippers in the midst of a raging Nor’easter. She’s afraid and her threadbare coat hardly protects her from the 40-50 mile per hour winds. It’s the night before Noche Buena and she’s alone, keeping vigil outside a home in the Italian section of Lower Manhattan, But she’s here because her kids are in need... there’s no one around and she despairs. Her feet ache...

Eddie left with Gangster and told her that if she saw anyone, she should whistle. Now she wonders if she can whistle, her face is frozen, and they’ve been gone so long. What if the police come?

Finally, they come rushing out the building with stuffed pillowcases and she starts to run with them she falls, she can’t feel her toes. Gangster and Eddie thankfully pick her up and they make their way hurriedly back to the Puerto Rican section, which takes too long and she’s crying, she’s in agony. Eddie stops to look at her feet and mutters, “shit!” under his breath.

They hurry home.

They finally get home and by now, she’s crying in agony. Eddie takes off the slippers and thinks she has frostbite. She cries, but tries to stifle her cries, fearful she’ll awaken the children. Unbeknownst to them, her oldest son watches through a crack in the bedroom doorway. He’s afraid.

They call Eddie’s sister, who takes one look at the stuffed pillowcases and looks down at the young mother, as if noting her lack of moral standing. Eddie asks her to look at her feet and the sister says it’s not frostbite, but that she should go to the emergency room anyway. The young mother refuses, afraid. Afraid of the consequences of the act she just helped commit and afraid of what they may say about her toes that throb with pain now.

They give Eddie’s sister a gold watch from the stolen loot, and she’s delighted. It’s an expensive watch, very pretty. She gives the young mother another condescending look and admonishes them for behaving in such an un-Christian manner. The young mother says nothing and thanks her for looking after the children.

That Christmas a good Christmas for us. There was good food, there were gifts under the tree, and my mother seemed so happy though we noticed that she limped a little when she walked. She had a brand new pair of boots, the only concession she made for herself. She made sure to get her precious children gifts from “Guzman’s” -- the toy store on Avenue C. I remember I got a James Bond attaché case, complete with gadgets and it even shot rubber bullets if you pressed a hidden button. I also got a chemistry set that I used for hours upon hours... She made sure we got our gifts before Eddie and Gangster would leave with the bulk of the loot, returning only when the money was spent on drugs. She didn’t even get herself a decent coat. However, we got warm coats, gloves, scarves, and long underwear.

I never knew why she was crying that wintry night all those years ago. I thought they were fighting... But I am not surprised at her sacrifice -- what she went through for what she thought would make us happy because somehow she always made it right, even if it meant compromising her values or her reputation. She didn’t care, only her children mattered. Still, she was ashamed and part of the reason why I have perfect posture is because she taught us to walk tall, with our heads held high.

Most importantly, she taught me what really matters...

Love,

Eddie

Sunday Sermon (Beyond Belief & Disbelief)

¡Hola! Everybody,
Okay, so yesterday was a good day. If all goes accordingly, by next week I should be able to seduce you in private. ::grin::

Some people here are afraid that if Obama wins the Democratic nomination, that it will guarantee a McCain presidency. The often unspoken implication being that there’s no way “Red” states (as in: the Old-South where the-Confederacy-flag-is-still-flown-and-watch-out-we-don’t-drag-your-black-ass-while-we’re-at-it South) will vote for a black man. Heck, some of my friends are nervous about any state voting for a black man with a funny name.

I say, fuck all that shit! Tell yo mama you’re voting for Obama!

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-=[ Beyond Belief and Disbelief ]=-
“In the process of defining myself, I have a tendency to set up rules and boundaries and then forget that rules are made to be broken, as are boundaries to be expanded and crossed.”
-- Kathleen Casey Theisen

In Orphans of the Sky, science fiction writer Robert A. Heinlein depicts a civilization lost in space. The problem is that it doesn’t know it’s lost. Centuries before the novel begins a mammoth spaceship is built. It’s built to resemble a miniature planet, complete with its own ecosystem, sky -- everything the earth would look like. What’s left of humanity is herded into this spaceship in order to escape a ravaged and dying planet. What happens, however, is that early on, the “pilots” located in the secret upper echelons of the spaceship are killed during a vicious radiation storm. It is also here where all the information is sequestered. The ship is set adrift wandering aimlessly in space and as time passes and succeeding generations replace the older ones, the memory of who they were and where they came from is lost.

Radiation has also infected the masses, resulting in mutations and for those living within the spaceship, it is all they know. Their concept of the universe is encapsulated by the boundaries of the spaceship. To them, the universe is that spaceship. As the centuries pass, philosophical and religious thought is dictated by this limited worldview. Everything is hokey dory until a group of renegade kids, in defiance of social norms, begin exploring the upper echelons…

It’s a short book not more than 200 pages, but I think it’s one of Heinlein’s best works. And it manages to bring up a slew of moral and philosophical questions, not the least of which includes the concept of God.

I’m not interested in entering a debate about God. I think such discussions are a huge waste of time. It’s a lot like being fatally shot with an arrow in the woods and refusing treatment until you find out who shot you, why, and with what.

It remains that we’re awed -- intimidated even -- by the very fact of our existence. Thousands of years of philosophy, religion, myth-making, and war are the silent monuments to humanity’s attempts to make sense of existence. The one thing I can say is that the more things change, the more this most human of basic instincts remains steadfast: the need to believe we’re groping the controls that are real, but which we sense are not.

Our quest for something to believe in is our collective response the The Cosmic Joke of our lives. All we really know is that we’re gonna die, and that’s a fucked up joke. This instinct to believe is so powerful it sometimes overrides our instinct for survival. A quick look at our shared history will show that we will defend, with our very lives, the gods, and dreams that others have created for us.

(The Kool-Aid is extra thick today, boys and girls. LOL!)

Of course, there’s also disbelief. To exist and to be aware is to be conscious of our sense of disbelief. In fact, the major way we interact with the world is through disbelief. We begin to disbelieve our previous opinions when we are confronted with something so marvelous, hideous, or outside of our small sense of self that we’re compelled to throw away our set of beliefs when we can no longer categorize or pigeonhole something. In other words, if you had never before seen a horse and were all of sudden confronted with the sight of a man on a horse, your shit would be all fucked up.

Are we significant in the grand scheme of this Cosmic Joke? What is pour place? Why are we alive? Why the fuck do we ask all these fuckin’ questions?!! LOL! Are we really who we think we are? And please, I’m not looking for your answers to these questions. I am trying to point out that questions are sometimes more important than answers.

But I’m getting ahead of myself… (<--- dot dot dot)

Disbelief pulls these questions from us we turn to the heroin of religion, politics, and addictions for the false relief of numbness they supply. For many of us, that numbness – the zombified state of not feeling – is preferable to the very real pain we feel when we come face-to-face with our lives and the inadequacy of our beliefs.

Most belief systems are unnatural corruptions of our original and affirming state of disbelief. They stifle human potential and creativity. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not saying that a belief in a god or an ideology is a bad or even evil thing when used as a tool for personal or spiritual development. It is when we confuse the tools for the work that we become deranged and lost. It is when we worship the style over the goal and the form over the content that we die a little everyday, with every thought we make.

We’re clever in creating and cultivating beliefs, tragically stupid when we confuse them with the real thing. What happens is that the symbols of belief become more important than what they signify. Millions of people died in the vain effort to prove the superiority of one symbol of belief over another. It’s as ridiculous as arguing over which brand of jeans are the correct ones to wear. Duh! They both serve the same purpose. They differ only in style.

Belief systems can become like prisons in which we cage our free-flowing original selves. It is only when we limit ourselves to one worldview that we become trapped, like the characters in the Orphans of the Sky, by our tunnel vision. The vast spaciousness of our souls demands that we break down the false walls of our beliefs. Disbelief is like a quality of surprise like the feeling you get when you’re thrown a surprise party. In fact, it’s a surprise party thrown for you by your awareness.

Use beliefs as tools, appreciate them as art, but don’t confuse them with the real work at hand. Never be afraid to let them go once they’ve become useless and destructive. Despite what others may tell you beliefs are not life preservers on the tumultuous sea of life. Rather they are more like anchors, limiting us to one point of view, one range of experience.

Dang! I’ve gone on and there’s so much more! I’ll leave you with the following:

Who we might become is an act of spiritual transcendence of who we think we are to who we really are.

Love,

Eddie