A FEW MORE MILES OUT TO SEA

A few more miles out to sea and the shoreline is still visible in the distance. Because of this I feel a remnant of the sorrow and remorse I was so immersed in last week. There is a grieving and a longing to go back to something that is no longer available to me. And there is a lot of fear about the dangers of the waters ahead.

But last week for the most part that grief broke down the dam and flooded out of me in a few short hours and at least ninety-six tears, leaving me clean-washed and hushed in wonder- you could almost say “born-again.” At the end of Friday’s counseling session I said, “I feel great right now but I sense is a snarling beast just outside the door, ready to break down this thin measure of protection.” She said, “The work you have done today is permanent. But it doesn’t mean there isn’t more work to do…”

In the last five years of the corporate job from which I was recently fired, I was beginning to buy into a mind-set. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t a bad job. It was about protecting the environment, to the extent that a corporation can do such a thing. But I was beginning to like the solitude of hotels, the anonymity, the freedom from community. I am introverted, to a fault. The fact that I was on the road nearly half the time safely exempted me from my responsibilities to friends, family and garden. And although I paid lip service to the ideal of a lifestyle of nonconformity, in practice I was doing very little to support this.

I used to work as a lab analyst in a sewage plant. Every day I would bring in a stack of CDs. Even before that, I would bring in a stack of cassettes. The speakers were carefully set around the lab for maximum separation. When somebody asked me what I did for a living I would say, “I listen to music while performing lab tests.”

The question is, can one make a living doing what one loves? Of course from a Zen standpoint one should love what one does, regardless. And, as I’ve blogged before, I don’t ask rhetorical questions. Perhaps it’s a sense of middle-class entitlement that makes me wonder these things. I wonder these things because the next chapter is unwritten, the sea ahead is dark and uncharted, and yet amidst the insecurity and anxiety I am beginning to reconnect with an older, deeper-seated bliss, one that flows through a stream all the way back from childhood.

I am beginning to think the answer lies in opening outward, sharing the gifts I have and receiving the gifts that others have to offer me. The breath of creativity is drawn in solitude, but it can’t stay there, in those lonely hotel rooms. Since I lost my job I have experienced an unbelievable resurgence of connection with my friends, wife and community. It has sustained me. Because of it I can keep sailing. I realize I am not the only “poor boy” in this boat. I am a full participant in the human condition. Everyone has something to struggle with and something to offer. Nothing is certain.

Well, no, not exactly. The future is uncertain, but there are many certainties, all falling under the blanket heading love. Finding the words and the melodies for these certainties- there’s a worthy goal for the voyage ahead.

the great unknown

So far, no comments on the general blog although I've had a lot of feedback on the novel from friends, family and strangers. I don't know if there's a way to find out how many people read the postings if they don't comment.

My wife started an Etsy store to sell her jewelry and custom made portable altars and she also links her store to her blog (Claire's Heart Space- check it out). The Etsy community seems very vital. She has had lots ad lots of contacts and conversations although very few sales. She stays up late at night, dialoging with people all over the world about deep topics.

It feels like the stirrings of a genuine new paradigm (have we worn that word out yet- paradigm?) This is a subject that has been almost an obsession for me since the late sixties, when we really thought we were at the dawning of a new age of thinking. My novel, set in 1973, has to do in part with the collapse of that initial vision. Still the impetus returns from time to time in fits and starts- remember the Harmonic Convergence (the harmonica virgins)? Now its the return of Quetzalcoatl in 2012.

I want to believe that we are truly on the verge of a new way of thinking, and that the chaos we see around us is part of the dying throes of the old ways. And maybe even this new leader who who is to be inaugurated tomorrow is to be part of the change, although I tend to curb my enthusiasm a bit when it comes to political leaders.

The change needs to be about a shift from the masculine to the feminine. As a man, I have no problem with that. Listen to a song called "Church of Women" by XTC. We need to move away from aggression, warfare, competition, retribution, punishment, hard-fixed rules, and more toward nurturing, sharing, respecting ourselves, each other, and the holy. Softness and mercy.

But if these are the dying throes it doesn't mean it's suddenly going to get better. This kind of change can be laborious and slow, and at the age of sixty I don't know if I am going to live long enough to see it come to fruition.

My recent loss of job has been a milestone for me. For twenty years the security of the job and the repetition of the work had lulled me into a sort of seductive somnambulence (spell check says that isn't a word, but I think it is) from which I might mouth allegiance to alternate thinking, but in practice I did little more than attend a few anti-war rallies and faithfully put out the recycling every week. Now suddenly that security is gone and I am trembling on the brink of the great unknown, wide open and terrified.

I read Derrick Jensen's Endgame. He presents a very convincing argument that civilization itself is a terminal illness on the verge of a collapse that will wreak tremendous suffering on everyone in its wake. Then he goes on to propose that the most compassionate thing we can do is work to hasten that collapse- take out cell phone towers, break down the internet, blow up dams, whatever you can do to hasten the demise and shorten the suffering. Here Mr. Jensen and I part ways. I'm watching closely the phenomena around me, including the internet and the possibility that technology might be able to offer some hope, or at least avenues through which hope can flow. I am aware of the down side of everything. The hope is not inherent in the technology but in the mindset that uses the technology. Can we put away our old way of thinking? Can we move forward into something new? Can we be courageous and supportive of one another?

Not rhetorical questions. Can we?

hello it's me

Ok, I started the other blog because I wanted to "self-publish" my novel, Small Boat Sails into Big Mystery. I really don't have the patience or the heart to try to sell the thing, and I got a day-job so I am not desperate for money. But what's the point of writing something if nobody reads it? So the first chapter is up now, and as soon as a few people indicate they have read it, I'll post the next chapter.

In looking for people to lure into opening my book, I started reading blogs. It's an interesting phenomenon. There are so many styles, so many motives. Mostly people just seem to be airing out their minds, creating a little cyber-vibe in the mystical space around them, then waiting to see if anybody swims through. Sounds like a pretty cool thing to do. I think I'll try it.

As I mentioned in the other blog, the book is the fruition of a long, slow creative process, about 40 years long. So it's special to me.

I'm a songwriter and I have songs posted on Myspace. Go to myspace, select "music" in the search box and type in Jim Nail. Every now and then I'll post a blog there, but have had very few hits. If I get more response to this one, I'll probably switch my allegiance.

Stop in and say hello! I try not to be interested entirely in myself.