An Ode to the Wal-Mart Spin Doctors


It's a grey New Year's Eve but warm, so I took the dogs out for a quick 40 minute run down in the river valley after work (fell once on the ice grazing my right buttock while gingerly inching down a rather steep, icy hill), and then came home and sat down to watch the evening news. Oddly enough, it wasn't the lead stories about the latest victims of drunk drivers and pre-pubescent gang bangers that caught my eye, but rather a commercial for Wal-Mart.

The Wal-Mart commercial had all these warm and fuzzy recollections of childhood by your typical mosaic cross-section of adults, and the last bit is a girl of roughly six years of age stating "coming home" as her favorite memory. Then the logos come on for Wal-Mart stating "proud sponsors of..." then the Children's Miracle Network logo comes up. Now I don't want to slam Wal-Mart simply because they are a big box store, but how classless can you be to use the fact that you donate a small percentage of their profit to a children's charity as a self-perpetuating commercial? I mean really, what would we think of individuals if they walked around boasting of their charitable donations: "Hi, I'm Real-E and I gave $25 to the Breast Cancer Society, $20 to the Battle of the Badges, $100 to Doctor's Without Borders..."???!

THEN, Wal-Mart goes on about the importance of "families in their ads.... Are these the same families that were forced to man the tills and aisles of the local Wal-Mart over the holidays to ensure that folks could consume, consume, consume 24/7????!

God bless the spin doctors!

This work is titled "Crappy Portrait of Flowers In Vase", another name that really tells it all. Oh well, it's all part of the great experiment with acrylics....

This one is really typical of all the Yoga and Buddhist commercial stuff you see out there, but perhaps my favorite composition that I have done to date. It's titled "Beauty".

I really hate this one. It's called "Jammin'".

...still never receiving any instructions on how to actually paint, the title of this work, "Crap Cat", says it all...

I was experimenting with texture and landscape on this one one Saturday evening while listening to CBC radio 3 and smoking tiny mango flavoured cigars. I thought about putting a small spaceship in the corner when a punk rock song titled "Who's Fucked Now" came over the radio. Inspired, I promptly painted the skeleton and crows in the corner and named the painting thus.

This is a conceptual piece I titled "Beyond Good and Evil", somewhat inspired by some of the Eastern philosophy I had read and the book by Nietzsche (a bizarre combo, I know).

This was the very first painting I ever did. I had no background in using acrylics before, so I was totally flying by the seat of my trousers. The piece is of one of my goldfish named "Father Jack" after one of the priests fromthe Irish comedy Father Ted. So, appropriately enough, I titled the painting "Father Jack".

Tightening Wires, Plucking At Strings


Okay, I've decided that I will make a New Year's Resolution. 2006 will be my year of music where I attempt to break through the plateau that I've reached on my guitar skills, write more songs than I did last year and find someone to jam with. Music makes me feel good, full stop. I was rocking out on my electric the other day in my basment, playing some of my old band's stuff, plus a little Husker Du and D.O.A., and it felt awesome, even though I totally mangled my vocal chords. So, perhaps I'm a bit past my punk rock days, but that's fine as I totally enjoy the challenges on my accoustic (and that doesn't seem to annoy my wife as much!), and my Folk/Traditional Celtic cannon is further evolved than my rocking abilities anywho.

We also recently bought a piano on which my missus has been playing beautifully. I can totally see the two of us performing the Pogues "Fairytale of New York" at next year's Christmas party. Enya, our three year old, also seems to be developing musical talents, singing her little heart out around the house. I think this is fab as studies show how music aids in cognative development, not to mention what a good companion music can be.

Bob Marley pegged it: "one good thing about music/ when it hits you feel okay".

Painting: "The Old Guitarist" by Pablo Picasso

On the violinist Anne-Sophie Mutter

bow darting, dancing,
allegro, an archers arrow
beheld through a prism
amidst earthquaking body
concordant with sound;
resonate strings wail
then mellow -
congruous
flock on migration to paradise
carrying me beneath downy wing - glissando -
eyes closed, sealing passion,
winnow, escape, adagio,
seeping onto magically tuned
wires, note waiting -
again, prestissimo:
fingers flickering as
feverent flames;
sound so sensual
from form as divine.


Drawing: "Anne-Sophie Mutter" by Robert P. Taylor

Barcelona Bullfight




Latch lifts, leaps open
frigid falsetto metal
CRACK!
anticipation animates…

OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ!

dodging, matador red cape sailing,
cuts an assaulting armada through atmosphere of dust
salt and sand sprays - stings the eyes
round and round
stomping hooves, tearing turf, canon crowd cries, charging
nose scrapes soiled ground, lunging- OLÉ!

fresh blood accelerating through ejaculating veins,
surfacing beneath black velvet fur,
glazed silver with sweat;

OLÉ! and stabbing; six
spikes now in bloodied nape, shaking, shimmering, sword striking
shoulder, blade to blade- stabbing, stumbling,
vomit,
vomiting blood, crimson, CHARGING!

RAGE! RAGE! RAGE TORO!!

anger and frenzy collide in climax,
chaos and circles
blood and charging,
olé and bleeding,
bleeding, charging,
disoriented in exhaling breath of dust
rapid respiration
round and round
revealed arteries surrender pulsing,
red cape flash-

OLÉ!

...now a pause.
Matador winks at a seniorita in the crowd.
His gait, swaggering confidently, controlled in bright ceremonial costume. Bull, standing, staggering, bleeding, staring,
spikes still sticking in his nape, teetering reeds in wind,
blood dripping subdued, tapping silent, scarlet onto earth from his protruding tongue, a planting seed, vomiting;

Matador returns with a sword, shining silver from its sheath,
the Spanish sun
a cloudy hush;
tin band begins
playing, it is done-
olé.


Painting: "The Bull Fight" by Joan Miro

Motivational Lull


Perhaps it is a wee bit ironic that I find it difficult to motivate myself on the brink of New Year's and its traditions. I can't even blame the weather as it has been unseasonably warm here, having just passed the Winter solstice, with daily highs in the +5c range when it's usually more like -25c. Part of it is more than likely associated with the disruption of routine, coupled with excessive sweets abounding and partaking in a few more drinks than usual.

I'm really struggling with the thought of going to Aikido class in the New Year. Haggard by shift work and dreading the commute on the train over to the University are the main mental obstacles in my way, as well as fearing further injury to my shoulder. It's funny how we can view these obstacles that we create, recognise them for what they are, but still not push ourselves to the point of action. I know that once I do drag my sorry butt to class that I'll be glad that I did. What is it with these lethargic tendancies we tend to exhibit at times?

People are funny creatures in that we often do things that we know we will regret later, or, on the flipside, refain from doing something and regret having not done it. It truly believe that, on some level, there are masochistic tendencies within us all. Sometimes this masochism is good, like the feeling you get when you push yourself beyond your comfort zone. I remember a few years back when a colleague approached me and said "I hear you know a lot about fitness, can you train me to run the Great Canadian Death Race?" Now, for those of you unfamiliar with this race, it is a 125 km run in under 24 hours through the Canadian Rockies. This guy hadn't even completed a marathon and he was convinced that he wanted to do this. So I agreed and the pure mental sadism I subjected this guy to was phenominal - always pushing him a bit further than he thought he could go. In the end, he successfully completed the race in 18 hours.

I must conceed that I often have been walking without direction in this journey I call life. There have been periods when I began to fall into a particular defining persona, but never comfortably, for which I am grateful. On the other hand, it's been some time since I have pursued a particular passion, and I am the type of person who needs to have that thing that ignites passion and pushes one's limits. So, on the plus, I've dabbled in several things, but on the downside, I feel somewhat entrenched within medeocrity, in spite of my resume.

Growing older, having a family and a mortage has definitely made me more conservative than the free roaming, never live in the same place for a year lad I was in my 20's. I've had recruiters hounding me from the UK and USA to go teach, but ignore them, deciding to remain with the security of the Prison. I actually had an interview with the local school board here last month, but will more than likely not accept a position (my views on the school system and their coercive programming methods is an entire rant on its own!). Funny, because at one time teaching was my passion. Now, though many of my friends and colleagues think I'm nuts for wanting to stay at the Max, I still view it as a job that I'm good at, with its unique challenges. I'm also completely institutionalised after being there for four years, but, again, those are the same self-generated psychological barriers which I mentioned earlier.

And thus goes the cycle. These slumps used to get me down, but, recognising them for the blah periods that they are, I continue to seek a spark. Like any athlete, one can not remain at their peak forever. Funny thing is, you wake up the next day after a good nights sleep and our perspectives can swing a whole 180 degrees and it's off to the Galway Races!

Daily Grind


I love coffee. Those observant Ethiopian shepherds are held in my highest esteem for making the links between their goat’s giddiness and the beans that they were ingesting. The vast majority of my social life revolves around meeting friends for a cup of joe and indulging in stimulating conversation. In fact, coffee has been the centre of intellectualism, revolution, culture, etc. to some degree since they began to brew the stuff.

Sadly, there is the darker side of the bean. Due to its addictive prowess, coffee is a valued commodity and a good bag of beans isn’t cheap. As with every major commodity, there is exploitation of the people who farm the plants, as corporations are apt to do in poorer countries. So this sends many of us with a hyper-sensitive conscience to seek out alternatives, and thus there are “fair trade” beans and coffees for sale in most stores.

The big corporations have caught on to this, so now several chains offer “fair trade” coffee alongside their regular beans gained through the fore mentioned grounds. This is yet another example of how the gurus of the enterprise culture are pulling the wool over the eyes of well meaning consumers. You think, mmmmm, what a nice cup of oppression light coffee (we can’t forget, after all, those serving it up at minimum wage), but the fact is that the money is still going into the coffers of the corporation selling coffee that is not fair trade. It’s like shiny, happy multi-racial GAP commercials who have their sweatshops in Europe, the Nike Yoga line (talk to an 8 year old Indonesian child about their inner child/ inner peace!), etc. It's like watching these Black rapper, wrapped in gold and diamond accessories screaming about Black oppression and the rape of Africa... HELLO! Can you say De Beers???! Diamond and gold mining was and remains probably the most pertinent factor in the rape and exploitation of Africa.

The sad thing is that the coffee culture is just the surface. Sinisterism permeates our culture in the west to its very marrow. It’s disturbing to find that when you support companies like Toys R Us that you are supporting a corporation who also creates armaments, some of which fall into the hands of children soldiers in places such as Sierra Leone. Then there are all the subsidiaries of the big tobacco companies…

So I guess the Buddhist mantra of all things being connected holds significant truth.

In closing, my missive’s message is the same as usual – to think and to question everything. Here in the West, most of what we have is the result of some degree of exploitation, much of which is impossible to avoid. I guess we just need to wake up and smell the coffee (you know that cliché was coming!), and muddle our way forward.

We Non-Conformists Are All Alike


Perhaps we are limited by our experiences – told of what we can and can not do. Our abilities appear prescribed to us through life much like a doctor might prescribe one medication. We watch TV and read magazines, accepting their truths, building our borders. Thus, we quest to be normal. More often than not we realise that normal can never be. Eyes open to the inner I and dismiss the generic being. We are each our selves, impossible to categorise or label. Our potential is limitless and, if only for an instant, should we believe in that self, we can be our selves in comfort. From there we may strive to make dreams reality, live life to our own expectations and possibly produce a genuine smile, independent of the masks we have worn.

Photograph: "poet's walk" by Henri Siberman

Orchestration of Origin

I contemplate
birth, first vision
sweeps external atmosphere of
womb, through new world,
as a candle's glow softens through its
penetration of abounding darkness
or vibration carries its way melodically
through complex orchestrations of silence;
wonder of purity and blessed naivete
which our development experiences to extinction

I wish my memory of that time
was accessible to the moment, to recall,
and in its faith recognise the
fortune of perfection which, with
less wizened eyes, delicato,
diminuendo - grazioso,
it might be found.

The Season's Alive With the Sound of Music



Every Christmas season the Roger's and Hammerstein classic "The Sound of Music" gets heavy rotation on a number of televison stations and has become a standard fixture of the Holidays. In fact, last year I even bought my wife a copy of it on DVD. You see, our first Christmas together, some ten years ago, was quite memorable. I had just returned to Canada from watching the Rugby League World Cup in England with a bottle of Paddy's Irish Whiskey from the duty free. We arrived at my Mom's house in Nova Scotia, snuggled down in front of the television and "The Sound of Music" came on and the top came off the bottle. About half way through this two hour plus film (and 2/3 through the bottle), my Mom was nodded off with a Cheshire cat grin, my wife had disappeared to my bedroom where she was hung over the garbage can evactuating her innerds (and was doing so for some time without my noticing), and I was calling everyone I knew long distance and speaking in in my most voiceferous Scottish accent (or at least my version of one).

So, though my missus won't even look at a glass of whiskey to this day, we still snuggle down to this great film around this time of year. Now, ten years later, our 3 year old daughter, Enya, watched the film for her first time on Monday and loved it. The funny thing was, she already knew half the songs as we also own the CD and tended to give songs such as "Edelweiss" heavy play in particular. So this is probably the only strong Christmas tradition in our family, but it's a nice one.

Hopefully next year when they have the sing along airing in local theatres as they tend to from time to time, I'll posse up the whole crew and we'll head out. And if they're not doing it in town, perhaps next year well have a sing along "The Sound of Music" Christmas party!

Merry Christmas everyone!

Paxil & the Brave New World

Put me on Paxil;
chemical conditioned, brave new psychosomatic world
no smile, no frown
no up, no down
brain saturated – soma coma –
serotonin increase/rebate
but I can’t get it up anymore
for making love, to masturbate without Viagra
treat a bad day or a few
with an addict solution from pharmaceutical slew
anxiety, depression – seeking absolution
sick now of this prescribed emancipation
graduate down in 5 mg denominations
now my mind has moments of rage in exchange
and thoughts of liberation with monoxide gas or gun,
my brain from skull-cage

[we’re sorry, we hate to interrupt, but it’s against the law to jump off this bridge – you’ll just have to kill yourself somewhere else, a tourist might see you and we wouldn’t want that! I’m just doing my job you know, so say “uncle” and we’ll take you to the mental health zoo – force feed you mind melting chemicals, ‘til even the outside world looks good!]Ó
bones bounce beneath my flesh
flesh flies as sails in ferocious gale
far more torn up than before this particular journey
began – shredded, frayed – weaken strands unravel, snapping synaptic, alone –
bones scarred - windlass whipping, lash notched mast-
Those ashore, abroad, from their fortified lighthouses – dim and fog engulfed-
encourage to wait out the storm
seeing not burning
red skies that torture from dusk to morn
feel not the frigid mid day sun cast in concrete skies
and sensation of self feeling as two-
forced to separate apart;
not a smoker but now want to start
isolated fox hole in no-man’s land,
no support can help, simply the self;
to deal with it: conscious thought is aware of
temporary time – the perspective – the only resistance
tortured by whims
social stigma and sense
of suckerhood; Shut Up! Be Happy!
my atheist soul is a tornado of all this that is unreal – powerful
yet destructive – bound to burn itself into a breeze and dissipate
I wait…and wait…and wait
I try to create, to sedate –
to fight off that which aggravates
and urges to self mutilate – smooth out like
televisions hypnotic convex Technicolor windshield-
I try to think but think that thinking’s lead to this sense of sinking,
isolation, to this prescribed emancipation
21st Century Frankenstein with my
man made brain, my man made
thoughts, my man made
mortgage mentality and expectations –
no great man, just a freak
doesn’t matter if anyone listens when
I speak; it really doesn’t.
remember the bliss of being driven crazy,
so different wringing this psychotic cocktail from my mind:
A, B, C, vitamin DÓ
not seeking escape or fair fight,
no tunnel with beacon of pure white light
just want to exist a constant inside of my skin
rather than this state of flux: outside and in
rid myself of this gateway
to Huxley’s Brave New World
return me to the savage and
rawness I was
prior to Paxil, prior to hell and
prescribed equilibrium’s potent withdrawal.




Ó From “Soup is Good Food” by the Dead Kennedys off of the Frankenchrist LP
Ó From Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Artwork from Black Flag's "Nervous Breakdown" EP

The Practising of Practise


Just sitting down with a nice hot cup of Kukicha after a fairly productive 45 minutes of Yoga and meditation. I must say that my practise really suffers this time of year. Where I live in Canada it’s very cold and dry. The coldness, which you never seem to escape, tends to close the body up, making practise and the depth of your practise difficult to crack. The dryness of the prairie air, three hours east of the Canadian Rockies, also seems to make your muscles feel more like rawhide than malleable tissue. Finally, winter in general, with its minimal daylight hours sends motivation into a downward spiral.

In spite of it all, the true test of one’s discipline and practise is getting your butt in gear and doing it. So, this morning, armed with a space heater and with Kodo, a Japanese drum consort, playing in the background, I made myself practise and am happier for it. The mind is truly a bizarre instrument as it often causes us to do or not do things which lead to fulfillment or regret. Just think of all the times that you’ve dreaded something, like going to a dinner party, but once arriving you had a great time. Or, on the flipside, when you decided to have that second helping of cake or indulged a little too much in festive libations, only to curse yourself for lacking in willpower. Perhaps this is the result of not knowing exactly what it is we want, or, more likely than not, a simple product of being human.

This of course leads us to New Year’s and all of the resolutions people make both successfully and unsuccessfully. Though New Years is just another day in my mind, I think that it is a positive thing if it motivates people to enact change and set/pursue goals. Just bear in mind, life is a journey, so if you break your resolution, don’t wait until 2007 to make it again. You control your actions in the moment, and that’s all.

…Now if only we could control the weather! It goes from -50 C to +40 C here over four seasons!!!! That’s just CRAZY!!!!

Painting: "Fuji River" by Kawase Hasui

Stray From the Flock


I've stated before that our personal realities are based entirely in perception and that perception develops over time, through the influences of people, culture, etc. Within all of this we develop our concept of "normal", which is more or less the "Nirvana" of the western world, whether you call it the American Dream, Suburbia or whatever title your ideal life setting may be.

I akined this whole development utilising Edward de Bono's jello and hot water theory in a previous missive, so ask that you seek previous entries if you are truly interested.

"Normal" is big business here in the West. It drives fashion and music industries, generated a whole self-help industry which has its genuine and charlatan characters, and, at its pinnacle, the whole anti-depressant and subsequent pharmaceutical industry. I have personally partaken in all of these juggernauts of the status quo, but continue to remain, as far as my psychological outset, on the periphery of mainstream culture.

Have you ever tried to define "normal"? In an existence where, to quote a cliche, "all that remains the same is change", how can we ever truly define this loaded term (would recommend reading Carl Jung's psychological treatise on man and his symbols)? Further to this, how many people go nuts or spend oodles of cash that they can't afford in search of this allusive commodity?

I can't quite define "normal", but I know I don't like the brochure. Normal, for me, has connotations of being content and happy, which are certainly wonderful things, but on a level that puts everyone on such an even keel that it extinguishes passion. Now I'm not arguing against finding inner peace - I think that is something we should all pursue, along with peace and creativity. But ask yourself, if we never knew pain and sadness, how could we ever truly appreciate those moments of tranquility? And, stepping beyond that, don't you really like things that piss you off so bad that it lights a fire in you belly to take action? If I didn't get mad or see things that outrage me, I'd probably never write and, hey, we never would've had Punk Rock!

So we pursue the status quo, the average; what kind of society is that? Just look around you in your town. We are being screwed left, right and centre by our governments, spraying chemicals in our food, gang raping the planet and wearing clothes (in the mainstream) largely manufactured in sweatshops and the hot topic from the apathetic masses..."so, who, like, got voted out of Survivour last night?" Who wants to be "just like everyone else"? Hey got the new 50 Cent album, yeah man, he sounds the same as his last album and the same as DMX.... Don't even get me started on television! People are homeless in some portion of your cities, but the newspaper cover's Paris Hilton walks from limo to gala. We have become afraid of the raw aspects of life, compartmentalise our world and, like government, try to justify our existence and bureacraticness by volunteering to dumb ourselves down and so as to not make any ripples.

The fact is, it's the folks who stand out are are different - even if they are somewhat screwed up psychologically like myself - that truly drive progress and can lead us to enlightenment. Challenge yourself - focus on liking you as opposed to trying to dance to the beat of the mainstream predicatble rhythm, and question everything!

Painting: "Wrong Turn With a Leaf Blower" by Robin Eschner

On Writing, Teaching and Getting Lost


My passions for lifelong learning solidified in the tenth grade when I began to blossom as a poet and lyricist, discovered the writings of Orwell and Camus and began a brief career as the lead singer in a punk rock band called Ick on Fish. To this day, I feel that I owe a very large part of who I have become to my grade ten English teacher, Mr. Dockrill. It was the experiences and discussions in Mr. Dockrill’s class that ignited a passion within me that I carry to this day.

My first formal experience as a teacher was as an ESL instructor in the former Czechoslovakia. After completing my BA at Dalhousie, where I had left the band but done a few poetry readings or my works, I had decided to travel Europe to see some of the wonders which I had read about – to bring them alive from the books in which they were bound. My good fortune on these travels to over twenty countries including living in Dublin for six months lead to a position teaching in a Gymnazuim, situated in the Carpathian Mountains of Slovakia. I went into the position completely oblivious to what it would entail and demonstrated my natural ability to teach. My duties of teaching High School soon evolved into developing curriculum and offering night classes to local lawyers and business managers. My memories of this time are amongst the fondest I hold, and I still maintain contacts with former colleagues and students in that distant land.

Upon returning to Canada, I was too late to apply for an Education program, so elected to spend a year studying French in Quebec City. During that year, however, fate intervened, presenting me with an opportunity to play Rugby League for the Canadian National Team, followed by professional playing contracts in France and England. I elected to play in England where I embarked on a brief, though successful career that was cut short through injury.

With my Rugby playing days behind me, I returned to my native Nova Scotia for a while before moving to Alberta. After a couple years working, I saved up enough for my Education degree and headed to the University of Alberta.

At the UofA, I decided to do my practicum’s in my first year of study which I regret to a point. Both my IPT and APT went very, very well – so well in fact that both of the school’s where I was a student teacher wanted to offer me a full time position. Upon completion of my degree in 1999, I was unable to secure an interview with the Edmonton Public School Board, so I was forced to search for an alternative.

That alternative developed into nearly two years working with Adult Learner’s at the Edmonton John Howard Society’s Alternative Learning Program, and Maximum Security Inmates at Edmonton Institution. These experiences were magical. I was able to devise my own curriculum and take a holistic approach to learning that I might not have been able to pursue in a more conventional setting. I integrated Yoga, meditation, journal writing and music therapy alongside mainstream academics. The successes I shared with my students were life altering at times, and the growth between myself as facilitator and the learners were mutual. A Reader’s Theatre workshop I presented with a group of my students from the John Howard at the Alberta Literacy Conference in 2000 was perhaps the most rewarding and emotion experience of my teaching career.

I decided to go further down this road by becoming a Program Delivery Officer with the Correctional Service of Canada. To do this, I would first need to get hired on with the Service, so I became a Correctional Officer with the intent of applying for a position in Programs when one was made available. Unfortunately, budget cut did not facilitated and I have now been Correctional Officer for nearly four years, disillusioned with the rot in our system and with no desire to take the path of my original intentions.

This brings me to the present. From the outset one might be inclined to believe that I have lost my way, straying far from the initial goal that I had set. I felt that way and continued to apply for teaching posiitions for a time. Now, however, my way of looking at things have changed. Life is a journey and, as I look at all of the side roads that have caused me to diverge, I feel that I have lived far more than had I remained in the front of a classroom, attempting to bring books alive. I know that I have also become friends with people that Teaching never would have allowed me to know, and am certain that I have inspired some of them just as they have inspired me. I also realise that my journey ends only when I die, so the position I hold and the perspective I have will alter and evolve further with time. Life has been a challenge and will continue to be so. And that's the way we need to view life - not to be complacent with it, but to grab it by the provervbial balls and give it your all, regardless of your station. I look at where I am: married to a wonderful woman (who puts up with me) for nearly 10 years, a gorgeous 3 year old daughter and friends who I trust my life with. I think things are going pretty well.

Martial Culture & Haiku Challenge


I became interested in the Martial Arts when I was young, resulting from a steady diet of the Karate Kid, Bruce Lee and Ninja movies. I went to one Karate class when I was something like 13 and was so sore the next day that I did not return. I was an overweight youth who looked at what I perceieved as the ultimate end, a black belt, and figured that I just could never attain such a proficientcy.

Some 15 years later, I became interested in the Eastern philosophies of Buddhism and Taoism, spawned by readings that I had come accross and found interesting. I found the teachings of these "ways" (I am hesitant to call them religions for they do not require one to worship a particular god and are as such that they can be practised quite harmoniously without comprimise to being, for example, a good Christian) applicable to my life and a value system that I could appreciate. Inevitably, these ways opened up a window in regards to further thing that the human body is capable through meditation and Yoga, and re-kindled my interest in the Martial Arts. So I read several more books and, in 1999, began to study Yoga and meditation. It wasn't until 2002, however, that I finally actively pursued the Martial Arts, upon becoming a Correctional Officer, save for one class in Kendo (instructed in French) when I was at University in Quebec.

As a Correctional Officer you receive a weeks worth of training for self-defense and arrest and control. The system utilised is called Koga Jutsu, and was adapted from Aikido. I was brutal, and the techniques, though effective if pursued over several years, were hardly given justice over that one week period (and we, as Officers, never receive follow-up or further training in this system). So I again felt that my career in Martial Arts was one that I needed to actively pursue on my own time, more now than ever as someone's life could one day be in my hands.

In my mind, to be a Martial Artist was embodied in the Samurai of Japan. While being a fierce and effective warrior, Samurai had honor and were schooled in other areas such as poetry, calligraphy and flower arrangement. In spite of my impressions, I knew that I was not living in the time or place of the Samurai, but wanted to adapt a martial culture of my own where I would learn discipline, effective combat techniques, further develop my mind, body and spirit, and find a way to express life's beauty while finding inner peace. I was not dillusional in thinking I would find that all in one place, but wanted to find a Martial Arts school that would develop some aspects mentioned above, while I pursued the rest.

So, reading and body analysis of my self lead me to Judo. Judo is an awesome Art, but I found that it was more sport than martial, so, after a year, thankful for that which I had learned, I bowed out. I then began taking Kali, a Filipino Martial Art, from a colleague. Kali is a stick and knife Art and very effective for law enforcement. I still dabble in Kali, but it isn't that "way" that I am truly seeking - though I do enjoy knife and stick sparring. Next, I became a member of the tactical team (IERT) at the prison where I received further training (2 weeks) in Koga... but still had a difficult time. This was followed by a year of Taekwondo, but again, found that it offered little in ideology and was too sport oriented. That isn't to say I'm looking to become a killer, as I am equally put off by the "Rambo Boot Camp" systems out there.

Finally, and perhaps ironically, I have arrived at Aikido. Aikido seems to possess all of the attributes I would hope to find in an Art and I quite like the school I am in. If you research a bit on this Art you will see that it's practise is physical, soft, esoteric and esposing an ideological basis for techniques, not to mention effective. My goal is simple, to gain as much as I can from the class I am presently attending. I must say that Taekwondo really helped my agility along, so I am seeing improvement.

So training is in place, I killed three previous Bonsai's but my present one has been doing very well, have a koi and 3 goldfish, am looking in to Archery (thanks to my friend Dave giving me a free bow and arrows), eat sushi regularly, am reading (have a bio on Hirohito on the go, plus Shogun and a book on Japanese Martial Culture) and of course, writing.

...Which leads me to the second part of this missive, my Haiku challenge.

A Haiku is defined as follows: a form of Japanese verse that encapsulates a single impression of a natural object or scene, within a particular season, in 17 syllables arranged in three lines of 5, 7 and 5 syllables. Bellow you will find some of the Haikus that I have written and would like to hear some of yours. So, have fun and Happy Haikuing everybody!!!!

haiku #1
spawning salmon shakes
icy Autumn river flows
end and renewal

haiku # 2
gold dog’s fur dances
blossom breeze of summer eve
run with dangling tongue


haiku # 3
fat orange fish darts
amidst broad summer lilies
canopy from sun


haiku # 4
mosquitoes needles
summer blood supped up quickly
hand clasps flesh red sting

haiku # 5
white goat’s bell jingles
through the cherry blossom breeze
in stony meadow

Media Allegory


This is a poem I wrote a while back, inspired by a number of things like the U.S. invasion of Iraq and being on the front lines of events in the prison where I work, and then seeing how the same stories were portrayed the following day in the media. Many of us are brought up under the belief that "if it's in a book then it must be true", as much of what we learn in life comes from experiences in school or what our parents tell us (and just think of some of the teacher's that you've had! Trusting other people to mould our youth's minds is a serious issue!). As a result, if one never exits this bubble of belief, they will tend to believe the slant presented on the 6 O'Clock News, and never truly challenge their assumptions. I think the mainstream, more often than not, tends to delude the masses into thinking that the world is black and white and that things can be neatly compartmentalised into beginnings and end. The fact is, truth is very subjective, based on your beliefs, culture, etc. For example, the whole "us" and "them" depiction of world conflicts gives us a clear "good" and "evil" image of the combatants. That might work in some cases, but, mostly is a clash of beliefs as delusional as they may seem to each side.

In the poem I use a "rat" as the allegorical symbol for media misleading. I thought initially that this was really lacking in creativity and redundant on the one hand. On the other, the rat, despised as it may be, viewed as "vermin" guilty of plagues and synonomis with the gutter, is merely a creature, like a dove, human or butterfly, simply trying to live, thrive and survive.

In closing, I think to an Edward de Bono book I read a few years back when he describes our thinking process as follows: You imagine a round hill of jello. Next, pour hot water over the mound and it will etch river like canyons down the sides. These channels represent how we think. Thinking and knowledge compounds by building on previous experiences. If you thus view each successive experience as an additional cup of hot water, it will travel the path of least resistance (which are the previously etched channels), entrenching that knowledge and its thought process deeper and deeper. In essence, how we think and process new information in our brains is determined by this entrenched process. So, if you are brought up watching the TV news and being bombarded with one side of history in school and educated by people who are similarly entrenched, you can see how difficult it is for us to change our views and see things objectively. So, if you grow up in a conservative suburban home with right wing white collar parents watching CNN, your views and values will differ from the inner city Black who has a single mother working three jobs and creating their images of the world through the lyrics of 50 Cent.


"Rodent (media, we get what we deserve)"



I've seen a rat's eyes, rodent red rhodopsin,
Bleach out from the Negative of day
And the positive exposure of night
Luminescence bleeding from black
Brazen, not limited to corners anymore;
Smiling newspaper photo, political,
Staining unsuspecting fingers with print-
Carbon, like all that we are after
Being burned beyond resemblance, after
The water disperses as steam- dissipating
White-
Move toward the light motherfucker,
Move toward the light!
This is what you wanted,
In what you believed
On what you bet your life
Throat scratched from gnawing on lead pipes and cinder blocks,
Screeching radio static, from the
Neck, never the gut
Awaiting the irony of a poison never
Feasted upon - left in the corners with the traps
On trays, out of the way
Never frequent there, in the ghetto, anymore,
Out in the open,
Common and domesticated
No one even notices your tail anymore,
It flicks and snaps
Like a whip, a trap
Like a camera shutter In the negative of day
Or positive exposure of night;
Call you rodent now, not
Rat, remembering our manners.

Thinking a Thought

subconscious excavates your
fossilised words
embedded in the bedrock of my brain
of how you could never be
called crazy in a world so insane
things I never dreamed of
form future fixations
breath, another release valve
of pent-up frustration
sour winds mix with beauty
vertical cracks mock horizontal fragilities
see it all along the vortex
revealing your fossilised words
senseless scents subjugate senses
isotopes and smell
shouting them outward
to sour winds mixed with beauty,
memories, my brain.

Selecting Sand

Plummet forth,

into the sand

searching for the consumate grain

only to surface

with broken nails

and a world gone insane.

Swallowing Bitter Pills and Searching for Alice

Today's Edmonton Sun newspaper ran an article (p.35, Program has inmates supervised by 'lifers'" by Kathleen Harris) about an "in-reach" socialization programme being run by the Correctional Service of Canada. To summarize, the CSC is paying $55,000 per inmate (there are currently 24 occupying thes positions) to groups like the John Howard and St. Leonard Societies. This has been penned the "Lifeline" programme and the criteria for the position states that the individual must be a "Lifer" (that is someone who has been sentenced to life in prison for murder) who has been paroled for at least five years, and still under community supervison. The role of this former inmate is to take currently incarcerated inmates out for shopping trips or transfers to halfway houses. The mentality behind this programme is that current inmates will conduct these affairs with a peer as opposed to a Correctional Officer or individual who represents "authority". To this point, I can see the intention behind this programme. Idealistically (a word I use tongue in cheek after four years as an Officer in a Maximum Security prison), a former inmate modelling life as a law abiding citizen in the community, inspite of 15+ years of incarceration time to a convict presently serving a sentence is a good idea.

…Then, as always, in true CSC style, there is the proverbial kick in the nuts. To quote directly from the article: "According to the CSC, each lifer draws a salary of at least $41,000 a year, with the rest covering program administration costs."

Here's my outrage: In the CSC there are two Correctional Officer designations, CO1 and CO2. The annual salary range at present for a CO1 is $34,277 - $50,071, and for a CO2, $40,379 - $53,137. My present salary, as I am just shy of four years of service, is $37,683. So, a lifer paroled in the community is paid $3,317 MORE than I am working for the same Service in a Max as a Guard!

Yes folks, this comes from the same Service who would not permit Officers to wear handcuffs or stab-resistant vest because they were considered "intimidating" and did not foster a sense of trust with the inmates. I am truly employed in Wonderland - O Alice, wherefore art thou???!!!! Upon reflecting on the courses I took by attending University, I have re-evaluated that, as our politicians clearly portray, crime does pay! It's not the degree(s) that you have (I have a BA and BEd.), but whether or not it's in the first or second.... manslaughter inmates need not apply!

Thought

...is it ironic that I started out as a School Teacher and ended up in Corrections...?

Metamorphisis

I pick up an old cassette by Ick on Fish, the punk rock band for which I was front man in the early mid eighties and think "holy fuck" when I do the math. It's been 20 years since Ick last played together. Since then, Glenn Coolen (bass) has gone on to be a successful architect and an amazing Celtic musician, Brad Conrad (guitar) now has his own studio while playing for Matt Mayes & El Torpedo, no idea where John Rowe (drums) ended up, and then there's me.

When I was growing up we used to play road hockey everyday. Of course, now, in my mid late thirties, I am no longer doing this, but yet have no recollection of when we somehow decided as teenagers that this is the last time that we will ever do this. This seems to be a bit of a metaphor for my life. Somewhere in there, there was Ick, followed by a few other projects, university, writing and a few bohemian years in Europe, a return to University, a couple years of teaching and then I couldn't find a teaching job, so I ended up getting a job as a Correctional Officer in a maximum security prison. I feel like the proverbial Gregor from Kafka's short story, one day you wake up, no longer a man, metamorphisised into a dung beetle.

It's hard not to lose yourself, especially if you are doing something that is the polar opposite of who and what you are, but, as I struggle through, I'm beginning to realise that you don't have to sell out. I think people think that they need to fit into some kind of designed slot, be that of conformist or non-conformists with all of their sub-spiecies. This is hard as a Correctional Officer as many things are just jobs, whereas being employed as a Correctional Officer leads to becoming one to a great extent, 24/7.

I can't deny that I'm nostalgic for the past. I played in bands alongside budding stars including Sarah McLaughlin and the lads who now comprise the band Sloan. But I guess that is what youth is all about, no? I still play my guitar deep in my basement and am developing a bit more of a melody and a little less of a growl, and that's cool. But it's time to look less to the past and focus on how I may alter my present, progressing forward on my terms. Still wonder though what might have been. Back in those days the idea of buying music by Husker Du, Black Flag, SNFU or the Dead Kennedys in your average corporate music store was out of the question. Today, not only is that stuff available at HMV, but there's even some corporate radio playing the Ramones, Replacements and Sex Pistols like Edmonton's 102.9 Sonic FM. Those subjected to my vocal tirades at the time would put me somewhere between Henry Rollins (Black Flag)and Joe Shithead (DOA) as far as sound goes. The lads in the band were also quite accomplished musicians.

It's also a bit sad though - like attempts to revive 70's fashions. There was something totally organic about the scene back then and making money was not even a romote thought for most folks making the music (we were too busy trying to deflate the Mexican standoff between the USSR and USA). I remember my first gig was in 1984 where The Nils opened for the Asexuals (both from Montreal) and I sat in the college radio station in Halifax, 97.5 CKDU-FM (where I later did a programme for many years) while volunteers tried to find a place for The Nils to crash for the night. For a guy just getting into the scene, sitting there with some of the bigger names in the Candian Punk movement at the time was way cool. I also remember picking up SNFU's first album and writing to the address on the sleeve to tell the guys they rocked. I ended up getting a page long letter, piece of Double Bubble and small plastic lizard from Mr. Chi Pig, the band's singer, and ended up going out for dinner with him whenever they played in Halifax, every 8-14 months. I also wrote Ian McKaye's band, Minor Threat, and Ian took the time to pen a few lines my way. That's what I'm talking about when I say organic.

Anyway, I'm pretty much out of touch from the scene, but, in spite of how the corporate world is creating their Weezer's and Blink 182's, I know that there's still kids out there making noise, and that's cool. I wish I could come out and play too. Oh well, quoting one of the greatest Canadian bands of all time, The Lowest of the Low:

"The twisted punchline said/ They'll understand you when you're dead/ say that you're not angry/ just savagely dissapppointed...."

Thought’s Preservation

Sick of myself
shards of the mosaic that
make up my mind slice
through thoughts – want to shatter
this shit in my cerebellum with a 9mm parabellum
hang them from the end of a rope
watch them swing like one-winged gnats
but to shoot the shit will send splinters flying selfishly
I want to kill the cancer, not the host
I’ve not endured this far, crafted this piece with
its poisoned parts, to let it win
under my skin,
the easy way out – the simple solution – the concrete
conclusion is at hand all of the time
but life will end one day, so I’m making may stand – twisting life’s balls in my hand
and when it gets sick of me it can finish me off
but until that time, I’ve got time by the throat
and will squeeze in all that I can

I'm alive! I'm alive!

I feel! I'm real!

I am!

One Day This Past Summer

Ever have one of those days when no matter what the time it always feels like late afternoon? When late afternoon finally comes around, you think “finally” so you go to chow down on a po’boy with sweet potato fries and a bottle of Stella on the side, eyes looking at the waitress young enough to be your student and you want to give some kind of fucked up carnal lesson, cause, hell, she’s at least twenty four or twenty five. But you're married now and happy with that, so you admire the pasture from afar and that's the extent of how far you want to go, nuts snipped, and knowing a good home. So you sit there, sip the beer, fingers get sticky from the sauce slipping off the bun and greasy from the sweet potato fries that you know will be seeping out your pores until morning when you wake up with that phlegm-feeling you get after tuckin’ into a deep fried meal, and glass of beer ebbs a satirical coolness and teases with its texture of round, perfect glass. Waitress brings over the cheque and your fortune cookie for desert, cause you’re stuffed- even if you could afford something after all that. The cookie snaps and crumbles into two sections and several insignificant crumbs. Pull out the piece of white paper that has printed: “someone you know is waiting for your praise”. My first thought goes to God, but figure it can’t be him or her ‘cause I don’t believe in that kind of stuff, so I reckon it’s got to be someone else. I get home, the dogs great me at the door with their sloppy tongues and shake’n’shrapnel fur and I get it. So, I fill their bowls, give them a tussle on the head, they seem happy and eat while I need to take a shit, amazed at the speed of the grease lightening those fries must be because I already went once today in the morning, and here we go again. So I sit and read the paper about the shit and chaos that Hurricane Katrina is causing in Louisiana and how George Bush doesn’t give a fuck about the poor folk washed away ‘cos they’re black and I figure he must have enough cannon fodder in Iraq already and figure he must not be planning another invasion, therefore is leaving them to their anarchy while he watches, paranoid, to the barbarian hordes at the gates of his proverbial Rome. That’s it, I shit and do all the post shit stuff and thank the god in whom I don’t believe that it’s finally six o’clock because that’s what time it’s felt like all day.

Beam Me Up

I made a reference to William Shatner's CD in a previous article, and YES, that is the William Shatner of Captain James T. Kirk fame. Now I'm far from being a Trekkie, but I watched this programme often while growing up. In fact, my very first girlfriend's Dad went to McGill University in Montreal with Bill.

...But I digress...

"Has Been" truly is a fab record released last year and actually has some very rockin' tunes. It kicks off with "Common People" which kicks ass. Other tracks include "You'll Have Time" which he does with what sounds like a Southern Baptist choir, "Has Been" which sounds like it was spawned from a cheesey spagetti western and "That's Me Trying" which really pokes fun at patheticness. The last two songs are particularly good. "I Can't Get Behind That" is a duet of sorts with ex-Black Flag frontman Henry Rollins where they open up a number of issues, and "Real", performed Brad Paisley, is a real gem.

Now before you start to panic, Bill's not actually singing on any of these tracks, but rather speaking in his familiar Shatneresque. Overall, though it is meant to be cheesey, Billy really shows that he can poke fun at himself and make a few profound statements along the way. So, if you are searching for that perfect Christmas gift, I'd strongly recommend you go down to your local record shop and pick up a copy.

On Life

The Irish playwright, Sean O'Casey wrote "I am going where life is more like life than it is here". Living in the microcosims that we do, how often do we say the same things and allude to this grand notion of normal? Call it what you will - the American dream or whatnot, I think that we all have pre-conceived notions of what life is and should be like. Just look at the trends established by popular culture such as television shows. For example (and I don't watch that much tv so excuse the perhaps dated nature of my reference), look at how the television programme Friends influenced hair styles, clothing and hanging out for coffee. Honestly, it morphed the cafe culture of Europe which housed intellectual, artistic and political discussion over dark espressos into the frou-frou caramel macchiato (sp?) and poser culture that is largely entrenched in North America.

Anyway, without digging deeper into that particular issue, all that I had intended to state was how programms such as the one mentioned has caused many of us to believe that if we wear the clothes and hang out in the cafe that our lives will somehow be like theirs - interesting enough to be syndicated and run seven days per week on a number of your local stations.

I guess my thoughts of where "life is more like life" comes around the holiday season where we are innundated with Holiday specials espousing the magic of the season. Really, until my wife and I had our daughter, Christmas just didn't seem to have the flavour we thought it should (I might also add that my birthday is also Christmas Day). That has changed a bit now as our wee one gets so excited about the whole deal, but it's still not The Cosby Show. I'm not saying that Christmas was bad, but rather kind of like when I joined the Freemason's years ago after reading all of this mysterious and esoteric hype only to find that it was more like God's little waiting room for elderly men seeking a night out for conversation.

The point of this missive, I guess, is more or less taking the time to step back and reflect that the life that you are leading is the only one that you are able to lead. In previous articles on this site, I have journeyed into thoughts of perspective, so perhaps I am being redundant to a degree. We have goals and ideals that we share and strive for, and that's as vital as taking action in the present to begin those journeys while practicing patience and taking in the sights along the way. To conclude with a quote from William Shatner's brilliant album released las year, Has Been: "Live life like you're gonna die, cause you're gonna"

Mud and the Stars

Henry David Thoreau wrote in Waldon that "things do not change; we change". I think that this should be the official mantra for those who make New Year's resolutions and as a general action phrase for life. To overdose on quotations from other great writers, Jean Paul Satre stated "Man is condemned to be free" and George Bernard Shaw follows this up by scribing that "Liberty means responsibility. That is why most men dread it."

We are able to apply these notions to several venues in our lives, whether it be in reference to issues such as the upcoming federal election here in Canada to how we conduct our affairs with others, and right down to how we see ourselves. Apathy is a psychological plague that has caused a blight on the climate of consciousness in Western society as I have experienced it. "Empowerment" is a catch phrase in our world and people are always flocking to inspirational speakers or watching Dr. Phil as opposed to looking internally for solutions. People are more apt to moan or remain seditary than to act. When I look around me at folks that I know, at politics, things in my workplace, relationships, etc. I see slow motion train wrecks in the making everywhere. These proverbial wrecks are preventable and simply require an exercising of that freedom and liberty that is inherently ours and within our control.

...But I am becoming way too preachey here and that is not the intent of this missive. I guess all I do want to do is remind people that the moment that you are presently in is the only thing that you are able to affect and the smallest gesture can create the momentum to make changes in the self and our habitat. Just as one finger can detonate a bomb or discharge a firearm and create tragedy, so too can one step begin a marathon or reading the first word be the fisrt step in broadening one's insight or marking an "X" create a change in government. Little things do matter - just try to start your vehicle without a spark plug or grow a flower without a seed! Life is all in how you see it - from the great Taoist Lao-tze:

"Acting without design,occupying oneself without making a business of it, finding the great in what is small and the many in the few, repaying injury with kindness, effecting difficult things while they are easy, and managing great things in their beginnings: this is the method of Tao".

All I can add to this comes from "A Cluster of Quiet Thoughts" by the poet Frederick Langbridge: "Two men look out through the same bars:/ One sees the mud, and one the stars."

...and remember, it is the river who creates the see and the raindrop that creates the river.

Sisyphus

I think that we need to re-write the story of futility as demonstrated by Sisyphus. For those of you not familiar with this myth, basically Sisyphus was (or I suppose is as we are dealing with eternity here) this guy who is condemed to roll a massive boulder up a steep slope, only to have it roll back down again. Thus, our protagonist would journey back to the bottom of the hill and push that boulder up again. So often we utilise Sisyphus' predicament to illustrate the mundane repitition of daily routine or as a metaphor for those who try to affect change against all odds and with little result, etc. One can use these allegories effectively and I know in my writings that I have cited Sisyphus' situation to make a point.

But I've been thinking: isn't what Sisyphus is condemned to repeat a lot like downhill skiing? Think about it. Our protagonist struggles and labours and eventually is successful in making the hilltop. Change is constant, so we would imagine the challenges of accomplishing this are endless with the seasons, errosion of the hillside, etc. Then think of the fun one can have running or rolling or sliding down the hill - I used to love to do this as a child. Think of the challenges one could make for themselves..."okay, today I'm going to sprint the rock to the top" or "I'm going to really push the mantle of my endurence and move that rock to the top as slowly as I can".

I love weight training and feel great afterwards. I am also an avid runner. Being a Martial Arts novice includes repeating the same basic movements over and over again. All these things are what I look forward to in my daily rigours; how different is this to the lot of Sisyphus?

My message here is about the journey and finding positives in routine and futility. I remember watching all the adults, my wife among them, having a fantastic time going down the water slide at San Diego Sea World. As winter blankets my city in a sheet of white and cold, I can't wait to trudge up the local toboggan hill with my three year old daughter and then go hurdling down!

Run to the hills then enjoy yourself!

Fatherhood

I never imagined that I would ever be a Father. Growing up I never had a Dad as my parents divorced when I was something like 18 months of age. So, for starters, I didn't have a role model, so the Father concept was relegated to what I had seen in other families, read in books or saw on tv. To further complicate things, I never had any siblings nor had I ever really been around small children. So, when my wife and I finally opted to breed, the resulting journey has certainly been an adventure and one that I'd never trade.

Life freaks me out in general in terms of all that is out there, knowledge to gain, experiences to have and soforth. You look at the complexity of the human body and it still contains oodles of mysteries. So you thing creating one of these complex organisms would make rocket science look like learning how to latch-hook. But, the truth is, it's simpler than baking a cake! Getting started is easy enough as all you require are two fertile people, one from each of the two sexes, add water and presto. Now that alone should freak anyone out. I know it sounds crude, but most mature adults have seen the results of the male sex organ when stimulated. The thought that that bit of goo meshes with some more goo after the long journey through the woman's innerds and comes back out as a small human some nine months later is beyond bizarre! Still, this is the most natural thing in creation but also one of the most incredible!

So just over three years ago this new human entered our home. I truly believe the paternal instinct is far less instincive than the maternal one as my wife actually seemed to know what to do when our daughter made her debut into our lives. I was just fixated on the whole "shit this thing really works" aspect of the whole ordeal.

...Incidentally, that never wears off especially as they begin to grow and develop.

At that point I realised two things: (1) I love this little girl more than anything in this world and more intensely than I knew I could ever love someone and (2) I don't have a clue as to what to do with this baby - and I'm a teacher by trade!!!! What does one do with something so small? I tried to sing to her, she cried. I couldn't feed her. What do you say to someone who's a day old, knowing eventually everything you say and do will be absorbed like a sponge and serve as a role model for this small human? It was truly a very stressful time for me and I think that it really affected the bonding process.

But as my daughter began to grow a bit older, the interaction evolved and it was definitely a mutual evolution. From that point, with the development of speech morphing to full blown conversations has opened up a world that was totally foreign to me. She's just over three now and every day is more fun.

Of course, being a parent is also to become someone who worries. Think of all the times that you didn't phone or returned home late and figured "ah, the folks are over-reacting" or something to that tone. It doesn't help that I work in a Maximum Security Prison filled with child molesters and child killers that adds to my anxiety, but that aside, when you come to know a love as profound as that which I have for my daughter, the thought of ever losing them or seeing them injured or ill is unbearable and you know that it's possible because of all that you see in society around you. Then there's the role model aspect - it's not just what you do or say, but they also pick stuff out of the music you listen to, etc. What's worse, you basically have to train yourself to know what to do. How we take our parents for granted!

Despite the love, parenting has also had its moments filled with tantrums and sleepless nights do to illness of the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. There's also the strain put on a marriage as sleep deprivation coupled with everything revolving around the child and thus resulting in an alteration of the relationship's focus and each parent's life. I honestly don't know how my Mom raised me alone, along with all the other single parents out there. I think for all of us who have offspring, Mother's and Father's Day earns a new significance!

Anyway, I have a long road ahead and am thankful to be on the journey. I know that there's a lot of really great parents who can't have kids, and others who have had children and lost them - both would be more horrible than I could ever fathom. Life is freakin' incredible.

My Study of Aikido and Ideas of Ki

Having recently commenced the study of Aikido, the topic of ki appears to be of great significance to the Art. I was reading an informative article on "The Value of Ki Study" by Eric Sotnak ( http://www.aikiweb.com/spiritual/ki.html ), where he presents two very clear definitions of "ki". The first is defined as an esoteric kind of energy flowing down the bodies energy meridians allowing for demonstrations of profound power and effect. The second is "a blanket-concept which covers intentions, momentum, will, and attention...that can literally be extended, [and] adopt a physically and psychologically positive bearing." Regardless, ki appears to be a psychological state attainable through practice to be utilised in a certain way.

Reflecting on this, I wonder if those who are able to utilise ki effectively are in some way able to control and regulate the adrenelin secreted when the body is under duress or forced into the flight or fight mode, to be used at any time? Though an amateur at meditation, I know that I can utilies breath and quiet my mind resulting in physiological results (slowing heart rate, relaxing and releasing of muscular tension, etc.). As a Correctional Officer, I have also been subjected to very intense scenarios where my adrenelin has allowed me to perform tasks well beyond what I could do in an artificial scenario. We hear the stories of 120 lb women lifting cars that have collapsed off their jacks on top of their loved ones, as well as people who have endured incredible undertakings of strength and endurence superceding their apparent physiology. So, could it be that those who demonstrate the utlilisation of ki are perhaps refined or trained in a particular aspect of psychological development, allowing them to call upon that adrenalin reserved, for most people, at times of immediate crisis, without necessarily being in immediate danger?

I'd be interested to hear people's thoughts on this....

Incidentally, I separated my shoulder in my very first class, and my ambitions to get back at it and the rate of healing are butting heads! I'm fortunate that my shift work is preventing me from rushing back to the dojo, leaving me four more days to mend before I have the option of going to class. The shoulder is there tweaking my consciousness all the time to a small degree, but definitely announcing itself when I lie down and attempt to sleep. I did a variety of light weightstwo days ago, and none of those movements seemed to cause further discomfort. So I'm a bit baffled by the whole thing. Still, being introspective on the whole affair, it is another lesson in patience which I hope to master as it will bode well as I continue on with my classes as well as other aspects in life. Keeping a diary/journal of sorts is good (you can visit my other blog at: http://www.aikiweb.com/blog/9196 ) in that I don't think I would have formed this perspective on injury and might have been a bit sluggish on reflecting about the necessity of patience, blinded by the excitement of trying something new. Balancing enthusiasim and patience is difficult. Heeding the words of Aikido's founder, Morihei Ueshiba: "Failure is the key to success; Each mistake teaches us something."