Infinitely Lite

Early in the morning on the day we were leaving Jackson Street in Oakland, I was down on the street, loading our bags into the car. I heard a commotion coming down the sidewalk in my direction. Not totally out of the ordinary for a town like Oakland. I was surprised and unexpectedly accosted by a Chinese Buddhist nun, who was yelling out to any  and all people she passed along the way. She was aggressively suggesting that everyone should chant or recite “Amitabha Buddha,” “A Mi To Fo” in Chinese. When she turned her attention to me,  and saw that I was standing there observing her, she of course approached me still repeating, even admonishing aggressively that I to should say the Name. She also added that I should attempt to follow a vegetarian diet. Of course she couldn’t have known me or my own deep and long history with Chinese Buddhism: the time in monastery in the jungle on a mountain, and the long nights, months, and years of study. And the hundreds of thousands of recitations of that very Name. Or my own profound experience of Recitation Samadhi experienced during a marathon seven day straight retreat of continuous Name recitation. She certainly couldn’t have known, or even accept that I probably knew more about Buddhism then she herself knew.

After speaking together for a while, she suggested that I come to visit her temple on Harrison Street.The name of which escapes me now. She said to come to the 2^nd floor. I spoke a few words of Chinese to her (I actually remember very little Chinese these days; although my pronunciation is still quite good) I pretended that I could speak and understand more than I can. She laughed and said “You no tell me you speak Chinese.” We stayed there for a time talking, then parted ways.

She was wonderful, fanatical. Not at all how I would aspire to be, but for her very walking down the street in Oakland, yelling out the name of the Buddha of Infinite Light and Life, was an unexpected reminder of the thousands upon thousands of recitations I have myself made, back when I had a faith, when I took refuge in the idea or hope that something extraordinary hidden from our deluded view, existed and was in fact more real than reality.

Then there is this whole idea of a Pure Land, a “heaven” if you will, to begin with. It is certainly easy to see that this life is an illusion – on so many – maybe even on every, level.  But does that suggest that minute experiences of bliss or clarity imply a specific locale or reality like a Sukhavati, complete with trillions of Enlightenment Beings, led by an Absolute omniscient Pure Being of Limitless Life, Limitless Light?

In her poem, Death Sunyata Chant: A Rite For Passing Over, the Beat writer Diane Di Prima starts out by quoting Sogyal Rinpoche, himself quoting from “Hidden Adept” of Tibet:

Everything is illusion

But I am confident all is well

She then begins, saying:

If there is a Pure Land

We release the spirit

Send it flying

Into the Buddha’s heart

Everything is illusion

If there are angels 

Will they carry you

Singing

Into the Presence?

I am confident

If the flesh is light and the fire

is a lover

If the ashes are scattered at sea

on the wind or planted in the earth

If all the five elements

Are Wisdom Dakinis

And I am confident that all is well.

Maybe. For many, faith that such a place exists, and faith at all, for that matter, is a necessary component to hold one together in a world that is clearly illusion, populated by the delusional. Indeed, is walking down the street in Oakland calling out and demanding that all must subscribe to any one delusion that irrational? Some of us need it to be more real. At least a little bit.

Is it irrational? Or is it wonderfully irrational… but so right at the same time?

Oakland's Son

Jack London Square on the waterfront in Oakland. The only thing that remotely reflects anything related to Jack London, is this statue of him. Such a great writer, adventurer, and man-of-the-world deserves a little more recognition than a eponymously named tourist trap and a somewhat interesting statue.

It was early morning on this day, and nobody but the workers that make the place a happy place were about. A nice marine layer, the screech of gulls, and the always pleasant smell of ocean.

I don't know what else to say here. I like Jack London's work and felt obligated to at least visit the statue while in town. Given the mostly hellish nature of Oakland these days, at least there is still a little something to reminisce about. Plus, a visit seemed natural given all the other Literature related stops I've made on this trip.

Jack London.com

City Lights Bookstore

A few days back I had a chance to stop by City Lights Bookstore in San Francisco. On the edge of Chinatown, this is one of the best independent bookstore remaining in the United States. The Beat vibe is still somewhat present, although it seems to have become more of a tourist attraction than a center of ideas and art. It still boasts a great selection of books, including the Beat section that occupies the entire top floor. It was kind of a bring down that most of the people clogging the aisles weren't filling their minds with ideas, but filling their devices with shots for their Facebook page. This country has turned its collective back on art and literature.

I hate to sound the snob, but these people are in serious need of a healthy dose of psilocybin and a bottle of good rye. Then curl up with some Burroughs and Kerouac. 

I purchased copies of The Beat Book - Writings from the Beat Generation, Edited by Anne Waldman, and Pulp by Charles Bukowski for the road. I also picked up pictures of Jack Kerouac and Albert Camus for the office.

City Lights Booksellers and Publishers

The National Steinbeck Center

The National Steinbeck Center in Salinas California is the world’s largest museum dedicated to a single author. In the 1970s, a group of local Salinas school teachers got together and lamented that John Steinbeck was the only person recognized the world over, born and raised in Salinas, but never embraced by Salinas and her citizens. They established the Steinbeck Center Foundation in 1983, and after years of campaigning and fund raising, the Center was completed and  dedicated in June of 1998.

Steinbeck was vilified by the local farmers after the publication of Grapes of Wrath, feeling they were portrayed in an unfavorable light. They publicly burned his books, and more or less drove Steinbeck permanently from Salinas. So the area’s inhabitants never much cared for Steinbeck the man, and so never considered him a talent to be recognized or embraced. He eventually landed in New York City, and spent most of the remainder of his time on the East Coast.

This is truly an amazing museum. There are all types of exhibits that showcase his work and philosophy, both fiction and non-fiction, and his contribution to Hollywood. It also houses the largest archive of Steinbeck works.

Any fan of literary fiction, the history of California, and the great John Steinbeck owes it to themselves to visit this center at least once in their lifetime.




  

The National Steinbeck Center

Cannery Row Just Now

I'm standing on Cannery Row looking across the huge expanse of water towards Santa Cruz. I can hear the bark of sea lions in the dark, the incessant call of the gulls, the gentle surge of water to and fro breaking on the rocky bottom that famously lines the Row.

The ocean is so alive here.

Although the canneries and fishing fleet, the men and the fishmonger wives, the smell and trains and all the rest are all gone, and so much has changed, I can still feel what Steinbeck felt, and the sea is unchanged.

My brother's reply: 

"Some things never change. Men will always find a way to eek out a living. Then, as now, often on the fringes of legality."

Henry Miller Memorial Library

Just visited the Henry Miller Memorial Library in Big Sur. It lived up to all of my expectations. I purchased a copy of Tropic of Cancer by Miller, as well as a copy of Desolation Angels by Jack Kerouac. I didn't have a chance to stay as long as I would have liked, but I had something to do, and in the Henry Miller Memorial Library in Big Sur is..... Where Nothing Happens. 

 I will definitely return to Big Sur again and again. A powerful and inspiring place.

"Develop an interest in life as you

see it; the people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself."

"The moment one gives close attention to any thing, even a blade of grass it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself."

'I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive."

Henry Miller Memorial Library

Henry Miller Quotes

Novel, Truth, and Experience

These novels will give way, by and by, to diaries or autobiographies - captivating books, if only a man knew how to choose among what he calls his experiences that which is really his experience, and how to record truth truly.           ---Ralph Waldo Emerson

Ма́стер и Маргари́та

The Master and Margarita
By Mikhail Bulgakov

One of the greatest novels of the 20th Century. I kept coming across refrences to this novel lately, and decided it was high time that I read it. Although there is much criticism concerning some of the translations, I believe the newest translation, by Pevear and Volokhonsky published by Penguin (Link) is one of the best. As soon as I started reading this fantastic novel, I knew it would live up to the hype, and I would read it more than once.

Set in then modern Russia (early 20th Century) and in the Holy Land at the time of Yeshua, Bulgakov paints a picture of the Devil as not so much a hideous looking monster, but an erudite man of the world, impeccably dressed but still just as evil as one would expect. The cast of characters includes a bow tie wearing, chess playing, vodka loving, pistol toting, black cat named Behemoth.

Incidentally, this was the novel that inspired Mick Jagger to write the Rolling Stones classic, Sympathy for the Devil. This is Russian literature at it's best.

I cannot recommend it enough.

Xu Bing's new installation: When words take flight

 By Dan Bischoff/For The Star-Ledger

NEW YORK — Xu Bing is a quiet man behind owlish glasses who has the fugitive stoop of a scholar, and his entire career as an international artist has always been intertwined with the written word.

 

The big glass cube Renzo Piano designed for the lobby of the Morgan Library & Museum is, therefore, kind of perfect for Xu. It looks like a zoo aviary, and in that space, from floor to ceiling, Xu has traced the shape of the Chinese character for “bird” across time like a flock rising from a flat lake, each reiteration hanging on scores of tiny, glittering monofilaments.

Seeds

By Sherwood Anderson

The Triumph of the Egg

There is a note that comes into the human voice by which you may know real weariness. It comes when one has been trying with all his heart and soul to think his way along some difficult road of thought. Of a sudden he finds himself unable to go on. Something within him stops. A tiny explosion takes place. He bursts into words and talks, perhaps foolishly. Little side currents of his nature he didn't know were there run out and get themselves expressed. It is at such times that a man boasts, uses big words, makes a fool of himself in general.

------------------------------------------

The lives of people are like young trees in a forest. They are being choked by climbing vines. The vines are old thoughts and beliefs planted by dead men. I am myself covered by crawling creeping vines that choke me.

Excerpts from:  Seeds - The Triumph of the Egg and Other Stories

The Watchers

An excellent new book by journalist Shane Harris explores the revelation that the American government has been spying on not just Foreign players intent on harming the U.S. and its interests, but on it own citizens as well. The book mainly covers the post digital revolution and offers a fair amount of information on past, as well as present intelligence gathering programs utilized by the NSA.

I learned about this book from an interview of Harris conducted by Terry Gross on NPR/Fresh Air. Listen Here

The Watchers: The Rise of America's Surveillance State

Shane Harris Blog

Dublin

 By 17yr. old Eoin Moore

The thick clouds cover up the moonlight, but the city’s lights provide worthwhile illumination – above them all, the beacon burns bright atop the monolithic podium, signaling to wayfaring voyages the ancient Viking settlement.  Now, where Norsemen once stood, I look back, along the quays, streets and alleys, to where the inhabitants live their lives: eating, speaking, and breathing their city into existence.  It gives me cause to wonder, as I stroll aimlessly along the cobbled paths, about those who have traversed them before me, by carriage or before there were even cobbles to walk upon.  I feel their lives and mine are somehow connected, that we all were at one point a part of this city, living pieces of its grand, striking framework.   Every High King and scholar, every playwright and poet, every politician and every rebel, every merchant, student, and busker who ever set foot in the city holds or held onto a chunk of this city’s soul; every one of them stepped to the city’s heartbeat.  I listen to the streets at night and I can feel the city’s lifeblood pumping through me; I can feel myself flowing through it.  All of us who travel those arteries step on the words, actions, and lives of those who traveled them before us. The city embodies the people, and the people embody the city.

Ireland’s newest stampfeatures an entire short story  

Ireland’s New Stamp Features a 224 Word Short Story