Have You Had a Lucid Dream?

A lucid dream occurs when you become aware that you are dreaming.  That is, you become lucid.  Lucid dreaming is rare because the brain tends to accept the experience it is having.  To the brain, the experience is real, whether it is a dream reality or a conscious reality.  Here's my dream from Tuesday morning:

I am about to give a training seminar.  All my booklets have been printed.  The seminar organizers are helping me put the desks into a circle.  The participants will be applicants to medical school, but they have not arrived yet.  It is getting time to start and I'm aware that I should review my handouts, but I decide to change first.  I'm wearing a long warm dress, but I seem to have a lighter dress that I want to put on.  There is a washroom behind the seminar area and I go there.  I put on the other dress, and look in the mirror.  I notice I have waist-length hair.  The dress seems shabby though.  I decide to put the long warm dress back on, but when I take off the shabby dress, I find that I am wearing a yellow raincoat underneath it.


In my dream, I see that the raincoat is a clue that I am dreaming.  I recall two previous dreams where I am removing clothes, but keep finding more items of clothing underneath.  


In my dream, I start yelling, "THIS IS A DREAM!! WAKE UP!!"  The dream reality is very strong and wants to pull me back into the dream, but I resist it and I manage to wake myself up with the yelling.


Any other lucid dreamers out there?
----------
As for those dreams of undressing:  no matter how much I undress, I just can't get naked.   In this dream, I find I am wearing a raincoat underneath my clothes.  If I ask the raincoat what it wants, it replies, "I want to protect you."


Am I am covered by layers and layers of defences keeping me from being truly open and vulnerable?  The message from the dream unsettled me, and yelling myself awake left me feeling Matrix-y the rest of the day.

Am I an Ass?

A high school girl told me this story:

A boy in her class said to her: "You should wear lower-cut tops, so we can see more of your puppies."

The girl, staring calmly into his eyes, replied:  "Do you know you're an ass?  I'm thinking maybe no one ever told you, and you should know."

I imagine the question, "Am I an ass?" rarely comes up in people's personal meditations, especially since what is an unwelcome, hurtful comment to one person might be, to the speaker, an innocent and sincere remark.

If the comment is labelled racist, sexist, anti-semitic, or offensive, the complainer is labelled oversensitive or unable to take a joke.  But sometimes people do see themselves in a new light.

In the late 1980s, I was teaching English to an all-male college engineering class.  One day, just before class ended, I read them a story I wrote called "Ma Bell's Revenge."  The story is about my former partner who would violently smash things when he was angry, particularly telephones. The story begins with me returning a smashed phone we had rented from Bell Canada.  (Back then, phones could be rented.)  They replaced it with a new "husband-proof" phone called The Harmony.  The customer service rep said, "It's so light that it won't hurt if he throws it at you."

The story ends with my partner returning from the hospital with stitches in his lip.  He had thrown the phone down so hard, it bounced up and hit him in the face.  The class laughed at the end of the story, at the man who couldn't control his temper.

As the students were leaving, one of the boys approached me slowly.  "My girlfriend says that I break phones," he said.

"Do you?" I asked.

"Yeah, I guess," he said.

Our eyes met.  It was clear that after hearing my story, he was seeing himself as an ass for the first time -- and he didn't like what he saw.

What Do Teenagers Want to Know?

There I was in Halifax, reading The Power of Now in my hotel hot tub when two teenage boys joined me in the foam of pulsating jets and asked me what I was reading.  "It's philosophy," I said.
"What's it about?  We're totally into philosophy.  We read philosophy all the time."
That seemed a little unbelievable, but we started discussing the main ideas of the book when 15 more teenagers slipped into the hot tub with us.  They told me that they were from PEI and all in their high school senior band.  They were in Halifax with their music teacher and chaperones for a band festival.  In addition they were all performing in the upcoming school play, Annie.  Then they started singing "The sun will come out/Tomorrow" in four-part harmony.
I mentioned that I had a blog of questions people ask me, questions like "How do you know you're really in love?"  They said, "That's a great question.  We think about that all the time."  They wanted an answer.  They asked more and more questions.  In the hot tub.  In Halifax.  Here's some of that conversation:

"What is it like to be in love?"
I told them that being in love is mostly awful.  It's good for a while, and then it's over and it's really, really bad, and you hate how bad it is, so you fall in love again, and it's good and then bad again.  It goes on like that until you change or run away (sometimes with one or two kids in tow), and you learn to live with yourself.  Eventually you figure out what you want and need and what you don't want.  You've learned to live with yourself, so next time it's not as awful.  It might even be pretty good.
They hung on my words as if they were true.  I asked them who had been in a great love relationship that was good and then really bad.  Most of them put their hands up and nodded.

When should I say, "I love you" in a relationship?
I asked them for their ideas on this question.  One fellow said, "When 'I like you a lot' doesn't seem like enough anymore."  I speculated that saying "I love you" is our way of showing gratitude.  What you mean is that in the presence of the romantic partner you feel smarter and more beautiful than with anyone else.  You feel connected and alive and worthy.  You are so grateful to the other person for co-creating the situation where those feelings emerge that you are overwhelmed with a gratefulness that you call love.
One of the teen-age girls said, "That's so true."

"Should I stay friends with my ex?"
You can stay friends with your ex, but it might be a good idea to first ask yourself why you want to do that.  Some people want to stay friends because they feel guilty for breaking up and hope they would feel less guilty by staying friends.  Some people still have some control over the other person and they like having that power.  One person I know told me that he wanted to stay friends with his ex as a way of honouring the six good years they had together.  Are you "staying friends" because you actually are friends?  Does staying friends stop either of you from moving on?  Is it helpful or harmful to either of you?

My girlfriend of four months has a best friend who doesn't like me and wants to break us up because she doesn't have a boyfriend.  My girlfriend's kind of torn.  What should I do? 
Figure out what you want in terms of intimacy and time together and see if your girlfriend wants more or less what you want.  If you want to keep that relationship and give it more time, trust your girlfriend to do what is right for her.  Don't make her choose.  Say things like, "I trust that you'll figure out what's best.  If you can't see me tonight, I'm going to ... "  Then do that other thing.  Don't judge the best friend's behaviour and motivation.  There are probably things you don't know.

Doesn't everyone get jealous?
Look under your jealousy for a fear.  Face your fear.

I've been looking for a partner, but can't find anyone.  What should I do?
Tell yourself every day, "If the universe can make someone like me, with my qualities and characteristics, then the universe can make someone for me."

I don't want to be controlled by a relationship, but am I missing out?
Find a relationship that seems to offer endless possibilities.  Your relationship should make you feel that more is possible for you, not less.

Hot tub time was over, but two of them wanted to talk further and followed me down to my room asking more questions ("I'm 17 and I just met someone who is 25.  Is that too old?").

.... so that's what teenagers want to know.

Did You Just Tell me to Relax??

Last night, in a social situation, there was a minor difference of opinion.  The very tense woman who disagreed with me told me to relax.  Like Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, I held her with my eyes and said "Don't ... ever ... tell me to relax."

Nothing makes me more tense than people telling me to relax.  What do those words really mean?

All communication is a projection of some kind.  When I communicate with you, I am projecting my identity through my thoughts, ideas, and feelings.  Even a statement that seems factual, like "The Romneys have five sons," is also a projection of my attention to the 2012 US election.

However, the worst projections are made when people project their own tension and impatience on others by telling them to "relax" or "be patient."  This is irritating for several reasons:

1. The speaker has become tense and thinks her tension will go away if she issues the relax instruction to everyone else.
2. As soon as the speaker gives that perhaps tenderly meant instruction, she is making a judgement, thus acting superior by implying that the speaker herself is relaxed and patient.
3. These statements draw attention away from the instigating incident and make it about the other person's supposed tension or impatience, thus creating new conflict.

I could go on... but the next time someone tells me to relax, I'll try and smile.  Then I'll scribble down the website to this blog and entreat them to read it.

What did K'naan say?

A close reader of this blog would know that I am a K'naan fan.  His concert in fall 2010 was one of my all-time transcendent art experiences.

My daughter informed me that K'naan would be the keynote speaker at the NDP provincial convention last weekend.  She had to work, so she gave me her delegate badge and I disguised myself as her.

The conference was held in the Hamilton Convention Centre.  Close by is Sir John A. MacDonald High School.  The school's online fact sheet says that 40% of the students are born outside of Canada, and, after English, Somali is the language most spoken in the school.

How wonderful that the NDP gave Sir John A. students over 150 tickets to K'naan's keynote. Before the event, I stood at the door with many of these kids who could not contain their excitement.  The keynote was primarily a question-and-answer session.  Most of the questions were asked by young people.

Here are a few of the questions from kids in the audience - and K'naan's answers (at least the best I could scribble down at the time).

Q.  How can I get more youth like me involved in politics?

K'NAAN:  Do you want to be involved in politics?  ... The question is how do people approach their yearning for more involvement. 

In Africa, politics is life.  This question is never asked by a Somali kid because they have to be involved.  ... Remove the blinding mask that is between you and what politics means in your life.

I'm often asked, "What can we do for East Africa?  How can we help?"

[pause, a look of sad hopelessness seems to fall across his face]

It's more powerful to ask why before you ask what.  Why should you help?  Unpack those questions and you will see that humanity is humanity.  Helping people is a privilege, not a right.

Q.  Has anyone helped you get where you are in your career?

K'NAAN:  My mother would always say, 'They give you everything the moment you don't need it.'  First you have to do the work - and that inspires them to help you.

Q.  What can I do if I have difficulties in school, like not fitting in?

K'NAAN:  i would encourage you not to fit in.  Fitting in robs you of your identity and forces you to be other than you are.

Q.  How long do activist youth have to spend in the shadows?

K'NAAN:   In politics, youth can spend a long time in the shadows.  In change, youth are in the forefront.

Q.  How do you deal with stagefright?

K'NAAN:  I had stagefright all the time in high school.   If it looked like I might have to give a speech,  I'd stay home the whole week.  When I began writing songs and singing them, I decided to think of my songs as paintings I would hold up to the audience.  This helped me separate my ego from my songs.

There was much more.  Finally he sang three songs:  Take a Minute, Fatima, and Wavin' Flag.

How Do You Observe Passover?

At the Passover seder, we meet to celebrate the freeing of the Jews from slavery to the Egyptians.  We read, discuss, sing, and perform rituals as set out in the Haggadah, a book assembled by The Rabbis between 170 and 300 CE.

Near the beginning of the seder, we find the passage beginning Ha Lachma.  We point to a plate of matzah and read:

This is the bread of affliction that our forefathers ate in the land of Egypt.  All who are hungry, let them come and eat.  All who are needy, let them come and celebrate the Passover with us.  Now we are slaves; next year may we be free.  Now we are here; next year may we be in the land of Israel.

For many years, we focussed on the line, “Now we are slaves; next year may we be free.”  Each person would discuss the way he or she is still a slave, or whether they are more free this year than last.

At one point, we switched from slavery to “Now we are here; next year may we be in the land of Israel.”  Each person would consider what it means to be here now.  We asked, "Where or what is your promised land?"

At Passover, we must get rid of chametz, which is bread and other foods containing yeast.  The chametz can also symbolize anything in our personality that is puffed up or arrogant.  One year we asked,  “What is the chametz in your life?  How can you get rid of it?"  The next year we asked, "Have you got rid of last year's chametz?"  Year after year our conversations deepen as we become closer to one another.

This year, I mentioned to my mother that it might be interesting to consider "All who are hungry, let them come and eat."  I was thinking about our willingness or unwillingness to be charitable, but my mother said, "Yes!  Let's ask, 'What are you hungry for?'"

There is much to be hungry for.  Some of the guests will say, "Food!  Let's eat now!"  (We tend to go on for hours before the festive meal is served.)  Others will think about the oceans of complaints and restless longings for love, connection, and understanding.  We may talk about our hunger, but a little later we sing "Dayanu" which serves as a reminder to appreciate what we have.

I might retreat to my original interest in discussing charity.  I found this quote from 19th century rabbi, Yisrael Salanter.  He said,  "We must prioritize spiritual matters over our material desires, but other people’s material needs are our spiritual concerns."

Passover is also a time for me to remember to stop thinking about other people's flaws and develop more compassion and resourcefulness.

          "In depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer."  - Albert Camus

Will the "Truth" Set You "Free"?

I just read a story by Isaac Bashevis Singer, winner of the Nobel Prize for literature in 1978.  It was published in Playboy, April, 1988.  The story is called "The Bitter Truth."

Two men, Zeinvel and Shmerl, are close friends.  Zeinel frequents brothels; Shmerl does not.  Due to war the two men are separated.  After the war, they meet by chance and are joyfully reunited.  Zeinvel is a broken man, but Shmerl has prospered and has a wife and business in another town.  When Zeinvel meets Shmerl's wife, he recognizes her as a former prostitute.  He has a chance to stay with Shmerl and his family, find a wife, and live a happy and prosperous life; but he believes he is unable to keep his knowledge of Shmerl's wife a secret.  Also, he cannot bear to witness the deception into which his friend had fallen.  Before leaving, he asks Shmerl over and over again:

"Imagine that you were given a choice to know the truth and suffer or to remain deceived and be happy; which would you choose?"

Schmerl refuses to answer, saying it was a silly question and there is no point paying attention to gossip.

This question seems relevant today.  But today, the choice isn't so binary.  We are quite capable of "knowing" the truth and still remaining deceived and happy.

Kurasawa said, "To be an artist, one must not avert one's eyes."  Perhaps to continue to live with optimism, we have to be selective about what we are willing to see.  Or do we?

James Garfield, the 20th US president said, "The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable."

How Can I Live with My Partner's Flaws?

My friend N. was complaining to me about her husband.  She said, "When I met him, I knew he was 80% of what I was looking for, but sometimes the missing 20% is really hard to live without."  I shared that idea with a number of female friends.
Yesterday, one of them wrote me saying "Sometimes the missing 20% feels like 50%."

Is this a girl way of thinking?

I asked my husband, "What do men do when they don't get what they want in a relationship?  Do they quantify it?  Do they whine to their men friends, drink beer, have affairs, work more?"

"They start conversations," he said, stifling a giggle.  Then added that he wouldn't do that, but imagines there are men who do.

Whether it's 20%, 50% or whatever percent, the thing that is missing (thoughtfulness, conversation, attention, affection, shared values, shared activities, sex, fun, humour, health, creativity, whatever it is) is something we want.  Male, female, gay, straight, we all may experience some dissatisfaction with our current deeply loved, desperately needed, and most significant romantic partner.

The process is then 1) realizing that the person you chose doesn't have it in them to give, is unwilling to give it, or doesn't even understand that there is an "it"; 2) accepting that, yes, we knew going in; and 3) figuring out a way to give it to ourselves, live without it, or find it elsewhere.

And, yes, if possible, start a conversation.  You never know.

What Can Our Dreams Tell Us? Part II

Yesterday, on his birthday, Robin told me this dream:

"We were in the shed, cleaning it...organizing things, or looking for something.  A glass carafe from a coffeemaker was sitting in a cardboard box with some papers and garbage.  It caught my eye.  As I was thinking about bringing it into the house, it exploded."

I asked Robin to go back into his dream, become the carafe, and finish these sentences:

• Never refer to me as...
• I need...
• I want...

As the carafe, he said,

• Never refer to me as an unused coffee pot.
• I need grounds!
• I want someone to clean this mess up. 

and, "What are you thinking?" I asked the now-shattered, former coffee pot.  "Life sucks," he said.

The message of the dream was clear:  We need grounds, a reason, a purpose.  And, I guess, nobody's going to clean the mess up, except us, and that sucks.

(See September 7, 2011 for What Do Dreams Tell Us? Part I.)

Can Poetry Change Lives?

Yes, of course poetry changes lives - or maybe puts into words the changes that we are experiencing.  Or both.  Here's a poem I first read as I was turning 20 in 1972.  It's worth revisiting at any age:


Revolutionary Letter #1
                                               by Diane di Prima


I have just realized that the stakes are myself
I have no other
ransom money, nothing to break or barter but my life
my spirit measured out, in bits, spread over
the roulette table, I recoup what I can
nothing else to shove under the nose of the maître de jeu
nothing to thrust out the window, no white flag
this flesh all I have to offer, to make the play with
this immediate head, what it comes up with, my move
as we slither over this go board, stepping always
(we hope) between the lines


This is the first poem in the book, Revolutionary Letters, by Diane di Prima, published in the Pocket Poets series by Lawrence Ferlinghetti's City Lights Books.

Di Prima’s letters deal with what to do if attacked by teargas and how to dress for a demonstration. Letter #9, for example, begins, "advocating/the overthrow of government is a crime/overthrowing it is something else/altogether."

Letter #1 sets the tone for the letters that follow. It begins with a sudden realization that "the stakes are myself." All we have is our selves, our bodies, our lives. If this is all I have, the poem tells me, I had better be careful how I play and what I risk.

In the last few lines of the poem, we are taken from the spinning roulette wheel to a GO board, and it is "my move."  GO is a meditative game where you win by slowly and patiently surrounding the opponent.  Each player places a stone on a point where the lines intersect, gradually enclosing territory.

In the GO board of the poem, however, we move stealthily, "stepping always (we hope) between the lines."  In other words, we may be on a GO board where all moves are made ON the lines – but we will live by our own rules, looking always from different perspectives, and slithering -- unobtrusively, smoothly, gliding and sliding -- across the landscape of our lives.

Is There a Quarter-Life Crisis? (Revisited)

Here are some signs that you might be experiencing a quarter-life crisis:

1. A love relationship doesn't solve the problem of having to also have a life.
2. Your parents want you to pay rent.
3. Whatever you studied in any school didn't seem to include what you really need to know.
4. You begin to wonder if anyone knows it.
5. You investigate various spiritual paths and mentors.  These help briefly, then you move on.
6. You discover that following your dreams is harder than you first thought it would be, especially if you also want to be independent, make your own rules, and eat.

And you justifiably believe that you have not contributed in any way to your problems.  You've done EVERYTHING you were supposed to do:  grew up, went to school, graduated from college, and looked for a job.  Since you haven't contributed to your problems, you do not believe your own actions will solve them.

Is the quarter-life crisis different from the mid-life crisis?

Yes.  If you experience the quarter-life crisis, you might fight with everyone who has helped you and be angry at the system they seem to have created.  The quarter-life crisis lasts until you find a place where you can more or less function, a "club," let's say, willing to have you as a member.  This "club" can be a company, job, spouse, religion, band, cause, political party, or purpose.  Within this club, you begin to flourish as a person.  You get opportunities and take on responsibilities.  You discover and develop more of your strengths, abilities, and interests.  You grow into your life.

At mid-life, you might begin to feel that the job, spouse, or religion that took you in during your quarter-life crisis spoke to only one part of you.  The secret or hidden life that you've suppressed so that you will fit into the club now needs expression.

The quarter-life crisis involves finding your place in the world.  The mid-life crisis involves expressing your most authentic self.

Is there also a three-quarter life crisis?  I don't know yet.
Can there be a zero-crisis life?  I don't think so.
Are these crises bad?  No, they are good and necessary -- but difficult.

What Does Heaven Look Like?

     I was waiting in the checkout line in our local supermarket, a neighbourhood No Frills, just before xmas.  The neighbourhood is a colourful combination of gentrified Victorian homes and city housing projects.  The supermarket was packed and the lineups were long.  A pair of men were conversing in Spanish when one of them said to me in English, "Is this the end of the line?"
     I nodded and said, "Now how would you say 'end of the line' in Spanish?"
     "Al final de la línea," he said, "the end of the line."
     That's just like in French, said the woman in line ahead of me.  "La fin de la ligne."
     "Конец строки," said a boy falling in behind the two men.  "Russian," he added.
     A woman with groceries and two children in her shopping cart joined the line saying,
"ي نهاية السطر  -- the end of the line, Arabic."
     "Lots of different languages," I said.
     "That's what heaven will be like," said the woman ahead of me.

Are Stories Necessary?

The stories that move us, touch us, and change us are necessary.  It may not even be character, plot, or setting that makes a story necessary, but the telling of it, the shape of the narrative, the voice of the teller, the way an idea or feeling from a story starts to dwell in the reader inspiring more ideas and feelings.

Stories give shape and detail to memory.  And, when we lose our memories, we still need stories, maybe more than ever.

In the early stages of her dementia, my mother-in-law became obsessed with her watch.  When we visited, she'd hold her watch up and peer at it from different angles.  Then she'd shake it, insist it was broken, and ask the time.  I'd tell her the time.  She'd be quiet for 30 seconds and then begin to look at her watch again and fret over it and demand to know the time.

"What time is it?  It's broken?  Do you see the time?

 1:15.  1:18.  1:20...

My husband and her caregiver were frustrated and impatient.  They wanted to distract her, to take the watch away, to do something else, but it only agitated her more, so we sat.

1:22.  1:23.  1:26.

"What time is it?  It's broken?  Do you see the time?

1:31

"Oh," she said.  "Now's the hard part."

"What do you mean?"

"It has to climb up the other side."

As her life became increasingly reduced - she still needed stories.  She saw in the youth of the hour, the early minutes, the big hand skipped easily down the right side of the watch face.  Life was good.  But then came the climb up through the 6, 7, and 8 of the hour, as if they were the later decades of life, the hard part.  I understood her story - an ancient one.  The wheel of fortune turns. 

Stories are necessary.

Why Do I Have More to Say To Some People Than To Others?

Have you noticed how with some people you can talk and talk?  They talk, you talk, they add something, you seque onto another topic.  You laugh, they laugh, and with them you are funnier, smarter, deeper, and more interesting.  In fact they build on your joke and reincorporate it into other jokes until it's unrecognizable to anyone else as a joke -- but the two of you can't stop laughing.  Life is good.  The time is up and you are still talking and hope to see each other again soon.

Then there are others.  And you want to get closer, but they talk, you talk, and then maybe there's nothing more to say.  You laugh, they laugh, and then there's nothing more to laugh at.  The joke doesn't grow into a private joke.  Everyone gets it.

There are many reasons for this phenomenon -- shared history, the intelligence of the speakers, your respective knowledge and interests, their love for you, your love for them, sufficient time for conversation and giggling, and a motivation to be in the conversation.  And yet with some people all those things might exist and the conversation still seems to falter and stumble into the weather, dinner, health, concrete problems with and without solutions.  What's with that?

I've come to believe that the quality of each party's listening is the determining factor in whether we have more or less to say to one another.  Can this magical listening be taught?  Is it a question of different minds organizing themselves differently or is it an inate capacity of some minds -- to ask the next question, to care about the answer?

Things Seemed Fine. What Happened?

Post-traumatic stress (PTS) is real.  I know that.  A reader asked me to expand on my recent post (Is Hockey Necessary?) where I mention panic attacks and PTS.  So I shall.

I'm not an expert, but here is how I see it:  When you are dealing with a crisis, you don't have much chance to breathe.  If you are dealing with an ongoing crisis, you may be out of breath for a while.  In my case, I freed myself from a stressful and abusive situation with an emotionally unstable partner.  Partners like these are easy to find, but hard to lose.  They're the sidewalk gum of romance.

When I began to breathe the air of freedom, it was exhilarating.  Life was difficult and I had a lot to learn, but I was eager to learn.  I could relax.  I knew I was starting my life over and it was wonderful.  Then the panic attacks started.  All the stress I had repressed for five years was seeping to the surface without asking permission.

Before this time, I had occasionally experienced panic attacks while driving over long, high bridges.  Bridge phobia is not unusual, but I began to have panic attacks driving anywhere.  City driving was mostly okay; highway driving was unpredictable.  The symptoms would happen unexpectedly and included breathlessness, nausea, shaking, fast heartbeat, inability to speak or think clearly, detachment from reality, and maybe voices or hallucinations.

At one time I believed I had recovered sufficiently to drive several family members home to Hamilton from an event in Toronto.  A heavy rainstorm began and so did my panic attack.  I started driving very slowly hoping to make it to the next exit.  My mother kept saying, "What's going on?  What's the matter?"  Me:  "Nothing, I'm fine," as I went slower ... and ... slower and finally pulled onto the shoulder unable to drive any further.  My mother was the only other driver in the car, and she had just had cataract surgery.  She said she would drive, and we changed seats.  She turned at the next exit, seeing badly out of one eye, and we took a back road to Hamilton.

She kept asking, "Do you want to take over now?"  I'm still listening to the other voices, but I manage to say, "No!! You're doing great."

That's how bad it can be.  There's was no way I could get back behind the wheel.

A few years later, a friend with NLP training, taught me how to stop the panic attacks.  I learned to focus on a memory of personal empowerment as soon as the panic attack began.  I was able to cure myself.  I also learned to avoid bad relationships (see July 28 blog).  All that happened 20 years ago.  I've been building bridges for a long while now, and even crossing them.

What's Your Flag?

     I was on my bike and stopped at a light when another cyclist behind me said, "What's your flag?"  During the last World Cup, I put a flag on the back of my bike to celebrate Africa's participation.
     I said, "Cameroon."
     "Oh," said the cyclist as he took off ahead of me.  "I love those coconut cookies."



     This got me thinking about nation states.  No world problem (the environment, terrorism, infectious diseases, computer crime) can be solved by national governments.  Here are the questions from a WorldCitizen website:

• Does the nation-state still play a significant role in global relations?
• Has it lost its power and influence in a globalized society?
• Is it an out-dated concept that needs to be replaced?

Posters answer, yes, yes, and yes.

• and ask, how do we get from where we are to where we need to be?
       I have a feeling that the Occupy Wall Street Movement - that by October 15 will involve at least 650 locations - is related to a global need to work together towards more fairness. 
        Read their one demand.
  
  
  I applaud their demands and their list of grievances.  They seem to be modelling themselves after the women who met in Seneca Falls, New York, in 1848 with a list of demands and a list of grievances.  It took 150 years, but most of the demands of early feminists have now been met by western democracies.

Is Hockey Necessary?

A few years back I was teaching conflict management skills to a class of apprentice plumbers.  Mike, one of the students started shaking his head, his eyes wild.  He put his head down on his desk briefly, then stood up and ran from the class.

Later, I saw him sitting in his van in the parking lot.  He apologized for leaving and explained that he'd had a panic attack in the middle of class.  He couldn't leave the campus yet, he said.  He was still feeling shaky.  He was worried it might be affecting his work.  He was seeing a doctor for it, taking pills - but he was still getting two or three panic attacks every week.

"I used to play hockey after work four or five nights a week," he said.  "After my wife had our first baby, I cut it down to twice a week.  After we had our second baby, I stopped playing hockey altogether.  That was four months ago.  Then the panic attacks started."

I knew about panic attacks.  I'd had several years of them when my post-traumatic stress kicked in, but this didn't sound trauma-related.

"Sounds like maybe you should play hockey." I said.

What Should I Believe? (Part 2)

My friend C. continues to add to his "What I Believe" list.  There are at least 92 items on it.  Here is one of my favourites:  "It is not the water’s fault for failing to mix with the oil, nor is it the oil’s fault for failing to mix with the water. They just don’t mix."

I recently opened one of my notebooks from the 1990s and, in the back under the heading Lessons Learned, I found some of my beliefs, including

1. Sometimes the antidote is to stop taking the poison.
2. Since people often marry their lovers, be careful who you sleep with.
3. Expect from people approximately what they can deliver (but treat them the way you want them to behave).
4. Avoid arguments during meals - it's bad for digestion.

At the bottom of the list was this one:

"Think about what you throw on in the morning - you might end up wearing it all day." 

I don't remember what led to me learning that lesson -- but it sounds bad.

Are You an Open Book?

I asked this question to a friend at lunch recently -- not a close friend, but a longstanding and deeply admired one.

"An open book?  Absolutely not," he said.  "Closed up and held shut with an elastic band."

I already knew the answer, but I wanted to open the question, pry around the edges of the lid, see what would happen.

He made some excuses, like life is so long and full and he's so old -- but you can have a very full book and leave it open.  Being an open book doesn't mean that you need to say much - you will, however, reveal if someone asks.  He must have sensed my interest in knowing more because, just before leaving, he said cryptically, "Some of it has been published in other formats."

Am I an open book?  I think mostly.  But no one reads much anymore.
Are you an open book?

Have You Had Any Good Dates?

I recently wrote about my last worst date.  People have been writing and asking, "Have you had any good dates?"

Indeed I have.

Long before the internet, I answered his print ad which began, "Available, Bearded, Charismatic, Dynamic, Energetic" and continued alphabetically all the way to zed.  For the letter "p" he said, "Professorish," which made him sound employed.  His ad also said, "Children welcome," and I had one of those.  If nothing else, the ad told me he had a big vocabulary.  As for all the other self-descriptions, I would soon find out if he was lying or merely hallucinating.

I suggested the Sultan's Tent in Toronto where I knew we would sit close together on low cushions.  A week later, there he was at the entrance to the Sultan's Tent - bearded, as promised, and enthusiastic.  We made our way in.

We sat at low, candle-lit tables, chatting, and watching the belly dancer who approached our table continuously trying to distract my date and make him dance with her.  Luckily, he was focussed on me and our tableful of Middle-Eastern appetizers.  I had dated another professor who was Buddhist and vegan.  I was always hungry around him  This one would not leave me hungry.

Just before the end of our meal, an attractive, fully-clothed woman came over to our table and said, "I want to speak to my professor."  We looked twice and realized it was the belly dancer.  She was a computer science student and had been in a class taught by my date.  It seemed he really was a professor.