Trinity

Pick your favorite trinity: The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.  Brahma, Shiva, and Vishnu.  Body, mind, and spirit.  Manny, Moe, and Jack.  

They’re all good, and perhaps, all essentially the same.  So, have at the one that works best for you and experience your own experience of each in your own divine way.

As for me, I’ll take the holy trinity of yoga, cycling, and pot as the central organizing principle for my life.  It’s yoga that feeds by spirit, cycling, for my body, and cannabis, for the mind.  

Alternately, you can correlate them with the three gunas, the energetic principles that give rise to the Universe, according to the Samkhya darshana, one of the six “orthodox” schools of Vedic philosophy.  These are rajas, the active, restless principle, tamas, the principle of inertia and solidity, and sattva, the principle of purity and light.  It’s the eternal interplay among these three that bring the Universe into existence and sustains it.

Cycling is rajas, pot is tamas, and yoga is sattva.  Bike-riding is active; weed-smoking is passive; and doing yoga purifies.  The combination of the three, emphasizing one over the other two depending on the situation, makes for a life that is full and fulfilling.  And plenty fun, too!

I’ve been doing yoga asana almost every day for more than 24 years now.  I’ve smoked (and eaten, sometimes) marijuana with some regularity (not every day, though!) since I was fifteen, half a century ago.  And I’ve ridden a bicycle pretty much every chance I’ve had (often on the way to or from a yoga class and also pretty often while being stoned) since I first learned to work a two-wheeler by careening down Ravencrest Road in the Pittsburgh suburb, O’Hara Township back in 1965.

So, no doubt I’ve had plenty of experience in all three, and it’s certain that I wouldn’t be who I am today without those experiences. 

Yoga, cycling and pot = me, myself, and I.

Nostalgia

“I miss the days when nostalgia was so much better.”

You can fall into an internet sinkhole poking around at bulletin board thread and blog posts from a decade and a half ago and begin to feel like things were far superior in nearly every way way back when. 

Of course, that’s not really true and even if it seems so, that’s only because you were younger then, with stars in your eyes and piss and vinegar in your veins.  Everything appears brighter when it’s shiny and new; the world is merely a reflection of your own mental and emotional state; the better you are, the better it is, as well.

That said, I do miss those days when bike-riding and blogging seemed like they might be able to change the world for the better.  When there was still some reason to resist getting a cell phone.  And when it still seemed possible that climate change could be confronted.

I know that right now is the real now for lots of people, and in some ways, it is even for a 63 year-old like me.  But there was a time, not too long ago, when everything new seemed new, as opposed to now, when so much of it seems like old business that is finally being attended to.

Riding my bike home along the Burke-Gilman trail some twelve to fourteen years ago, I remember thinking that I was already nostalgic for the present time in which I was living.  I knew I would look back upon those days with bittersweet sentimentality, even as I was experiencing them.

These days don’t really feel like that; certainly, they are memorable, but if I had a time machine, today probably isn’t the day I’d set the dial for.

If I knew then what I know now, I’d want to not know then when I now know.  Ignorance isn’t really bliss, but the less you already know, the happier you’ll learn.

Prognostication

Of course, the world is going to hell in a handbasket.

The environment is fucked; international geopolitics suicidal; financial systems collapsing; the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity; yes, we’re doomed.

But a person gets tired of hearing that, you know?  I mean, we’re all going to die, right, but is that all anyone has to talk about?

Amidst the dire forecasts of environmental, societal, financial, and cultural collapse, there are some good things to look forward to, aren’t there?  How about:

*     My tomatoes are doing really well this year; I’ve already enjoyed great bounty, and in the next few weeks, I’m confident that dozens more will ripen on the vine

*     The 2020 Chevrolet Corvette looks awesome

*     Ebola appears to be treatable, if not curable

*     The longstanding war between dogs and cats may end in our lifetimes

*     I’ll be dead before the all the glaciers melt

*     Meat grown in laboratories will soon be available in stores; sugar-free candy made entirely from recycled plastic is on the horizon

*     Donald Trump will eventually not be President of the US

*     Pretty soon, language-translator implants will be commercially-viable

*     The tattoo fad cannot go on forever

*     It’s only a matter of time (time being infinite) before the Seattle Mariners win the World Series

*     Cell phones will appear to our descendants as quaint and old-fashioned as does the Pony Express to us

*     The novel is still not dead and will surely outlive us all

*     Human composting becomes legal and widely-adopted

*     By the year 2050, no one will read from bulleted lists in PowerPoint anymore

*     The popularity of the board game, “Monopoly” will continue to decline

*     We’re having potatoes for dinner

*     A twelve-blade razor will surely be the norm before too long

*     This really is the Rolling Stones’ final tour

*     The next dominant species after human beings won’t have a planet full of fossil fuels to use up

*     I won’t be writing another essay about prognostication anytime soon

Truth

Among all the terrible, awful things that Donald Trump has done as President of the United States, the worst, in my view, is the way in which he has undermined the concept of truth in the public sphere.  

Due to his own constant lying and even more, his ongoing denigration of news sources that are committed to reporting the truth, it’s become harder than ever to determine what really is the case.  And people seem less interested than ever in trying to find out what’s true than they are in promoting an account of things that’s consistent with their own political and/or social agenda.

The truth has never been easy to uncover or establish.  Philosophers, artists, scientists, even politicians in some cases, have devoted their lives to the pursuit of truth.  But the effort to describe things in a manner that accords with reality has long been considered a noble effort.

Not anymore.  

Truth has been said to be the first casualty of war; perhaps, then, we are at war, since it was clearly the first casualty of the Trump administration.

All politicians lie; we know that; you can tell they’re lying because their lips are moving goes the old saw.  But typically, at least, they knew when they were lying, and their lies could be held against them.  

But Trump just asserts whatever claim he feels like making; I’m not at all convinced he has any idea whether he is telling the truth or not.  And that’s because he doesn’t care whether his words accord with reality; it’s not even obvious to me whether he has any conception of what’s real in any case.

All this just makes the truth more elusive.

I’m not saying that there isn’t room for interpretation in some cases; I’m enough of a post-modernist to recognize that truth is contextual and connected with power, as well.

But some truths are not only true, but self-evident, and that’s the truth no matter what.

Sports

I watch, listen, and follow on the internet a variety of sports: baseball, football, hockey, basketball sometimes, occasionally golf, soccer, especially the Women’s World Cup, horseracing when it’s the Triple Crown, the Tour de France, and these days, the Cricket World Cup, as well.

Does that make me a loser?  

Probably, sure.  But, so what?

Sports can be reasonably entertaining, and a good counterpoint to reading War and Peace, which is another of the ways I’m spending time during my vacation.  Is paying attention to the exploits of the Indian national team on the cricket pitch really any different than following the action of the Russian Army at the Battle of Austerlitz?  

Probably, sure, but so what? 

My interest is largely academic; I don’t really care who wins or loses the events that I follow.  It’s not that I don’t have preferences; it’s just that, I realize that, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter whether India prevails over Australia in cricket, or even of the Pittsburgh Pirates beat the Chicago Cubs in baseball.  

I can’t even remember who won the Superbowl that year before last—although I can recite the baseball World Series winners from 1960 to 1971; is that pathetic, or what?

Probably, sure, but so what?

I blame the culture I’ve grown up in for my condition; had I been born in 19^th century Russia, I wouldn’t care about baseball at all.  Is that because it hadn’t been invented yet?

Probably, sure, but so what?

I might, if I lived at that time, be pretty into horseracing.  The princes and counts in Petersburg all seemed relatively caught up in the outcomes of races between this horse versus that one.  Could it be that gambling played a part?

Probably, sure, but so what?

In the end, I think it’s a lot better to root for regional sports teams on the playing field than national armies on the battlefield.

Probably, sure, but so what?

Comments II

There are any number of things I do which I shouldn’t: mindlessly pick the scab on my wrist during a curriculum meeting so that I start bleeding profusely while talking about outcomes assessment with my colleagues; submit a bid for another Pendleton shirt on eBay, even though I’ve got more than I can ever wear in this lifetime; drink a Mai-Tai as a nightcap to an evening of beer-drinking in order to get up my courage for performing “Renegade” by Styxx, to name a few.

But all of these pale in comparison as bad decision-making to my regular, and always ill-advised choice to read the “Comments” section of online articles on The New York Times, Stranger Slog, Seattle Times, and other sources of internet news and commentary.

You think that once burned, twice shy would be my mode of operation, especially when it’s more like ten thousand times burned.  

Consider the countless occasions on which I’ve idly clicked to read the Comments on an article about bicycle commuting or higher pay for teachers or some sort of path to citizenship for undocumented immigrants and have been rewarded by the most caustic, small-minded, and unoriginal responses from commenters who seem to have nothing better to do with their lives than spew reactionary venom from the basements of their parents’ split-level rambler in Arizona or wherever the hell it is they’re doing so.

It never makes me feel good, so I’m not sure why I do it.  Probably, there’s a bit of “rubbernecking” going on; I can’t help but stare at the massive 20-car pileup of human interaction as I go past; apparently, I want my expectations that people will fail to meet my expectations for critical thinking, civility, and proper punctuation to be met.

There’s always that guy (inevitably, a guy) whose comments make my blood boil and steam pour from my ears; and you can be sure if he commented upon this, it would be even worse.

Vacation

I am, really for the first time in almost a year, on vacation.

Woo-hoo.

I realize skeptics will look askance and opine: “But weren’t you on sabbatical from September to April?  What about that?”

To which I will admit: “Yes, indeed I was, but that’s just the point.  During all that time, I was under contract and for most of it, fulfilling the responsibilities associated with my Fulbright grant.  I never had a day off; I was always representing my school, my country, and the discipline of Philosophy for Children.  During any of that period, had I been arrested, the headlines (well, probably the page four sub-head) would have noted that it was college professor/Fulbright grantee, David A. Shapiro, who had allegedly done whatever.”

Now, though, I’m off-contract, a private citizen, who no other responsibilities or affiliations than those I give myself.  I’m free, in other words, to fully fuck up on my own time.

Not that I have any particular plans to do so; I’d like a quiet summer of fiction-reading, pot-smoking, and lake-swimming.  Spending time in police custody would certainly put a damper on that way of life.

Still, it’s liberating to not be a representative of anything but myself.  I’m relieved that, for the next three months or so, my actions do not reflect on the integrity of the US State Department or Cascadia College or even the American Philosophical Association.  I can no longer damage their reputations just by besmirching mine.  Now, it’s up to them to look bad on their own.

Of course, this doesn’t mean my peccadillos can’t make anyone but me look bad; should I embarrass myself with unfortunate behavior, I suppose that will reflect poorly on middle-aged White males of Western European and Jewish ancestry.  

But really, here’s a group that’s already done a stellar job of making themselves look less than spectacular; surely nothing I can do will make us look any worse than we do now.