Results matching “dark night soul” from Ye Olde Rad Blog III

I know a guy who used to make serious bank. He always seemed to have a wad of broccoli handy. So it surprised me to learn he's now living in a ditch.

"Where ya been?" I asked, running into him recently. (Hadn't heard from him in months.)

"I moved," he said. "Where to?" I inquired.

"I'm living in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in San Clemente," he boasted. "Presidential Heights. Not far from where Nixon used to live."

[ I used to live in San Clemente myself, just off Buena Vista, a stone's throw from the beach there, and walking distance to the pier. So I'm familiar with the area. ]

After sharing how his global Internet-based business has been taking a beating, and how he began having trouble making rent, he described how he threw everything into storage (for $55/month) and moved to a "secluded ravine" he'd discovered while surfing nearby.

"I arrive shortly after sunset," he explained regarding his new routine, "and park about a hundred yards away. To discourage hikers, I've moved some brush across the path. I have a sweet little spot, complete with Thermarest pad & sleeping bag. I fall asleep to the sound of the ocean every night."

While showing me a video of his "new home" (recorded on his cell phone), he continued, "A blue jay wakes me every morning. I feed him peanuts."

After an early morning aerobics class (where he showers afterward), he heads off to the library where he begins his work. But while he was in the restroom last week, some kids stole the memory from his laptop.

Cool dream last night. Ultra-realistic & vivid. » In a cozy cabin set up in the mountains, I'm cooking a batch of my world-famous puttanesca .. when shortly before sunset I hear this heavenly singing. So I set down my big wooden spoon and go investigate.

Opening the front door, I see (with snow-capped mountains framing the distant backdrop) Pavarotti and another fellow walking up the dirt path. [ No, I don't own any Pavarotti CDs. ]

They're singing (with great passion) the most beautiful songs I've ever heard (Italian opera). Indescribably gorgeous. (Think » sex for your ears.)

Pavarotti has a huge smile on his face. Beaming. He seems like the happiest man in the world. Both men are wearing hiking clothes.

With hand outstretched, Pavarotti calls out, "My friend, forgive the intrusion, but we've been following this wonderful aroma for many kilometers."

I tell him what I'm fixing and Pavarotti responds with a proposition, "If you will kindly fix us each a small plate, we will sing for you *two* songs while you cook, another two while we eat, and two more after dinner." (each time emphasizing the word » two)

While I ponder his offer, Pavarotti saunters up and says in my ear (quite matter-of-factly), "Many think I'm the greatest singer ever, but actually my cousin here is much better. He just couldn't tolerate the music industry and its shenanigans."

Other than how beautiful the singing sounds, the most poignant part of my dream is how happy Pavarotti seems. Downright radiant, he never stops smiling.

Of course, I invite them in. While Pavarotti warms himself by the fire, I ask his cousin, "Is he always this happy?" "Yes," he answers, "I think there's something wrong with him." (which makes me smile)

While surfing the web recently, I've noticed more website authors including a photograph of themselves on their home page (.. places such as here & here) .. aka 'mugshots'.

I forget when I added it, but my mugshot has been posted there for quite some time. It was taken at night (at the Noguchi sculpture garden in Costa Mesa after a yummy Italian dinner), and the flash illuminated only my image (nothing behind). So the background is dark .. which works nicely with the page design (dark background).

I even sampled the exact shade of black contained in the photo's background, so I could blend the photo perfectly into its surrounding box.

Personally, I like to see a photo of the authors whose sites I visit and whose articles I read. It's been said » the eyes are the windows of the soul. In other words, you can get a good idea of a person from a photo.

It actually took more courage than you might think to post that pic there .. so prominently .. for all the world to see .. the online version of stagefright. (Tho I wouldn't be surprised if some printed it out, blew it up, and used it as a dartboard .. or for other things.)

Ever noticed, while going about your day (minding your own business), that people seem to be staring at you? Your eyes meet by chance and they quickly look away.

Once or twice, it's no big deal. But when it happens lots of times, it starts to make you wonder .. "Why are people looking at me?"

Been noticing this .. the last few days. First few times, I wrote if off as mere coincidence. Chance glance. But today (especially) I started becoming self-conscious and wondering .. "Do I look strange?"

I admit I've been dealing with some gnarly stuff lately. (Was in court again last week .. the place where dads get slayed.) These things can take a toll. So I've been feeling rather .. 'rugged' lately.

Then (paying more attention) I noticed most of these 'looks' coming from .. ladies. Hmmm. Maybe spring is in the air and all that. But their looks tend to seem more like what you'd expect at a freakshow (a few mouths agape) .. than someone responding to birds or bees.

Wandered into the coffee shop one morning this weekend. While searching for a place to plop down and wake up, I noticed a book sitting askew on one of the occupied tables. (I'm always curious to see what others are reading.)

The title jumped out at me » Dark Night of the Soul .. written by a 16th century mystic named St. John of the Cross (San Juan de la Cruz).

Having recent experiences of my own that could be characterized as "dark nightish," I struck up a conversation with this monkish fellow, before asking to join him (.. since there was no place else to sit this busy morning).

He said he'd learned of the book from classmates in college, roomies who had majored in Philosophy. They recommended it after he started to experience "growing pains" a few years into his marriage.

I apologized for chuckling when he told me it was (basically) a woman who drove him into his dark night. But I couldn't help it.

I pressed with questions, seeking a Cliffs Notes style rendering of his book. He said the 'dark night' is actually "a good thing" (another idea which made me chuckle).

During the 'dark night experience' (the theory goes), God removes everything we used to rely on (depend on, trust in) .. "until only He Himself is left." Elements of this explanation rang true with some of my recent experiences.

Spent all day in court today. I hate that place. Been there so many times. Have wasted so much of my life (and money) there.

I want to say I won, but reality is I merely didn't lose .. again. (Well, sorta.) I lost nearly a month with the Bug. Or maybe I should say, he lost a month with his dad. (Not the first time this has happened.)

There is a "system" in place, which appears to be begging to be abused/manipulated. And of course, some unscrupulous people are only too eager to oblige .. time & time & time again. And all the while, it's the little ones who suffer.

The key word that stuck out today was » "tragic". That's the word which resonated with me .. and still resonates. Because it *is* tragic. Woefully tragic.

I get the Bug tomorrow morning. I have promised him I'll "always come back" .. no matter what.

But something definitely shifted today. Serious cracks have appeared in the opposition. The spotlight has turned toward these cracks. And now we have a pattern. A history. Doncha know I wanted to say, "I tried to tell ya," .. (but I didn't).

Just returned from the police station. I'm still buzzing. Very emotional stuff. Received a call earlier this afternoon .. not from a police officer, but from a full detective, asking me to come in.

Of course, this isn't the first time a detective has called for an interview, tho this is the first time they asked me to come in.

My saga continues yet anew. I have been accused (again) of the most horrible, vile, despicable acts you could imagine. I cannot even say the words aloud. What kind of mind can even come up with this stuff?

All went well. (As usual.) I have been cleared. (Yet again.) This time it was a lady-detective. She was very nice to me (just like the other detectives, who were understanding of my plight).

But they have a job to do .. and when accusations are made (no matter how absurd) they must investigate. In fact, many people have been involved in this particular investigation .. from various professional disciplines.

You know you're in a bad place when you feel like reading Dostoyevsky .. as a way of commiserating with someone who can relate.

He was screwed over pretty badly. Critics claim it was these experiences that enabled him to write with such penetrating insight.

"The writer's own troubled life enabled him to portray with deep sympathy characters who are emotionally and spiritually downtrodden, and who epitomize the traditional Christian conflict between body and spirit.

Dostoyevsky sought to plumb the depths of the psyche, in order to reveal the full range of the human experience, from the basest desires to the most elevated spiritual yearnings.

Above all, he illustrated the universal human struggle to understand both God and self. Dostoyevsky was, as Katherine Mansfield wrote, a man who loved, in spite of everything, adored life, even while he knew the dank, dark places."

I've known a few dank, dark places myself. (Haven't we all?)

"Who loved in spite of..." That's not easy to do.

Even those who don't like Dostoevsky concede ungrudingly he is "a titan of world literature."

Critics seem to agree The Brothers Karamazov is one of the greatest novels ever written. Some even claim it is the single greatest novel -- ever. (That statement raised my eyebrows.)

• Einstein said, "Dostoevsky gives me more than any scientist."
• Freud called it, "The most magnificent novel ever written."

Earlier this week, I felt the most alone and despondent I've ever felt. Have two friends I can call any time, to talk about any thing. (The Dog is one.) But neither was available.

Very unusual. Never felt anything quite like it. Completely different feeling, like I was alone on this earth. Even thought of Jesus on the cross, just before he died, where he says: "My God, Why hast thou forsaken me?"

To show you how disoriented and desperate I felt, I actually thought of calling the Bug's mom (for comfort) .. before realizing she was the source of these feelings (well, indirectly). So, I was really whacked.

They say the darkest hour is just before the dawn. If true, I must be very close to morning, cuz that was pretty dang dark. Darkest night I've ever known.

The Dog finally called back next day. (He'd been away on a min-vacation.) We talked for hours. He said many nice things, which made me feel better.

The fourth is my favorite holiday. Don't know another living soul who prefers it over all others.

Maybe cuz it's the only holiday celebrated outdoors at night. No matter where you might be, summer nights are likely cotton-candy sweet.

Or perhaps, it's the fireworks .. or maybe, the thing we're really celebrating (» freedom, baby!) .. that does it for me.

Had the Bug last night. Braved the crowds and drove down to the Balboa pier .. where we watched the sun set while sharing a root beer float (from Ruby's). He was clearly more interested however, in watching folks fish, and asking to peek in their catch-buckets.