#grandparents of what seems like the ENTIRE cultivation world after a few generations

[stiltonbasket]

Jin Ling is desperately trying to keep track of all of joys grandkids’ personal info? He has at least 8 kids, and they have a bunch of kids, so keeping track of bdays and partners and so on is a challenge. There’s at least one bday a week for a kid or grandkid, and a few clusters. Jin Ling has cheat sheets and flowcharts.

Tigers tend to be born between November and April, and almost all of the Yongling children (born in tiger form) are born in either February or March, so there are lots of shared birthdays. It's not all that hard for Jin Ling to keep track of them, but when the grandchildren arrive...

[sunnymoon-sunshine]

“She doesn’t understand anything.”

The air in the room smelled of soil, of freshly churned earth that was melded by Zana’s hands. Their apartment was small, filled with four people and barely enough space for them all, and yet the living room teamed with plantlife. She found her calling the moment she learned the sun breathed life, and that there were no restrictions, nothing to stop her from learning to cultivate and grow.

It at least meant that they were never at a loss for food. Especially carrots.

And though Orion loathed to say it, she was the most straightforward of the team. A leader, more so than himself. Perhaps not always right, but generally the first to shove anyone face-first into the full picture. She had sharp eyes that he likened to a hawk’s - the kind that pinned prey where it stood.

And he felt awfully like prey at the moment.

“Why do you suggest that?” Zana asked, hands retreating from a soil-filled pot. She sat back onto the floor, giving him her undivided attention. Which was more unnerving than reassuring, coming from her.

“It’s simply that she doesn’t understand. She’s loud, bratty, impulsive, and I don’t think she’s given a single thought to anyone else.”

“We had nothing, we came up here with nothing, and we still have nothing.”

Zana took her time, taking off one glove, and then the other, both coated in dirt and grime from her daily doting on each individual plant. He could tell her tentacles were waving, perhaps thoughtfully, but it was hard to tell when they were bound so neatly into a braid. And she was giving him that look, that look that suggested she was about to give him a dose of reality.

“Maybe you don’t get it, either.” The words were like a slap in the face. Zana held up a finger as he started to spit in defiance. “Let me finish. You and I both know she cares. She bought you a microwave.”

“Mine worked perfectly well-” “It did not. Do not even start this argument again. It was a fire hazard you found in the trash.” She continued, stepping all over his feelings without a second thought. “You are paranoid. You constantly act like we are still underground. Do not even begin to deny it.”

“You do not sleep at night. You are constantly afraid of what was.” Zana continued, with brows furrowed and a frown set firmly on her lips. “We notice, Orion. You are not secluded in your own world.”

“She helps me garden. She entertains Lemon. She helps us when we ask - but you never ask. You are always angry around her. Around everyone.”

Finally, she slumped her shoulders, looking… tired. Defeated, even. “We are not trapped underground anymore, Orion. I tend to plants, Lemon has found friends, Cobb makes things out of nothing. But you are stubbornly stuck where you were, and you are not here now. What is it you want to do?”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, as Orion looked down at his hands, studying clawed tips for far too long. It was a talent of Zana’s, for digging deep and sticking her claws into festering wounds. Only because he hadn’t found any sort of purpose, anything to do. His entire life underground was spent terrified of the seemingly inevitable fall, of limited resources and an untouchable army that loomed over their heads.

“I don’t know.”

“Do not blame her for living.” Her tone was gentle now, but he dared not look up to meet her eyes. “Do not blame her for being her.”

“Just please, Orion. Be you.” -------------------------------------

Easier said than done, but he thought he was making a fair attempt.

“Where did you even learn how to play chess?” He asked, moving a seahorse over two squares. Orion had to admit, he had been impressed by her - Sammi didn’t strike him as the type to be smart enough to-

That was a mean thought. She didn’t deserve that. Not right now, at least.

Shaking his head to rid his thoughts (and inadvertently slapping his glasses with his own tentacle hair), he resurfaced to reality just in time to catch the tail end of her reply.

“-and his grandparents taught us how to play, because they were sick of us fightin’ over a game of Go Fish. Figured it’d keep us way more entertained.” Sammi’s nose was scrunched as she viewed the board. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, and she had such a look of concentration, he was impressed. He didn’t know she was capable of thinking that hard-

Wait, no, stop. Why did he think things like this so much, anyway?

“Do you enjoy it?” Orion asked, with a raised brow. After all, she had suggested it. In return, Sammi snorted.

“Nah, but I figured it was the kind of boring thing you’d enjoy.”

Ah, that’s why he thought things like that. Self preservation. Or something of the sort.

“Do you play anything else, then? Maybe something you’d prefer.”

She shot him a toothy grin in return, which felt its own reward. For all her loudness and boisterousness, a genuine smile like that felt surprisingly rare. “Have you ever played Monopoly?”

“Sounds like a capitalistic nightmare.”

“It is, okay, but consider- Monopoly you have to pay taxes on.”

“Horrific.”

“And if you don’t, you go to jail.”

“I’m failing to see the potential fun in this.”

“But you can break out of jail. Also you can hide all your expenses off shore if you need. And there are squatter’s rights. And of course you can rob the bank, but that depends on who has the bank, and-”

As she rambled on about the both intriguing and terrifying version of Monopoly she and her friends likely pulled from the pits of hell, he had a few minutes to think before she noticed she lost his attention. This wasn’t his purpose, or his calling. He hadn’t found something to occupy himself with that seemed reasonably productive, at the very least.

But he enjoyed being here nonetheless, listening to her talk with all the fiery passion of a girl who never quit. She didn’t seem to have a care in the world - and that was alright. She didn’t need to have one.

“Hey dipshit, are you listening?”

Sammi didn’t need to be anyone else, he thought, pulling a scowl that made her bust out into a flurry of laughter. She could just be herself, and that was fine.

And maybe somewhere along the line, he would figure out how to be himself, too.

[gcollectingwords]

Covid-19 & Millennials

The effects that the Covid-19 pandemic is having on Millennials and Generation Z youth, respectively those born between 1984 and 1995 and those born between 1996 and the early 2000s, are mainly related to their mental health. In fact, the pandemic was considered a true collective trauma.

The real possibility of contracting the virus, the uncertainty of the future, job and economic insecurity, lockdown and constant exposure on social media to a multitude of information, which often turns out to be false, have done nothing but instill in young people (but not only) forms of anxiety and worry.

For Millennials and Generation Z, the comparison with previous generations, who considered them irresponsible, lazy, slackers and, in some ways, even responsible for the second wave of contagions, was inevitable. So, in addition to anxiety about the future, there is also the often unfounded criticism of parents, relatives and grandparents.

In addition, for young people the limitations to social relations can result in real psychological damage. What they are experiencing is in fact the age of group outings, of fun, of evenings with friends and of first loves. The pandemic, however, has forced them to stop their sociability and take refuge in technology. If, on the one hand, technology, with its messages and video calls, can be an excellent alternative for continuing to cultivate relationships, on the other hand, abusing the internet and social networks can increase anxiety and lead to depression.

In all this, distance learning for schools and universities is difficult, with questions and exams online, poor connections, hours spent in front of the computer, internships and apprenticeships often suspended or in smartworking mode. Doubts are growing: will I be able to complete the internship? Will I be able to graduate on time? Will I be able to pass the year? These are certainly the questions that are proving to be a source of anxiety for students today.

Teenagers are becoming increasingly lonely and, according to some research, 20-year-olds are even more isolated than retirees. The smartphone can become the only foothold for a social life, swallowing up any chance to meet and hang out with other people. People prefer sexting instead of having sex, ordering food on Just Eat instead of going out to eat, watching Netflix instead of going to the movies. And so gradually people stop meeting new people, because the situations in which it is possible to do so are increasingly reduced. For some, the cell phone and the potential it offers to be connected with a world that would otherwise be unreachable becomes the only reason to live. According to a survey conducted by Telefono Azzurro, 17% of adolescents are unable to disconnect from smartphones and social networks and 1 in 5 wakes up during the night to check them.

The smartphone is not the cause of all evil, but only a tool, as Cesare Guerreschi, psychologist and psychotherapist, founder and president of S.I.I.Pa.C., the Italian Society for Intervention on Compulsive Pathologies, reminds us. The center, which has five locations throughout Italy, deals with the treatment of behavioral addictions and, although it was founded to combat gambling addiction, today in the Bolzano location alone it treats 156 adolescents for nomophobia, the fear of being disconnected and away from the phone.

"With the advent of the new millennium and consequently mass technology, new ways of expressing discomfort have developed," Guerreschi explains. "All addictions, including new addictions, have at their base a unique pattern of behaviors, such as craving, which consists of a very strong and impelling desire for the object of addiction. For drug addicts it can be the spasmodic search for the substance. For the cyber addict it can be the constant need to access the smartphone." For the nomophobic, being away from the cell phone causes anxiety, malaise and uncontrolled anger.

The so-called new addictions, therefore, would be nothing different from those we are used to knowing. In the eighties, drug use was the generational response to a convulsive and incomprehensible time, despite the promises of widespread well-being of Reagan hedonism. The creation of a hallucinogenic para-reality was the most obvious way to escape from the surrounding reality - this also thanks to the contribution of a rebellious imaginary fed by the counterculture, especially music - and the return of heroin and cocaine on the market and the arrival of new synthetic drugs such as crack destroyed an entire generation. Today, smartphone addiction expresses a similar discomfort, although in a less dramatic and obvious way: as during the crack epidemic, the economy is recovering and unemployment rates are stable, but young people continue to create a parallel reality for themselves, in this case a virtual one, refusing to come to terms with the world.

And as in the 1980s, this other reality comes at a high price, even if it is no longer overdoses that kill young people: since 2011, suicide rates among teens have risen alarmingly. At the same time, other risk factors have decreased, such as drug and alcohol abuse and even traffic accidents, but this is not because teens have suddenly become prudent or diligent, but more simply because they don't leave the house to be on their cell phones. Millennials, in short, are safer than teenagers of any other era have ever been. As Jean Twenge, who for years has been conducting studies and research on those born after 1995 (whom she has dubbed iGen, i.e., the generation that can't remember the world without the Internet), acknowledges, parents have also played their part in this, translating an asphyxiating sense of overprotection into the possibility of letting kids do basically whatever they want, as long as they're supervised. Do you want to go to the disco? Okay, I'll take you there and stand in the corner with the other moms. Thus, the myth of adolescent rebellion has also fallen, because the space for insubordination is reduced and the desire for independence languishes in children. And the lack of independence leads to unhappiness.

In spite of the apprehension, according to Dr. Guerreschi, parents are still distant and are not able to talk to their children: "The virtual relationship has replaced the human relationship, even in the most natural relationship that is the one with parents. By now, parents and children communicate through cell phones and via chat, without talking to each other." According to the survey of Telefono Azzurro, four out of five respondents use social networks to communicate daily with their children: the paradoxical thing is that children are constantly told to put the phone away, when it is precisely the adults who abuse it, often using it as the only means of communication with them. Almost all of the young patients at S.I.I.Pa.C. were brought to the center by their parents, and almost all of them are in family therapy.

Twenge also argues that teen segregation occurs not only within families, but more importantly among friends. The progenitor of social, Facebook, is based on friendships that, while virtual, are still friendships. But millennials don't just use Facebook, they also use Instagram, where the number of friends is replaced by the number of followers, a much larger and more indistinct mass. So the desire to be part of a group, of a community, has been replaced by the desire to make a number, that is, not to be left out. This is a very common desire in young people of all ages, but it has become one-way and unrealizable: it is no longer a matter of not being left out of the coolest group at school, but of a social network that has a billion active users.

This phenomenon apparently particularly affects girls, whose depressive symptoms increased by 50% from 2012 to 2015 and who, according to Twenge, committed the highest number of suicides. Females experience more cyberbullying (males still prefer physical assaults) and feel more pressure from beauty standards. When they post a new photo, the research says, they obsessively check the number of likes they've achieved, not so much to have a gratifying confirmation of their appearance, but to not look bad to other users. This causes a strong sense of anxiety, linked to the fact that "you can't" not post anything, because at that point it would mean being totally excluded from social life.

Finally, affecting the mental health of young smartphone addicts is the issue of sleep, which may seem collateral or irrelevant, but is instead a key factor in the onset of depression. 43% of teens sleep less than seven hours per night, a percentage that rises to 51% in the case of 18-year-olds. Looking at a cell phone before bed stimulates the brain and the blue light from the screen inhibits melatonin production, making it harder to fall asleep. Eighty percent of teens admit to using their cell phones during the night, and waking up specifically to check them, a phenomenon called vamping.

Sleepless, depressed and anxious, these millennials are the portrait of a generation that is not at fault. If Deleuze a few decades ago identified schizophrenia as the capitalist disease par excellence, depression is the disease of our time. There is no doubt that mental disorders are not a personal matter, but a collective one. Not only is depression rampant, but it has actually become tolerable: the system, instead of acknowledging its own dysfunctionality, places all the blame on the individual, without considering mental health an issue and a political responsibility.

Adolescents are among the first victims of this system: not only do they work continuously with their cell phones, in the literal sense of the word, consuming advertising, entering data that are processed by digital companies or being at the service of the sharing economy, but they pay a very high price in terms of mental health.

This does not mean that cell phones are to be demonized, on the contrary: as drug addiction teaches us, prohibition serves little or nothing. The solution could instead be to disconnect from the system, and recover human relationships, not only virtual ones. But this won't be possible until we stop holding people accountable for mental illness. And so, kids will only ever be asked "But will you put that cell phone away?", without ever once asking "How are you?".

[garywonghc]

How Am I Doing?

by Anyen Rinpoche

It has been almost fifty years since many lamas of my parents’ and grandparents’ generation crossed the borders of Tibet and changed the spiritual face of the West forever. The early students of Tibetan Buddhism here in the United States, now my adopted home, are advancing both in their practice and in their years. While death can surely arrive at any moment, for many the truth of impermanence is just now beginning to dawn with some clarity, with some certainty. The true test of their faith and practice is beginning.

While there is much debate and legitimate concern about how Buddhism has adapted to the West — and vice-versa — it seems timely and useful now, regardless of our age, to focus on our personal progress since taking up the Buddhist path. How have we changed? How have we worked with obstacles that have arisen along the way? Have we slipped back into any unwholesome habitual patterns and not even noticed? What kind of faith do we find in our hearts right now? What is our current commitment to practice? Where do we want to be as dharma practitioners at the time of our death?

These are not just rhetorical questions. Please ask yourself these questions right now. Take an honest look inside and recognise what you need to do to fulfill your spiritual aspirations in whatever time you have left. All of these questions together are what is meant by the question, What is your dharma vision? What kind of practitioner are you truly willing to become so that the moment of death fulfills the hopes you have for enlightenment — or at the very least your hopes for a rebirth that allows you to continue your practice and be in the presence of authentic teachers again?

Just as all of us make great effort to maintain our everyday lives, we should make similarly great effort in our preparations for death. If we are living and practicing the essence of the dharma teachings, there should be no difference between our spiritual practices while we are living and those that we engage in at the time of death. One practice that we all share on the path, no matter what other teachings we have received or practices we have committed to, is training in mindfulness to ensure that in our last moments we will be able to make good use of our death.

We all seek to be the best human beings we can be. And regardless of our beliefs, death will come to all of us. Everyone can benefit from preparing for death as a spiritual practice. Additionally, if we learn how to support a loved one while they are dying, we will be giving them a great gift by helping them fulfill their own spiritual aspirations.

THE NEED FOR A DHARMA VISION

Many of us on the Buddhist path have heard from our teachers that “the path is the goal” and that we should cut through any attachments to results. This is most true specifically on the path of meditation; we should not have hope for any particular experiences or signs of realisation in our meditation. Hungering for such experiences will only bring us obstacles. Nevertheless, without earnest self-reflection and a vision for ourselves as practitioners, we will not really know how to take up the path.

In Tibet, few monks and nuns receive the teachings of Dzogchen, and even fewer laypeople are introduced to them. Here in the West, we expect the highest teachings to be given freely even if we have made little effort in the foundational practices. But it is the yogis who spend years training their minds, using self-reflection as a tool to further their progress, who become the highly realised practitioners.

We must be careful about having only the appearance of a dharma practitioner. Some students who have received many teachings tell me they are “on and off” practitioners; they “sort of” practice and have little experience. Sometimes they are very passionate about their practice for a short period of time. They may burn like fire, but then something or other happens and they stop practicing. They lack certainty about what is the perfectly pure path. We need to abandon this habit of being an “on and off” practitioner. If we let our energy get too high, we can expect a counter balancing low to follow when we lose our enthusiasm. Thus, in terms of dharma practice, having a tempered passion is a more useful quality.

Because it is so easy to deceive ourselves about our practice, it is very important to have a relationship with a spiritual friend who will help cut through any self-deception. But we must do our part to be prepared for and to nurture such a relationship; we must be diligent in our practice and have a realistic idea of our spiritual goals. Self-reflection can bring a new level of trust and mutual respect to an established relationship with a teacher by demonstrating that we are suitable spiritual “vessels,” worthy of receiving profound lineage teachings. We can transform our outer trust in the three jewels — in the Buddha, in the teachings, and in the community of noble practitioners — into authentic confidence that develops unshakeable faith in the Buddhist path to enlightenment.

I consider the dharma vision, what we might call our spiritual aspirations, to be an evolving meditation on living and dying. It makes no difference what stage of life we are in. Practitioners need a guide for living as well as for dying that we can skillfully rely on during our lives as well as at the moment of death.

It’s also important to include others in our dharma vision. Many of us, wishing to increase our expressions of loving-kindness and compassion, also want to help friends, loved ones, pets, and strangers alike die with the same opportunities for a “good death” that we wish for ourselves. If we do have the wish to help others through the dying process, we must first train ourselves to understand how our own lives move toward death. We must gain knowledge and wisdom about the process of dying that will enable us to use one of the most important moments of this incarnation wisely. Then we can make a serious commitment to becoming practitioners who take responsibility for accomplishing the vision of helping ourselves and others to die well.

THE DHARMA WILL, ENTRUSTED DHARMA FRIENDS, AND THE DHARMA BOX

When we understand the importance of the dying process and the potential we have for liberation during and after our death, it will be easy to see how essential it is to prepare properly for death. I would like to plant seeds here first for the idea of a dharma will and also for what I call entrusted dharma friends.

I encourage students to form core groups of entrusted dharma friends who agree to help each other through the dying process according to the wishes written down in each person’s dharma will. The dharma will allows us to record our spiritual directives, so family and friends will know the kind of death we wish to experience and how it can be accomplished. Our entrusted dharma friends should at least be familiar with phowa [the transference of consciousness at the time of death] and other Buddhist practices. Once each person has written a dharma will, he or she can share it within the core group as part of training in recognising the signs of death, mastering phowa, and learning how to skillfully help someone through the dying process.

Entire sanghas, or spiritual communities, can also pledge to help entrusted dharma friends within their community fulfill their commitments. Each core group will need others from the spiritual community to assume some of the tasks involved in supporting the dying person’s wishes, such as informing the sangha about appropriate prayers and rituals, practicing phowa together, and helping with funeral arrangements. This will be a wonderful way to strengthen our spiritual relationships and gain confidence in using the dying process for spiritual practice. Once we are skilled in phowa, a monthly or bi- monthly group practice session can support the entire community’s effort.

I also advocate creating a “dharma box,” an actual box which will contain everything we and our entrusted dharma friends will need to help us through the dying process. The dharma box will include copies of our dharma will and legal papers, ritual items, dharma practice texts, and instructions for family and friends. Once the dharma box is complete, we can return to our dharma vision and engage fully in the practices we have committed to through the creation of that vision, with the assurance that we have put everything in place for the time of death.

CREATING YOUR DHARMA VISION THROUGH CONTEMPLATION

There are many traditional meditations on death and impermanence in the foundational practices of all schools of Tibetan Buddhism. We can think about how the seasons change and how the elements of the world around us transform; we can look at how our bodies have changed from the time we were born until now; we can contemplate how our minds are constantly transforming. Reflecting on impermanence is the best way to prepare ourselves for the moment of death. Please take some time to reflect on the contemplations below.

Here, I will suggest some specific questions for you to contemplate. It would be best to set aside a personal retreat day or weekend without interruptions for these practices, or to do this with your entrusted dharma friends in a group retreat. You may want a journal to write down insights and ideas that arise as you do these practices. Some students have also found journaling helpful in tracking their progress in meditation and conduct over a period of a month or so and they use that as a basis for further reflection. You should decide what tools will help you the most in making this assessment of your dharma practice.

Again, I encourage you to take an honest look at yourself as a Buddhist practitioner on the path. Sit quietly and cultivate a proper motivation. Generate bodhichitta — the wish to become enlightened in order to help others attain enlightenment. I suggest you begin by reading one of the contemplations below to yourself several times. Take time to consider it fully, keeping your mind focused but open to all ideas that arise. When you feel ready, rest in meditation free of reference points for as long as you can. When you finish your meditation, if you like, take time to write about your insights and experiences. Then continue with the next contemplation in the same way.

When you’ve thoroughly explored each of the contemplations below, you can begin to incorporate what you have learned about yourself as a practitioner into your dharma vision. Even if you have been practicing for a long time, you may be surprised at what you find lacking in your practice when you have taken an honest look. Many of my students find great inspiration in this process to increase their diligence and to focus on areas needing attention. Don’t forget to practice compassion for yourself. Appreciate the past efforts you have already made and include the efforts you are willing to make to become the excellent practitioner you have envisioned.

One of the biggest obstacles we might find we have as practitioners is that we lack a sense of urgency about the need to practice. This is caused by our strong experience of self-attachment. Self-attachment is expressed in many different ways. For example, we might think, “Let me just enjoy my life right now; let me enjoy this particular moment.” We put off practice for a later time, which we fail to realise may never come. The best time to practice, the best time to prepare for the reality of death, and the best time to clarify our own dharma visions, is the present. Don’t waste a moment.

Having a sense of urgency about practice could cause us to overestimate ourselves, or to want to skip over the hard work of developing a solid and stable base of daily practice. As you create your dharma vision, make an effort to balance idealism with realism. We may all wish to be great yogis like Milarepa or Longchenpa, but our capacity is more likely to be one of an ordinary practitioner. So we should reflect realistically on where we are now in our practice and what kind of practitioner we wish to become that is not beyond our reach. We must be honest about our capacity and realistic in our goals. As I have stated above, we must also continually be mindful of life’s impermanence and the reality of impending death. We may not have all the time we think we will have for practice.

We can aspire to such goals as receiving profound instructions from authentic teachers of all lineages and gaining experience and certainty in their meaning and in the primordially pure view of Dzogchen. We can always aspire to increase our bodhichitta and can do so by daily employing such practices as tonglen, in which we take in the suffering of others and send out positive wishes for healing and happiness in exchange. We all should wish to become proficient at practicing phowa for ourselves so that we may use it effectively at the time of our deaths, to die without regrets and with altruistic motivation for our next life. We may wish to become a practitioner who can sit with confidence with people who are dying and support them during the dying process. We may think about how we may help our teachers accomplish their dharma activities and where we can contribute our talents.

Regardless of how we regard our talent for writing, we can all compose an aspiration prayer for the time of our death and include it at the end of the dharma vision. We can read this aspiration prayer before sleep each night so its meaning fully enters our hearts. Then, as we are dying, an entrusted dharma friend can read this to us to remind us of what we are trying to accomplish and of our bodhichitta. A copy of this prayer can be kept in our dharma box, and buried or burned with us after we die.

IDEAS TO CONTEMPLATE

CONTEMPLATE IMPERMANENCE FROM THE OUTER POINT OF VIEW

Reflect on how your outer environment has changed during the past year. Recall how the seasons changed: how the plants, flowers, and trees transformed over time; how the daylight increased and decreased. Think about it in terms of your own personal living environment and throughout the globe as well. Think about the natural catastrophes that occurred around the world. Reflect on all the births and deaths of people, animals, and insects. Allow the enormity of these changes to reach you on a deep level until you feel with certainty that not even one thing remained the same.

CONTEMPLATE IMPERMANENCE FROM THE INNER POINT OF VIEW

Imagine yourself as a small baby. See the physical changes you have gone through until now. Sometimes looking at photos of yourself from childhood to the present can be a poignant way to examine your own physical impermanence. Look at the transformation that has occurred in you physically. Then think about your physical being from last year until now, from last month until now, from yesterday until today. See that your body is changing even from moment to moment.

CONTEMPLATE IMPERMANENCE FROM THE SECRET POINT OF VIEW

Reflect on the wild nature of your own mind. Remember yourself as a child and how your intelligence developed over time. Look at how your mind changes moment by moment as it fills with entertaining distractions or follows after different sensory experiences. Contemplate how you are constantly transforming mentally and how the mind is also impermanent.

CONTEMPLATE YOUR SPIRITUAL PRACTICE

Reflect on your daily practice. Are you practicing regularly and for as long as you would like? Are you able to incorporate all the practices you wish to master into your daily practice? Reflect deeply on what type of practitioner you really want to be. What are the obstacles that stand in your way? Think about any tendencies you have that prevent you from practicing in this way. What is the main cause? Identify the things that cause you to put off practicing.

CONTEMPLATE THE IMPERMANENCE OF THINGS TO WHICH YOU ARE ATTACHED

If you are attached to material objects in the world around you, reflect on their changing nature. If you are attached to a person, reflect on him or her growing old and dying. Actually envision his or her physical and mental changes. If you are attached to your own life, as we all are, go through your body from the ends of the hair on your head to the tips of your toes and try to find anything that is lasting or permanent in your body. Do a very thorough examination, looking from outside to inside to see if you can find anything that is unchanging. Do this until you are confident that you, too, are actually going to die, and that you cannot hold onto this life forever.

CONTEMPLATE THE SIX PARAMITAS, OR TRANSCENDENT ACTIONS

Starting with this past month’s practice of generosity, look at how you practiced during the past month and how you have integrated practice into your daily life by examining how you have expressed generosity. Were you able to give love, emotional support, or material goods without attachment? Was your heart open unconditionally? If you compare this month to the previous month, was your generosity different or the same? If you compare last year to this year, have you been more generous? Less generous? The same? If you are the same, what will you do to increase your expression of generosity? If you have been less generous, reflect on why have you changed.

CONTEMPLATE THIS PAST MONTH’S SPIRITUAL PRACTICE IN TERMS OF THE REMAINING PARAMITAS

In the same way, examine your progress in virtue and morality; patience and tolerance; diligence and enthusiastic effort; meditative concentration; and wisdom. Take time to look at each quality and how you express it in your daily life. If you find yourself lacking in the expression of these enlightened qualities, make a plan to work on them. For example, make an effort to stay mindful of one quality over the next month and look for ways to enhance it. You will find many opportunities. Over time you can become habituated to remaining mindful and increasing the practice of each quality. You will find your daily practice improving greatly.

CONTEMPLATE THIS PAST MONTH’S SPIRITUAL PRACTICE IN TERMS OF ANGER

It is very important to similarly contemplate your recent expressions of anger and resentment. These are the hardest to purify. Compare your expressions of anger and resentment in the past to how you feel currently. As a general trend, is it becoming easier to let go of them and generate compassion? If not, how will you work on this? Again, focus on anger or resentment by remaining mindful as these emotions arise. Work with any methods you have been given to cut through afflictive emotions. If this is difficult for you, ask your spiritual friend for advice.

CONTEMPLATE THIS PAST MONTH’S SPIRITUAL PRACTICE IN TERMS OF THE VIEW

If you have received instructions from your teacher on abiding in the view, or the nature of mind, assess your progress during the past month. Were you able to remember to abide in the view one hundred times a day? Twenty-one times a day? Three times? Have you increased the number of times you remembered to practice? Has it become easier? If not, how will you improve your practice?

CONTEMPLATE THE IMPORTANCE OF MASTERING THE MIND

Your mind must deal with every experience. Think about how attaining mastery over the mind will enable you to lose any fear of death. Come to the certainty that you must master your mind in order to die with confidence.

CONTEMPLATE THE DEATH OF A PET OR ANIMAL YOU LOVE

Imagine that an animal you love very much is ill and close to dying. Or, considering what is happening in our world today, think that the last of an entire species you love is about to die. Recognise that animals have no way to take care of themselves spiritually or mentally in this situation. It is not that they do not want to; they are simply incapable of doing so. With compassion for their suffering, also reflect on your good fortune in being born as a human being who can take care of yourself emotionally and spiritually at the time of death.

CONTEMPLATE THE DEATH OF A PERSON YOU LOVE

You may have already experienced the death of someone you were close to. Perhaps they did not have all the spiritual support they needed to die without fear or regret. If so, recall the experience of their death and again reflect on the good fortune that you are able to prepare well for your own death. If you have not had someone close to you die, imagine the death of someone you love and reflect deeply on your wish that they will experience no suffering and have all the support they need to die mindfully.

CONTEMPLATE THE CAUSES AND CONDITIONS THAT LED TO YOUR BIRTH AND WILL LEAD TO YOUR DEATH

Recognize the long chain of positive and negative actions that brings you to this very moment. Search for a deep understanding of karma, causes and conditions, and how you can affect your spiritual path with mindful actions from now until death. Then consider the type of practitioner you wish to be at your death and what kind of spiritual support you will want from others. Take time to imagine yourself in the dying process. Do you have the confidence to die well? Are you ready?

Also, reflect on the idea that you may die suddenly, or during an accident. How can you be spiritually prepared for that experience?

CONTEMPLATE DIFFICULTIES WITH YOUR DEATH

As you imagine yourself dying, do any obstacles arise in your mind that would prevent you from having the kind of death you wish? What are they and what can you do to remove them?

CONTEMPLATE YOUR IDEAL DEATH

What will your mind be like? What qualities will you have developed? What practice will be most important for you to do or hear at that time? Who do you want to be there to help you stay focused on your practice as you are dying?

CONTEMPLATE YOUR LEVEL OF PRACTICE

What changes do you need to make in your daily practice to best ensure you become the type of practitioner you want to be?

CONTEMPLATE YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH A SPIRITUAL FRIEND

If you have had the good fortune to meet and make a strong connection to a lama or spiritual teacher, reflect on this relationship and what it is like now. Have you developed the kind of relationship you envision? If not, what can you do to develop this relationship further?

REVISING YOUR DHARMA VISION

The dharma vision is a living and evolving meditation. We are always changing and growing in our understanding. I recommend that each year, perhaps at the new year or on your birthday, you commit to reviewing your vision as a dharma practitioner, assessing your progress, and seeing if there is anything new you want to add. You may want to again return to the contemplations above. If you have done any of this work in a group retreat, it would be fruitful for everyone to meet again to review and share both your progress and your obstacles. Support each other with kindness and appreciate the efforts everyone has made. Your sangha and entrusted dharma friends are most precious!

[momtemplative]

The Long Game

A conversation about schools reopening:                               Part one (uno, un) of presumably many.

There was one year I celebrated the First Day Of School with such vigor and rebelliousness that the moment I got home from the double-drop-off, I stripped down to my undies and ate pesto from the jar, on the couch, like a crazy woman. 

Last year, the first day of school was delayed for four days because of construction and I had a full-on meltdown. Get these kids out of the house!!

Now, here we sit, atop an entirely different perspective. That Holiest of Days means nothing. 

Finish lines and dates-to-look-forward-to-with-certainty during this pandemic are as arbitrary as the outcome of a toddler game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. I’ve been applying a lowered-gaze to these long, long days, a here-and-now approach to get us through to the finish line of school starting. Not thinking about the Long Game has been a survival tactic to avoid an onslaught of overwhelm and to allow more room for joy and sanity. (There are plenty of tough days that happen organically, without the pressure of trying to figure it all out.)

Back in March, I thought, (many of us thought), ok this is crazy, but they’ll surely get back to school in the fall. And what an epic celebration THAT First Day will be! 

Especially after this four+ month stint of no school, no sitters, no public places open (safely), no playdates or kid swaps, no summer camps or extracurriculars, and no travel! I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t holding up the First Day as a beacon of hope, grabbing at it like fruit for a starving soul that hangs way beyond my reach.

Up until last Wednesday, we could still speculate about school as some far-off agenda. Of course there was no way school could start up again as per usual, but I pushed that slippery little thought out of my mind every time it landed.

Now, heavy with reluctance, I am beginning to mourn the loss of the reality I was hoping for—to have Opal back in school and Ruth in preschool three full-days a week! (That was new, for the two years prior, she attended preschool for three half-days, which just barely covered my part-time work load.) The generous portions of un-scheduled time (that far surpass the needs of my job, which I will not be doing for the foreseeable future anyhow, since giving massage to elders with dementia and Alzheimers is such a dangerous gig right now) were joyfully staggering to think about. 

Once the facts came to light, hard and fast on the computer screen, it no longer worked to play dumb about what the fall might look like. They announced this week that BVSD (Boulder Valley School District) would be opening schools for two days a week, a “hybrid model,” starting one week late, end of August. Half the class will attend Tuesday and Wednesday, half will attend Thursday and Friday. On the not-in-person days, kids will do online schooling. (Kids can also opt out of this for fully online, at-home schooling.)

The kids will be required to wear masks and keep their distance. There will be partitions and well-spaced desks and lots of outside time. The precautions will be thorough and lengthy, but necessary.

Joseph G. Allens, assistant professor of exposure assessment science at Harvard says, “On prevention, we are seeing that in many hospitals, the number of infections of front-line doctors and nurses has dropped way down. Why? Strict controls are in place focusing on just three things: mask-wearing, hand-washing and air-cleaning.”

This is positive news for the kids who are old enough to be mindful and take precautions. Luckily, Opal is old enough to be developmentally capable of following all the rules, not only because that is who she is, but because she understands this is what needs to happen for the public’s health. Five years ago, she may have had good intentions, but would’ve been developmentally unable of doing what needed to be done. Five years from now, she may be nursing a rebellious phase—who knows. So, we rejoice at the fact that she is eddying in the safest spot—age and development-wise—that she possibly could. (Not to mention her motivator-of-wise-choices is far more ubiquitous and scary than simply aiming to be a ‘good girl.’)

Ruth, who is four and still taste things from the ground, is another story altogether. And to intensify that reality is that she’d be in a classroom of 11 other small-children-examples. When I imagine a birds-eye-view of her classroom, I see piles of children, not individual bodies, all heaped onto a particular play area like puppies on a teat. The personified opposite of social distancing. 

And because we have grandparents to think about, we have chosen to keep Ruth from the fray of preschool for the time being. (I acknowledge we are fortunate to have this choice.) This is devastating and confusing for her, she is longing for her friends and teachers, the world she cultivated for the prior two years, half her life. She still doesn’t understand why school stopped so abruptly, why she never got to say goodbye to her class, why she can’t see any of them now, except for on a screen. 

(Ruth sometimes refers to The Virus as almost a villain-character. She’ll be lying in bed and suddenly, disgustedly, shout, “THAT VIRUS IS SO RUDE!”)

For the last few days, I’ve been saturating myself in news articles about how schools plan to re-open next month and the safety of it all—for grandparents, for teachers, for us. I vacillate between, this will be weird but fine and yikes and wait, is this the best approach? 

There is a staggering amount to consider, and yet a minuscule amount of certain information out there. Almost every article I read about young kids and COVID—can they spread it??—is filed under the opinion section of the paper. Info feels sparse and mostly speculative. I don’t trust it. At least not on her grandparents’ lives. Schools in Europe reopened months ago, where is the research from that?

Brian P. Gill, senior fellow at Mathematica, (a nonpartisan public-policy research and analysis firm), had some optimistic things to say. He said, “When reopening schools, he’d most recommend a staggered start and to reduce the number of students in schools and classrooms. “We believe this can dramatically slow the spread of COVID-19—even if children are not especially good at wearing masks or maintaining physical distance.”

I really don’t know who or what to believe at this point. I find myself glomming on to the positive bits, sharing a hopeful thought or article with friends, accompanied by a prayer-hands emoji. Then I will read something that troubles me and I turn leaden and sink to the bottom of my mental well. I usually don’t share those articles. It cycles back and forth like this. 

But returning to the bricks-and-mortar plans for Opal’s upcoming school year:

I try to imagine what this will all look like. The rooms will be half-full of socially distanced little bodies, all looking like mini-surgeons in their masks and ranging in age and size and from approximately 5 to 10 years old. Opal is on the older end, and I imagine her classroom to look like theater—where everyone has an excessive personal bubble and the plastic partition creates a glare from every angle and warps the images on either side. Connections will have to be made in code, sideways, or way too loud to overcome the cloth curtains that cover mouths. I imagine the resurgence of note-passing, like when I was a kid and we’d fold them into little origami packages and pass them along to the desired recipient, hopefully out of the teacher’s gaze. But in this case, they’d need to be tossed rather than passed—the closest desk will be six feet away.

Will they be able to see the preposterousness in all of it? Will they be able to share a good laugh about it or will it all seem like dreadful torture? I’m sure perspectives will vacillate from one end of the spectrum to the other, the way they do now. 

I do solemnly wish that everyone enter the first day of school expecting nothing less than chaos and confusion, and because of that, they will offer each other more slack and kindness. This sucks equally for everyone, the whole dang village. There’s got to be some solace in that?

(And can I get a moment of silent mercy for all these teachers, even the grumpiest ones? I cannot fathom the ninja-brainwork required to hold all these pieces together. The effort is heroic.)

We would probably consider kiboshing the whole operation if it were to last any longer than two days. That’s plenty manageable. And Opal wants it so bad. The sense of purpose, of community, of life-beyond-the-walls-of-our-home. She told me she’s dying to see the eyes of all her friends, even above a mask, as long as it’s not on a screen! Preach.

I am well aware that this equation doesn’t help parents who are trying to get back to work, but, again, I appreciate what Brian P. Gill has to say about it:

“As parents ourselves, we would much prefer that our child’s school be open for a predictable two days a week than a highly unpredictable cycle of opening and closing. But more important than our own preferences are these facts: Unpredictably difficult experiences create more stress and more downstream health problems than predictably difficult experiences, even if the experience itself is equivalent in all other respects. And for children, more predictability yields better emotional health, a key predictor of life outcomes.”

SO here we are, bouncing around the map of this pandemic with, what often feels like, no real direction. At the entrance of yet another entirely foreign trail to blaze—with kids, with grandparents, woven into the threads of our decision making more than ever before in our previous lives.

We want to give our kids the moon, but for right now, maybe the best thing we can give them is predictability. 

Joseph Allen said it well, “I wish it was different. We can continue to push for things to get better — and maybe our government will course-correct. Until then, we must forge a path forward with the reality we have, not the one we want.”

[seattle-rpg-blog1]

alexander sullivan is a resident.

       resident | downtown | cannabis grower | twenty-six | male

trigger warnings (drug use, addiction, child abandonment)

past

The problem with his life on a grander scale, were you to ask Alex, was that he’d been born a free-spirited, west coast soul trapped in a seedy little mid-Atlantic town that offered him nothing but obstacles and endless stagnation. More or less an accident child — his mother certainly hadn’t hoped for him, let alone planned for him — the bright eyed brunet was brought into the world on a breezy day in late April by seventeen year old dropout and problem child Amanda Sullivan in the small town of Elkton, Maryland, a place whose only reputation stemmed from its rampant drug abuse and violent crimes. (Second in the state only to Baltimore, but arguably worse than the larger city in a number of ways to anyone who lived there.) And Mandy, she was never fit to be a mom. Anyone who ever spoke to her for longer than a few moments could see that. She was promiscuous, addicted — what locals would call a Manor Rat for how frequently she hung around the dilapidated houses of Hollingsworth Manor trying to score a fix in one way or another — and her pregnancy, to nobody’s surprise, did nothing to change that. There was a lot of speculation that she’d even continued to use during the duration, but the older he got, the less Alex paid any mind to those rumors. In a town like theirs, he certainly wasn’t the only one who got called a crack baby by his peers, at very least.

Her mother, a kind and generous woman whose heart broke at the path her daughter decided to take, raised Alex from the time he was an infant. When Mandy would disappear for days at a time, she’d take him into her home and look after him, making sure he was clean and fed and clothed. If anything, she considered it a second chance, an opportunity to raise a child who had the support and potential to succeed where her daughter hadn’t. By the time he was four, the court granted his Nana full custody with the stipulation that Mandy be allowed supervised visits at least twice a month. Never having exiled her daughter — it was her choice not to come home, not to see her family — she agreed. Twice a month ended up being closer to twice a year, and that was only if the young boy was lucky or if his mother needed to borrow money or a phone or a ride. Not that he minded too deeply, though; his Nana cared for him, looked after him, and made sure he had everything he needed growing up. She assumed the duties of mother and father and grandparent all at once; she nurtured him, helped him with homework, picked him up from cross country practice after school and attended every single one of his meets. Not once did he ever feel like he’d gone without. The only thing she asked in return? That he never, ever touch drugs the way his mother did. It would’ve broken her heart to see him turn out the same way.

And Alex, to his credit, never did. In spite of the copious amounts of blow and smack and crystal that could’ve been found as easily as taking a few steps from his home, the boy refused the temptation.( If you could even call it that, honestly, but he’d witnessed what narcotics could do from a very young age and couldn’t ever bring himself to understand the appeal. Why would he ever do anything that could make him so unfeeling as to push aside his own family? His Nana, she didn’t deserve that. ) The only exception to his abstinence came in the form of a pretty green herb a few of his friends from the cross country team introduced to him one night after a successful meet. Naturally, he’d been trepidatious at first, but they managed to convince him to take a puff of the joint. And then, somehow, another. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so relaxed, so euphoric, and all of the tension in his muscles from a day of running through the woods seemed to fade at once. He enjoyed it. He really enjoyed it. Of course, he’d been so overcome with guilt the next day, convinced that he’d gone behind his grandmother’s back and broken his promise, that he confessed in tears to her the next day what he’d done. Though she wasn’t exactly happy with him — he was sixteen, after all, and whether or not it was a gateway drug had nothing to do with the fact that it could inhibit his developing brain — she wasn’t angry either, and told him that, if nothing else, he needed to be responsible. And he gave her no reason not to trust him; he may not have been in advanced classes, but he was maintaining good grades in school, and he was coming home to her every evening. He was a good son — grandson, she’d often have to remind herself.

Responsible, as it turned out, wasn’t all too difficult for Alex. He kept to smoking occasionally — never on school nights and never, never in her house — and kept the vast majority of his focus on academic achievements and the part-time job he’d picked up at the nearby Home Depot as graduation drew nearer. Though he may not have been valedictorian, he did graduate with decent enough grades to go to to any number of local universities at little or no cost to him, but much to the surprise of his family and friends, he decided against it. Instead, inspired by the joy he found working with the plants in the nursery section of the hardware store, he sought out a live-in position in the Professional Gardener program at Longwood Gardens in nearby Pennsylvania. It was during that time that, among other plants, Alex rediscovered a love for cannabis. There was nothing he loved more than smoking out in the gardens and then taking in the beauty of it all, the striking detail and vivid colors of nature’s canvas. After the intensive, eighteen month program, he had all the horticultural certification necessary to start working full-time at Longwood like he’d been planning since he was still back in Elkton. But suddenly, that didn’t seem like quite enough anymore. He wanted to do something that combined not one, but both of his passions. And what better way than to try to get his foot in the door of the newly blossoming industry for legalized cannabis?

present

Once he’d decided what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, the next task was deciding where. His first thought, naturally, had been California — the state was practically the birthplace of the marijuana movement in the US, wasn’t it? After packing up his car and promising his Nana that he’d call regularly to keep her updated on the successes and pitfalls of his more… unconventional career path, Alex headed across the country with a goal and an even more amplified sense of motivation. The next year was spent bouncing around the better half of southern Cali, trying to soak up any knowledge and experience he could in the field. He spent some time as a budtender, volunteered to trim plants for free in exchange for tips and advice from experienced growers, industry professionals who’d been cultivating cannabis for years. He already had the green thumb, all he really needed were the specific details. And he got them, too; he went from volunteering to becoming a paid member of the grow team for a nicer dispensary in the Los Angeles area where he stayed for several months before the news in November of 2012 that both Washington and Oregon had voted to legalize recreational marijuana inspired him to move yet again. Only this time, he actually knew what he was doing. He knew about the pH of the soil and he had a backstock of different fertilizer recipes catalogued in his brain, he knew about heat lamps and hydroponic grow systems and the nutrient requirements for plants to really thrive. And now — now he could share that knowledge with an entirely new set of people.

With some of the connections he’d made traveling around the west coast, it wasn’t hard to land himself a job in Washington before he even left the state of California; the projected number of dispensaries to pop up within a year alone was staggering and with a greener resume to back up his skills, he was quickly hired on as an in-house grower for a dispensary called ReLeaf in downtown Seattle months before it was even set to open its doors. For the first two years, finances forced him to stay in small apartment about thirty minutes out of the city and make the commute back and forth every day — something he hardly minded, as he’d be willing to drive quadruple the distance for his dream job, which this very well was — but after a while, his plants were in such high demand that he was not only growing for them but outsourcing some of his buds to other dispensaries as well. So much so, in fact, that were he not dedicated to staying with the company that given him his start in the city, he often considered renting out his own grow space and working independently. But he loved ReLeaf too much and, appreciative of his loyalty in spite of other potential opportunities, he became their lead grower by the end of 2015. With a significantly higher income, Alex was able to afford a nicer apartment in downtown Seattle not only closer to his job but surrounded by the culture of his new home. He’s only been there a year now, but he’s absolutely in love with it and he couldn’t be happier with where his life is at.

personality

Although he’ll claim he gets along far better with plants than with people, his time on the west coast has really allowed Alex the opportunity to come into his own as an outgoing and social person regardless of who he’s with. He’s the kind of guy who will sit next to you in a park full of otherwise empty benches and strike up a conversation without any sort of prompting. He believes that laughter is the best medicine ( aside, of course, from cannabis, but he’s a little biased on that front ) and finds the most satisfaction when he can get anyone to crack a smile, be they friends or strangers, so he makes it a goal to do so as often as he can. That said, for as lighthearted and goofy as he might appear, he is surprisingly hard-working and motivated when it comes to his career; frequently, he’s been known to spend up to sixteen or eighteen hours in a day at the grow house, whether installing newer, better lighting and ventilation systems or coming up with new fertilizer blends designed for specific strains or simply tending to his plants. As well, being raised solely by his grandmother has given him not only a solid work ethic and a well-developed set of manners but a profound appreciation for women and their innate strength, and he wouldn’t hesitate to identify as a feminist.

a little more…

     ❝ rollin’ up some grass on this beat, huh? nothin’ on ya feet kinda sweet, huh? nothin’ but love, gettin’ high up as the stars tonight. ❞

[aceprosecuties]

The final day of #gayblackquillweek with the red string of fate prompt!  I might have taken a few liberties with the legend.  Simon realizes at a young age that he has the ability to see the red strings of fate, and eventually discovers that his is attached to one Bobby Fulbright.  Except...it isn’t really.  Phantomquill angst because I hate myself apparently.  Unedited.  Approx. 1550 words.   

It was around his fifth birthday when Simon had begun to see them: red strings attached to people’s pinky fingers.  His mother and father had one that connected the two of them together, stretching no matter how many times his mother traveled for work outside of the country.  As he would walk with his older sister through the city streets, he would see them everywhere; couples whose strings were attached, couples whose strings stretched to others, single people with strings tangled…Simon wondered what they were.

He even had one, and tried to touch it more than once, only for his hand to phase through it as if it wasn’t truly there.

One day, when his mother was tucking him into bed, he asked her about them.

“Mama…what are the red strings?”

His mother – who was leaving to visit his grandparents in Japan the next morning – gave him a puzzled look and stroked his thick black hair.  

“What red strings, dear?”

“The one that you and Papa share!”  He was a bit enthusiastic, but then looked at his own hand.  “I have one too, and Aura…but ours don’t seem to have an end.  What are they?”

“Ah, so you can see them,” she whispered to herself. It was an ability passed through some of the members of her family for generations, usually through the second born, though it tended to not manifest until the early teenage years, so this was a conversation that she wasn’t expecting to have for some time.

“Well,” she said, sitting down on the bed, and continuing to stroke his hair gently.  “Legend says that the red string is supposed to tie you to your soulmate.  It connects you with that person…it can tangle and stretch for a long long time, but won’t ever break, unless one of the people have already left this world. Most people can’t see them, but you are special,” she added, poking his nose in a loving yet slightly teasing gesture. Simon just giggled and smiled. 

“Why can’t I touch it?”

“Because you can’t mess with fate, my love.”

“So…finding the other person attached to mine will be like the princess finding the prince in the show we watched!”  His mother giggled, as she could practically see his eyes shine when he spoke.

“Sort of, yes.  But Simon, I want you to always remember…”  She leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her son’s forehead.  “…There are many ways to be happy.  The red string is fate but…you can control your own destiny.”

By the way her child tilted his head and looked at her with obvious confusion, she knew the message was not something that he would be able to truly comprehend right now.  He would understand one day, though…one day.

Unfortunately, she and her husband did not survive the plane crash, so he wasn’t able to ask her about it again.

But the words stuck with him.

-----

As he got older, he started thinking more and more about who was on the other end of his string.  More than once, he spent hours following the red thread, hoping that he would eventually reach the other side.  He got lost a few times, earning him a harsh scolding from Aura, but that didn’t stop him from trying again and again.

He was surprised when he still hadn’t met his supposed soulmate by the time he took apprenticeship under Metis Cykes, but by then, he began to care less and less.  After all, he was happy; his mentor had quickly become the most important person to him, and he considered her daughter Athena to be his niece.  He would play with her when Metis was off doing things with Aura, and would savor his dinners with the Cykes’ and his sister and the other members of the GYAXA family.  He would laugh and smile more than he had since his parents had passed away, and he couldn’t imagine being happier.

He didn’t need to meet the person on the other end of that string.  

So he stopped following it, and learned to ignore it.

Then…the UR-1 incident.

His entire world crashed down; suddenly his mentor had been murdered, and he was in jail after taking the blame to protect her daughter.  Never again would he have those GYAXA family dinners.  Never again would he smile with and learn from Metis Cykes.  No, he would instead rot in his cell…putting up a front of strength and criminality despite how pained he was on the inside.  

He cried a lot, at least in the beginning.  He tried to keep his tears limited to nighttime, so that other prisoners – many of whom he himself had put away – and that the guards – who had felt he betrayed them as a prosecutor – would not see potential weakness on his part.  It didn’t always work…so he began cultivating the persona of the “twisted samurai.”  Over time, people began to fear him, and he kept his secret locked up in his heart, all while trying to find the Phantom – the true killer of Metis – from behind bars.

Then…a break.  Miles Edgeworth became Chief Prosecutor, and secretly met with him almost immediately.  Simon resisted the overwhelming urge to sob when Edgeworth said that he believed he did not kill Metis, and that he wanted to help him find the Phantom.  He would reinstate Simon’s prosecutor’s badge, allowing him to stand behind the bench in the courtroom once again.  They would take advantage of the dark age of the law – people would not be terribly surprised to see an inmate prosecuting when they had such low faith in the judicial system.  

And Miles introduced him to his investigative partner – Detective Bobby Fulbright.

Simon almost gasped, because there he apparently was – the man on the other end of his red string.  

His soulmate.

And at first, he was not impressed.

When they started working together, Fulbright was loud and boisterous and overwhelming.  He didn’t seem to have an off switch, and Simon often found himself frustrated with the amount of blunders the man would make.  Fulbright constantly talked about justice and showed off his badge like an overenthusiastic grade-schooler who wanted to show off some foolish award they got.

Simon took to calling him “Fool Bright” to try and disparage the detective, but no matter what he did, Fulbright would just bounce back with a smile and a compliment, and Simon would growl in frustration.  It would be easier if Fulbright hated him…after all, he was to die soon, unless he was able to locate and catch the Phantom.  He didn’t want this whole soulmate thing to make Fulbright feel worse than he needed to when Simon faced his inevitable execution.

Try as he might, Simon was unable to keep himself from wanting Fulbright’s company after a while.  He wanted to convince himself that it was only because Fulbright was his main conversational partner, but…deep down, he knew that he was falling for his soulmate, as much as he wanted to deny it.  Fulbright, for as much as he acted as though he was a poorly trained puppy, would tell Simon that he believed in him, and would say that he believed in Simon’s innocence, and that he would help him reintegrate back into society when Simon would get exonerated.  

His insistence of Simon’s goodness caused Simon to open up to the man about his fears and dreams.  He would speak with Fulbright for hours, and would go to sleep with the detective on his mind.  He would dream of his smile and his ridiculous laugh and his oversized sunglasses, and he would look forward to the cases they worked together…even as he would get exasperated every time Fool Bright made an obvious blunder.

And then…the trial.

Simon watched from the prosecutor’s bench as Phoenix Wright questioned Detective Bobby Fulbright fervently, accusing him of being the Phantom that Simon had been searching for.  Knowing that his job was to find the truth, Simon too, began to question and used his suggestive powers to coax Fulbright into revealing more and more. He didn’t show it, but his chest tightened and his stomach churned with every new discovery.  

Miles Edgeworth then came in with new evidence.

Bobby Fulbright was dead.

This man – this man on the other end of the red string attached to Simon’s finger – was an imposter.

An emotionless being who killed his mentor. Who killed Justice’s friend.  Who caused so much suffering for Athena and for Aura and for Simon himself.  

This monster was attached to Simon Blackquill as his soulmate.

Simon wanted to throw up, but kept his cool even as he watched mask after mask fall from the Phantom’s face.  He jumped a bit when the sniper hit the man who was his partner, and hated himself for feeling relieved when Edgeworth told him that the attempted execution was unsuccessful.  

That night, when he was in front of everyone, he appeared relieved, hugging Athena more times than he could count.  

But, after everyone else went to bed…he found himself staring at the red thread.

And for the first time in years, he tried to touch it.

But as hard as he tried – tears running down his face freely – the blade wouldn’t cut the string.        

[thissurroundingall]

Octave Vandeweghe

How fascination with stone led to a search for the religious

Nederlandstalige versie

Date of interview: August & December 2017

Reading time: 11 minutes 40 seconds

Octave Vandeweghe (°1988) studied industrial product design before trying his hand at Goldsmithing and Jewelry Design at Sint-Lucas College, Antwerp.  Frustrated by Industrial Design, he decided to pursue goldsmithing and jewelry which allowed him to give his products a more personal touch.

Before we start, I take a little more time to enjoy the view. It still feels quiet and secluded, under grey skies waiting to shine in the sun.

After a bit of wondering around the northern docks of Antwerp, we come across Octave's white caravan. It is accompanied by a few floating houseboats in the dark Scheldt water. Octave is a tall young man, calm and serene. His van feels somewhat isolated, set against a wall in the pouring rain. Despite the dreary weather, he has opened his doors to us. I carefully climb aboard a structure that resembles a verandah, cozy but functional. A pot of Moroccan mint tea simmers on the stove while classical music comes out of a tiny stereo mounted on the wall. It’s the perfect atmosphere to quietly awaken to. Before we start, I take a little more time to enjoy the view. It still feels quiet and secluded, under grey skies waiting to shine in the sun.

Later Octave shows us his studio. It’s in a well-hidden warehouse which he shares with some colleagues and his girlfriend, the Israeli artist Dana Seachuga.

Where do you spend most of your time?

Most of my days are spent in my studio. I leave early in the morning and come home late at night. When I arrive in the evening, it’s to relax. I don’t work here.

What’s the most important part of your studio?

I must be able to feel at ease. A stark white environment wouldn’t do it for me. I reorganise it constantly to fit my mood. That’s a big part of my working there. I’m always trying to create a warm and friendly environment because I spend so much time there.

Your studio is huge. You share it with other artists and creative people. Do you prefer working with others?

I like working alone, but I prefer not to work alone in my studio. At the moment I share it with five people and I like the interaction. We don’t need to talk constantly. But sometimes it’s useful to have others around when you’re having difficulties with something. If I’m looking for a solution to a technical problem, there is always someone who can help me. The sheer size of it has allowed me certain opportunities.

My mother was an avid collector, and my father still is. He’s incapable of throwing out anything from that period, so his home is filled with sentimental objects.

In your assemblies you combine a range of many different objects. Where did your search for objects begin?

It started with collecting utensils and parts of utensils that caught my eye. I found these on the street, in container parks or second-hand shops. These objects did not have to be complete for me. Sometimes I didn’t even know what they were for. Many objects I found in the attic or cellar or garage of my parents’ place, crammed along with stuff from my father, my deceased mother and my grandparents. My mother was an avid collector, and my father still is. He’s incapable of throwing out anything from that period, so his home is filled with sentimental objects. I guess I inherited it from him. It brings with it a certain struggle. On the one hand, I have a great aversion to this type of hoarding nature, on the other hand it’s something that fascinates me.

I study the history of an object, the material used and its transformation to create 'poetry'.

How do you work once you have found the 'right' things?

Actually, I don’t assemble found objects anymore. Even though I was convinced of the things I made, I sometimes found that the work I produced became ‘lost’ in the world. In my recent projects, I start with a subject, theme or niche. I study the history of an object, the material used and its transformation to create 'poetry'. This comes after a long investigation.

During one of my exhibitions someone asked me if one of my objects was a knife or more like a gem. I couldn’t answer this with conviction because this isn’t really something I consider. The two come together naturally. But it did make me consider the material and the feeling of the objects more closely.

A slogan you used in one of your exhibitions was "What meaning do things carry in relation to our everyday life"? What led you to this idea?

It evolved that way. I often look at an object I’ve been using all my life and wonder: "Where does this come from? Why is it like this?" Most people don’t give it a second thought and that’s quite normal. I really find it fascinating to dig deeper into the history of an object.

What feeling do you want to create when redefining it?

I don’t find it necessary to create a specific feeling. Although in my recent work I’ve been exploring that. In my previous work, it’s been about the search for something ‘different’, then taking that apart and offering a new insight to it - it's not so much about feelings.

A gemstone arises and grows in a very specific form, through crystal formation. It is a very hard material, which carries within it a kind of eternity.

The exhibition after the period of your assemblages is called "A Brilliant Cut", you started working with gemstone cutting. How did that transition come about?

To be honest, I never thought that stones were really that interesting. Certainly not gems, because it made me think of jewellery. I didn’t know the scale of what was possible within it. I was mainly working on the theme with 'knives'. I did some research and when studying the genesis of knives, I ended up with stone! Two images I saw stuck with me. It was the structure of 'flint' knives and the ‘faceted diamond’. The different relationships between the two. This led me to start working with stone. The result was a smaller installation of three objects, three forms that referenced knives.

The deeper I have gone into it, the more interesting it has become, also because it’s a totally unknown discipline to me. In any case, it’s a fascinating material. A gemstone arises and grows in a very specific form, by way of crystal formation. It is a very hard material, which carries within it a kind of eternity. Silver and gold, for example, is different. If a future generation decided to throw everything in a pot and melt it, the shape would be completely lost. This is less evident with a stone. You can grind it into something new but there’ll always be some loss.

A quote of yours that really struck me is: 'Objects are more often "waiting to be used" than "being used".' If I look around here in your van, I don’t see too much stuff. I suspect you might think we have too much ‘stuff’. Would I be right in thinking this?

You could say that, yes. Although I'm not entirely sure why it bothers me. I think I’m a bit bothered by the number of things that come onto the marketplace. Things that have not been properly thought through or that just aren’t necessary. For me, this is more problematic than people who own too much stuff. I personally also enjoy being surrounded by lots of stuff.

You do?

Yes, but that’s because of my upbringing. My dad’s insatiable collecting played a huge role in it. After my mother died, he hardly threw anything out. It was the same situation when my grandparents died, from both my father's and my mother's side. So now he’s surrounded by a huge number of things... I don’t want to live like this, but I’ve been influenced by it. That’s why I live rather minimalistically here in my van. Perhaps in reaction to it.

Why do you actually live in this van?

First of all, it’s a dream that I always wanted to fulfil. Many people dream about it, but not many people actually do it.  And certain aspects of my personal life have led me to do it this way.

Secondly, after graduation I was looking for alternative solutions to make ends meet. Financially it’s very interesting to live in a van. If I have to go to an exhibition, I can bring my entire home along with me. I have everything I need so there are no extra costs or rent to pay. It's simple. I have my studio and I have my van.

In your work you seem to like to go back to the essence, the primitive form of something.

I’m becoming more and more interested in this yes, and for different reasons. I could link that to my life in the van, but it goes deeper than that. The way I live now is in reaction to where I come from. I grew up in Knokke and spent a large part of my youth in Scouts. At the time, I always thought it was great to go back to the basics, to disappear in a tent surrounded by nature for days at a time. That primitive way of life has always appealed to me one way or another.

With most utensils, I’m interested in discovering their origins This tells you a lot about a tool. Take this for example, (grabs a lighter from a magnet attached to the stove ed.) in the olden days, when we wanted to make fire, we put two stones together. With this lighter, it is still exactly the same principle. Inside is ceramic or mountain stone and a tiny hammer. So, we are still doing it in exactly the same way. I really like the fact that people have invented a way to make the entire process so much faster and easier. I find the primitive idea behind it really interesting. Where do these things come from?

What is it about certain stones that inspire you to get to work on them?

It depends on if I 'find' a natural stone or a mineral. Either it is the size, or part of the natural shape or texture that incites me to further develop it. So, what I do is then only an addition to what already exists.

If I am going to work on a ‘cultivated stone’, then it must be around a form that I have preconceived. Certain artificial materials form in a natural way.

The choosing between rocks and forms that are made either by man or by nature and the possibility of doing something with this, playing with it, is something that fascinates me.

What did you do next with the ‘Cultured Manners project’ (2016)?

I've continued in the direction of 'A Brilliant Cut', where the crudeness of the stone and knives remain present. But I've added to this idea by working with a set of specifications. Together they form one work. Everything revolves around etiquette, table manners, a man-made concept. The scale of this work is also different. It’s more spatial. This is a very pleasant way to work because until now, I’ve always worked with smaller things. It offers new possibilities that lead to new ideas.

What’s in store for the future? You’ve recently made a 'menhir' of 3 meters high, that can be seen at Anciens Abbatoirs, Mons (BE). Why?

One way of looking at a menhir, is as though it were a giant stone cut to create a crude looking knife. This idea is an extension of my previous work. But instead of working around the beauty and function of this object as an artefact, the process gave way to a certain religious wonderment, in its most primitive form. That's how I recognise the religious in non-religious elements. I plan to continue working with this idea.

(Red. TSUA was given the opportunity to check out some of his works inspired by this idea in Octave's studio. We’re very curious about what the public will think.)

Interview: Petra Jacobs & Han Spauwen

Translation: Han Spauwen & Steven Kremers

Editing English text: Steven Kremers

Photography: Joan Panhuyzen