Not Yet Nirvana

We, here in America, are told constantly that terrorists are running wild and that we are susceptible to an attack at any given moment. It's an election year here in the United States of America and the value of fear mongering cannot be ignored as a campaign tool. There was a horrific attack on America and no one can forget that for the symbolism was iconic. And there have been several attempts made in the ensuing years to repeat the effect of that horrific act, if not in the same magnitude, at least in the doubting of our own security. But intelligence agencies thwarted those attacks and saved lives. Europe has experienced brutal attacks that have claimed hundreds of lives with thousands injured. Terrorism works because brutal violence committed against civilians in the midst of the mundane, day-to-day grind with people gathered to celebrate a joyous occasion, shocks an open pluralistic, democratic society to its core. That such horror is employed against unsuspecting civil...

Everyone is afraid of something. What is it that you are afraid of? Not spiders, or heights or water. I don’t mean things like that [although I do fear heights and water]. Think more deeply. What is it that truly and fundamentally terrifies you? For me, I fear being a coward. To be faced with a challenge in life and not measure up, that’s what terrifies me. I fear that I might fail to protect my wife, though even at my age and state of decrepitness, my thirty-eight years of martial arts training might stand me in good stead, for a short time, at least. I figure about ninety seconds. But my cowardice could manifest as me being immobilized by self-pity over some crisis or other when I should wish to remain strong for my family, a rock of strength for them. Simple, daily life can be more arduous than we care to credit. The mundane can drive a man around the bend or even to his end. A man must deal with the frustration of earning a living, not getting that promotion, not making e...

I read the news of the attack that took place at Turkey’s largest airport on Tuesday, June 28, 2016. Scores of people were killed and hundreds were wounded. I was at work complaining about still working at my age, complaining I wouldn’t be able to afford the vacation I wanted, moaning about having to cut back on going out to dinner and fearing whether or not I would be able to continue my lifestyle when I do retire in four years. It’s absurd. People’s lives were shattered on the day I was working and thinking about my daily life, my wife, my friends, my family, and what to do on the weekend. It’s not that I didn’t care. I did care, I was outraged, I was saddened, and I closed the newspaper. How do we live in a world where tragedy occurs all the time? Worse, yet, much of the horror that happens does so in our name. The carnage is caused directly or indirectly by the very leaders, we elect. And it’s not all man-made tragedy. There's the capriciousness of nature to conte...

I look at my favorite musicians whom I’ve followed since the seventies and I notice something. They look old. Most of them are around sixty-eight years of age. And they’re gamely out there and still touring, (albeit much smaller venues for the most part, although David Gilmour sixty-eight and Paul McCartney seventy-three, still pack stadiums). The photos that pop up in my Facebook feed from time to time show my rock idols as they were in the sixties and seventies with long flowing hair, clear skin, mesmerizing eyes and you can feel the energy emanate from the photo. I remember with fondness, the summers of warm breezes bearing the musky scent of hashish and pot, the taste of sweet wine, the ambience of love, as my beloved music crashed over us in a tonal tsunami. But when the pop-up photos in my feed show side by side pictures of my favorite stars from then with current photos of them now, my dreams come crashing back to earth. They are old! What is worse is the realization tha...

This blog is based on excerpts from my book: The Spiritual Energy Way . This was a book I wrote about martial arts, specifically, Seishindo , a curriculum I developed over thirty-eight years of studying martial arts and nineteen years working as a correctional officer. In the last segment of the book, I related martial arts tenets and philosophy to everyday non-martial art life. This excerpt talks about self-esteem and confidence. It is acceptable in martial arts to adopt any particular " kamae " or posture, as an expression of one’s self in an emotionally artistic or stylistic manner provided it is either a sound stratagem in and of itself or the individual is so adept at the posture that she can make it work. Couldn’t the same be said of how we present ourselves in daily life in a non-martial context? When I was teaching women’s self-protection, I taught participants how to not present themselves as an opportunity for targeting. Statistically, women are more likely...

When I was sixteen or so and growing up during the sixties and seventies in Toronto, Canada, I thought I knew just how the world worked and more than that, I knew how the world ought to work. I was all for sex, drugs and rock and roll, peace and love. I was against the war in Vietnam. I was for non-violence and I wanted people in Africa and India to have enough to eat. I did not agree with authoritarianism, conformism, or theism. Now that I am to be sixty-two in August, I am shocked to realize just how confused I am by the world and stunned to see it isn’t working how it should. I have decided that my philosophical outlook could be the cause of my confusion. But first, I have to identify what my philosophical outlook is. Political, religious, and economic issues aside, I still have trouble explaining to myself what the personal philosophy of my life is all about. It’s difficult to categorize. If it’s true that the unexamined life is not worth living then I had best get busy to codi...

My mother has died. That somber fact has me processing thoughts of guilt, love, and my own mortality. I am officially an orphan. My mother was one of the “Railway Children,” those Liverpool kids sent to the countryside to escape the bombing during World War II. She and her sister were sent to Wales and were bounced from household to household, relative to relative, and finally to an orphanage. Dad moved to Canada in 1960 to forge a better a life for us. Before my mum took my sister and I to join him, the family held an “American wake,” a mournful goodbye, as if a loved one had died. Mum left everything and everybody she ever knew to join her husband in the new world. My mother and father worked hard to give us a good life. There were tough times, money was scarce, and there was tension between my parents. Hell, let me be honest, my father hit my mother, I saw it. My mum was sixty when she left my dad. She just walked out with the clothes on her back. That was my mum. Tough. W...