11.11.21

 A Collection of Absurdist Bedtime Stories (Vol. 2)


    I was at school because I needed to learn how books worked. There was no librarian, so I took the books and a librarian appeared from the library school. She had orange hair and orange clothes, but she was nice. Then my daddy was there and we sat on a comfy couch to read four books. The librarian sat next to us so she could help us with the books, but then my lovey mommy came and sat wherever she wanted.

    I asked Mommy's foot about a bus and it said, "what?"  So I hid with Rexy and we rode a cat-bus all the way any where. And the cat-bus was my friend and we were snuggly.  Then I read the books with the cat-bus, the librarian and mommy and it was like any other book that the librarian read to me. It was cool. Oh, wait, I forgot to tell you something: the book was about dinosaurs, or dragons.  YEEEEEAAAAAHHHH!!

The End

  (Isaiah, aged 2)


    That rhino-butterfly has a complex.  It seems like he shouldn't be that angry, being so beautiful.  Maybe he needs to get his ears clipped; perhaps he just needs to grow it out.

  (Nathaniel, aged 27)


    It was dirty.  Very dirty--just the way I liked it.  Nothing could have made it clean enough for Mrs. Jenkins, or dirty enough for Ralph the Skag (what a jerk!), but it likewise couldn't have been better for someone like me.

    Would you like it? I can't rightly say, but if you're anything like me then it would suit you like a butterfly on a poppy: a little flap of blue-green on a rambunctious red: smooth and spikey, all at once--just like I like it.

  (Gabriel, aged 33)


The Story of Aha-b'zurg (1/4)

    She was majestic, beautiful, and good; her will was strong and beyond the pall of doubt; all that stood in her way was there to be overcome.  Her name was Aha-b'zurg.

    Princess of the fairy dragons, she liked to eat stuff that was not food. She ate fire-truck toys that tasted like chocolate, because they were fun and yummy.  She was the kind of girl that lived in the best of both worlds.

    
    One day she ate real food, and when it went in her mouth it was not food. Aha-b'zurg had lost her ability to eat normal things. While she could always go back to eating those mixtures of toys and treats, fun food was not always good for her and she knew it. Sometimes you have to do what's right, or at least her mother and father seemed to think that one should; they certainly said it often enough! Aha-b'zurg, on the other hand, was not so sure.  
    Something seemed wrong about sacrificing the present for a future that was not promised. She had lived for thousands of years, as rainbow fairy dragons do, and she would probably go on living for many thousands more, but that was not reason enough to avoid fun...even if it was for the sake of her future. [So she thought...]

--to be continued--
  (Gabriel & Isaiah, ages 33 and 2)


   The Great Big Spirit got irritated with people one day because of all their pooping on each other and not being nice, so he caused a very big wind to blow.  And it was such a strong wind that it caused the moon to flip upside-down, so the man in the moon god dizzy and sneezed.  On earth people saw that he was looking in the wrong direction.  The birds decided to fly upside-down so he would look right again to them. This made people turn their heads, and they all sneezed.  They sneezed so hard that the moon flipped back again to where it started out.  People were still not being nice to each other, so the Great Big Spirit took a nap.

  (Adam, aged 63)

    One day there were three little froggys and one was a tiny bit.  Then their mama was a tiny bit too.  They wanted to have something that was a surprise, but they knew that had to earn it, so they earned it: they were nice to everybody in the frog city. 
They loved their surprise, which made them happy. They had never had one before and it tasted good.  It was it!

(Isaiah, aged 2)


    The last time we went to the park it was beautiful, but this time it wasn't even there.  I have never done anything as difficult as going to a nowhere place; I am still not sure if I even left my house.  I thought I saw my friends, and that we had a good time, but I do not remember having woken up yesterday, let alone put shoes on! Something eerily similar happened when my sister who gave me snookers because, after all, I was an only child.

  (Gabriel, aged 33)


The storm is green and white
and left and right
and everywhere
and in the mine.

I love you.
You're beautiful. You're sweet.
I think you smell like flowers.
I think you know what you're doing.


(Isaiah, aged 2)


    Once there was a car that rolled down the hill in front of my house.  Most cars who rolled by had drivers, though, and while this one surely had a driver at some point, they were not driving it while it was rolling down the street.  Now that I think about it, it wasn't so much that the driver's side door was open that made me think it had a driver, nor the plain fact that cars didn't drive themselves (at least not those days); in hindsight, it must have been that poor guy running after the car, screaming at the top of his lungs for the car to stop. 
    Silly guy; cars never listen.

  (Gabriel, aged 33) 


20.6.19

A Collection of Absurdist Bedtime Stories (Vol. 1)

One Day there was a little kitten who went on a trip with her mommy.  The mommy kitten didn't know how I work, so she asked me and I turned into an airplane.   (Isaiah; age 2)

A long time ago there was a frog. This frog wanted to fly, but not like a bird or a bug, for they needed to use so much energy; the frog did not want to fly like an airplane, either, because they make too much noise.  The frog, who was named Jemimah, wanted to fly like a cloud.
She thought that clouds flew so gracefully, in part, at least, because it seemed so effortless and inconsequential.  In order to fly like a cloud, though, Jemimah realized that she would have to tum into water first, so she jumped into the pond.
(Gabriel; age 33)



There was a forest right here.  It went for a walk one day and it stepped on mornrny, but it didn't have any feet.  Then I came and helped mornrny up because I wanted to play.  I wanted to play a Frisbee game right in this house, but not on the bed.
 (Isaiah; age 2) 

As the moon rose in the east and the wind blew down from the north and the birds flew south to roost, there they were.  Just west of Humphrey's House of Blues, which was a jazz house, like there were in the 40's, and not far from the east side, there was a lot of conspicuous size. Nothing was supposed to be that big in the city; at least not these days, according to most who lived around there.  Even if it was small compared to most lots, it was still something that was hard to ignore: you couldn't walk past it without noticing how long it took to get from one side to the other, to the dark side.  "Dark" might make it sound sinister, and that's unfair: it as also on the right side of some, and it never meant to do things, right or wrong, left or right.  Heck, it was a lot, it couldn't be said to do anything of its own...except occupy space, maybe.  But, I guess it would be fair to say that there are enough people out there, in the same area, even, who never did much more than take up space, so maybe it could be said that it was "on the level." You definitely couldn't sled there, or roll anything down it, so it all fits, in that level sort of way.

There was that time, a few weeks ago, when the cats and the birds finally came together and made sweet music, in the grass, under the light of the moon (the very same one that had just risen--however much fuller she seemed), and it was beautiful.  Even the drummer took a beat to dig it, deeply, before tapping back into time.

But that was so long ago that hardly anyone cared any more...or maybe they never did, which would explain the apparent difference. Maybe not; I guess I don't care either, really, even though it was a lot. It was just a lot.
(Gabriel; age 33)


Once upon a time there was a cave that was so dark no one could get out.  But there was a little bear in the cave and he cried because his family was not there.  His family was coming to give him hugs, which he really wanted, but they were not there yet.  He waited for his family in the dark and he thought about a pillow. He thought about the pillow because he was tired of waiting.
The cave was so dark, but the bear just went right out and asked himself, "what happened to me?"
(Isaiah; age 2)



+++++++
(In collaboration with The Garfinkles: Isaiah (age 2), Nathaniel (age 27), Gabriel (age 33) and Adam (age 63); Berlin, 2015)

15.8.18

Addendum -- The Philosophy of Freestyle Stone Skipping

While living in Maryland (USA) I developed an intricate system for both skipping stones and judging the quality of said skips, which I call Freestyle Stone Skipping (as opposed Conventional Stone Skipping, which limits itself to merely tracking the quantity of skips managed);  a few years later, while living in Rajasthan (India), I further developed my practice to include a wide arching ethical system based on the rubric for judging skipped stones, and therefrom has arisen what I casually refer to as "The Philosophy of Stone Skipping." [I say "casually" only because I was and still am extremely hesitant to put this to any of my (former) colleagues in professional philosophy, though I'll talk about it for hours with anyone outside the ivory tower, mostly because I'm pre-emptively embarrassed by what they would say in response, which is more a reflection of the current state of professional philosophy than the quality of my ideas--or so I've convinced myself.]





In order to ensure that there are no misinterpretations of Freestyle Stone Skipping (F-SS), as differentiated from its conventional counterpart (C-SS*), I want to both refer to my previous post on the topic (found here) and reiterate the major differences:

  1. C-SS*:
  2. F-SS

*- There is absolutely no connection between this moniker and the Brazilian post-punk band of the same name, though some of their music is quite good and worth checking out if you're into that kind of stuff.


(More to come, especially if anyone leaves comments with suggestions/thoughts.)

17.1.10

The Pyramid of Virtue

(This was originally composed on Friday November 7th, 2003, while living in the Black Forest and studying Philosophy & Science at Albert Lüdwigs Universität, in Freiburg am Breisgau, Germany. It has been slightly edited and updated to better reflect my beliefs and goals on Sunday January 17th, 2010, while living in the Thar Desert and working as the international program coordinator of the Foundation for Sustainable Development in Jodhpur, Rajasthan, India.)


ᅀ ᅀ ᅀ ᅀ ᅀ ᅀ ᅀ
The Pyramid of Virtue

The N.R.G.--The Next Reign Group

"We're not trying to take over the world…just change it."



We are building an army of intellectual guerrilla warriors and such patriots of freedom and justice are not in short supply. Nevertheless, there is need for more and All are welcome. We, those who strive to spread this positive energy through time and space, are bent on helping every person -- man and woman, young and old, light and dark, slow and smart -- in summoning them to open their minds, hearts and eyes. We are eager to embrace the madness that surrounds us and even to add fuel to the fires of change -- cultivate a constructive cultural chaos and from it mold a better future, not for us, but for the myriad to come. (This does not imply a disruption of the lives of those involved, whether revolutionary or revolutionized; On the contrary, our aim is only to lighten the unbearable load of being and show that the "open-society"-- place of light, laughter and love--is within our grasp.)


We are not locked in a conflict, nor are we struggling to force change on those who do not welcome it. Our aim is to create a new foundation, the pyramid of Virtue. The pyramid is a structure of unparalleled greatness and stability, which has proven around the world that it can hold strong through the test of time. The four bases, which represent the four elements of the human world-- Philosophy, Politics, Pedagogy, and Production– we aim to open a dialogue that will serve as a road map to the open society. When ready and able we will turn our theory into practice – into movement toward the light – then we will see the elevation from the foundation to a higher, fifth point of this new foundation--the fifth element--the poet, the voice.
The establishment of this 3-dimensional paradigm for socio-political and socio-economic change will be the beginning of the end for the status quo. The climate of chaos, this atmosphere of apathy, is approaching its end, and the rise of this new energy will be kindling of the fires of change. This will not be the end of history — far from it! — but the beginning of a new chapter, the next reign. There there is no inevitability here--we are not bound to victory and the path will be long and hard. Simply finding those to make up the four basic elements, to take up the call of cultivated change, need not happen. The fifth and all important facet of our group, the voice of reason in a time of regression, will be even more difficult to manage. We may never succeed in opening the pathways of progress to the masses, but that is never a reason to give up, especially not when the campaign is only just begining...

The Pyramid of Virtue will be structured around its 5 (i.e., Philosophy, Politics, Pedagogy, Production and Poetry ) but there will be still more encompassing the whole: the inner workings of this cultivation, the mechanism of our march, must eventually be comprised of every element of society: laborers – lovers --intelligentsia -- artists -- activists -- mainstream -- underground -- EVERYONE WHO IS WILLING!! -- and we will all share the two specific points that bind us -- love and light, both of which are manifestations of the unspeakable, which, to some, is commonly referred to as "the divine." With these seven points -- those that make up the symbol of The N.R.G. -- the intellectual guerrillas will strive to expose all those who come in contact with our work. Some will refuse, and those who are shown our light and choose not to join, with a smile shall they continue on their chosen paths, where ever they lead. However, those who are shown the light and choose to obstruct our purpose of progress, who choose to create division, opposition, and struggle — which we, The N.R.G., do not commit or condone — with mental thrashing they will feel our wrath. Those who have accepted liberty and love, those who choose to join our movement toward the open society, they have always had a spot amongst us and will be received with open arms.

We do not shy from difficulty, it only serves to make us stronger;
We do not shy from defeat, it makes us all the more resilient;
We do not fear hatred, something change is always faced with, it only serves to prove the existence of love.
This campaign for hearts and minds is a long and laborious one--do not back down in this time of darkness.

The ranks are steady swelling, and the time will one day be upon us--let us be ready and able.

Train hard.


ᅀ ᅀ ᅀ ᅀ ᅀ ᅀ ᅀ
(In response to questions and comments from friends and fellow members this shorter commentary on the nature of the neural guerrilla revolution was formulated.)

Subject: ranting
Date: Sat, 08 Nov 2003



There is no formal membership in terms of simply working toward the improvement of social relations, but there is a framework we could follow in terms of policy planning, methodology, analysis of results, moral-ethical questioning, and other such administrative necessities.

What we are really trying to do here is wage an intellectual guerilla campaign against normalcy and conformity. We want to wake people up through basic shocks to their social system: random acts of silliness, kindness and even simple insanity can serve as the basis of that, but the method is up to the maker. Making people do a "double take," give further thought to any single thing, even if it's just for a second, breaks their train of thought and allows for the introduction and absorption of new and sometimes strange concepts. The transitional time between thoughts allows for a brief but all important recognition and heightened awareness of what is going on in the world around you. (This has been fought by the culture industry with the introduction of everything from i-pods, to outdoor advertisements) and the period of reflection and enjoyment created by a surprise is very important in enabling people to see our message, “our light.” Eventually such acts of "shock therapy" will be accompanied by intellectual stimulation in the direction of openness and liberty and this step is an important evolution for our campaign and will be developed and deepened by those 5 elements of the pyramid and the people who stand alongside them, supporting them in their effort to support the campaign.

Until my next communiqué all you ought to do is recruit new members, always bearing in mind that this is a low profile engagement of the enemy* (normalcy, conformity, and the status quo) and it MUST be done anonymously—there is no place for ego in this effort. Find those who are with us and bring them into the fold of intellectual guerrilla warfare (i.e., leaving GOOD quotes in interesting places—like on the bottom side of tables, on crumpled pieces of paper, or on toilet paper that has been re-rolled in a public restroom; acting strangely in public and then doing nice things (picking up trash, helping someone, laughing expressing thanks) once people have started noticing your craziness; being good for the sake of it being good; saying random, albeit nice, things to random people; smiling A LOT; “madlib theater/comedy/music/” with a message; street corner philosophy; writing graffiti with quotes from Kafka, Kierkegaard of the Koran/ Bhagavad-Gita/ Bible/ or, better still, all of the above; asking someone for a favor and saying “have a wonderful day” and giving them a flower to show them how appreciative you are of them being them; etc. etc. etc.)

train hard and practice what you preach.


*- The original conception of this campaign as a “war” has been changed because this is not a time for struggle, for “us vs. them.” This is a time to come together, for everyone to join in achieving an open society. To assign positions like “enemies” or “opponents” only further divides the society that we want to bring together.

21.12.09

Freestyle Stone Skipping

(At "the Creek" in southern Maryland, USA, circa 2005)

I am a staunch supporter of stone skipping; I do it as often as possible, which is not often enough, and I heartily encourage you to do the same.  It can be done almost anywhere in the world, it is free (except for time not spent doing potentially more lucrative things), and it is one of those simple pleasures in which all people could share, were they so inclined.  I have a funny feeling, though, that I am all but alone in this belief. Yes, I have convinced a few into coming with me to the creek from time to time and I have even managed to enthuse a still smaller few to the point where we now enjoy it mutually, but despite the fact that so many seem to enjoy it, I continue to struggle against the current in my efforts to convince people of the pleasures of which I preach: (Freestyle) stone skipping is easy to do, as it is to enjoy, but-- nonetheless--simple pleasures of this kind are hailed as "out of sync" with the current of our age, tending to sink rather than skip upon suggestion. (I'm sorry for all the horrible puns, not to mention those to come; I can't help myself.)  The following discourse, or diatribe, is this skipper's humble attempt to clear the waters and offer a better understanding of Stone Skipping and its merits.
***
I believe that the reason that people so often scoff at "the pleasure" of stone skipping, at least in part, comes from a set of misunderstandings about the "what" and "why" of a deceptively complex act. The "what" of stone skipping seems simple (i.e., throw a stone so that it skims across the surface of the water) but the totality of the act, including searching for suitable stones among a wide range of rocks, focusing on the task at hand and getting said stone to skip instead of sink, and--above all--judging the merits of the aforementioned skip in a consistent way, is decidedly more complicated than most realize or admit, and not just because they couldn't skip a stone more than six times if their life depended on it.  Indeed, there is a wide range of deceptively complicated activities that combine into the graceful simplicity of skipping a stone, but once you get the gist, it becomes as easy as 1-2-3(-4-5-6-7-etc).
-------
The "what" of stone skipping seems simple (i.e., throw a stone so that it skims across the surface of the water), but the totality of the act... is decidedly more complicated than most realize or admit, and not just because they couldn't skip a stone more than three times if their life depended on it.
-------
The "why," on the other hand, is decidedly more complicated, albeit as simple as "for fun," involving meditative practice, aesthetic and phenomenologically grounded concepts of enjoyment, and, to a certain extent, what can even be thought of as a spiritual embrace of "Buddah Nature" (बुद्ध प्रकृति {Bud'dha prakr̥ti}, or tathāgatagarbha, referred to here as represented in the Ratnagotravibhāga (5th century CE), which uses the term to refer to "an ultimate, unconditional reality that is simultaneously the inherent, dynamic process towards its complete manifestation,[1] wherein mundane and enlightened reality are seen as complementary.[2]). I raise these esoteric notions not to scare away the feint of mind, but rather because many people have said that stone skipping is "pointless" and I strongly disagree: the pleasure of stone skipping in its fullness is a prime example of play, lauded for ages by sages, as well as what I call the "pleasure of concentration" (or what I have also heard talked about as Flow)--and since when has pleasure needed "a point"? Isn't pleasure, to a great extent, an end in and of itself? (I digress; I will save these questions for later so that I may adequately cover the topic at hand, namely that of Freestyle Stone Skipping.) The "what" of stone skipping is simple, the "why," in a profoundly significant inverse relationship, is complex, and the practice is an exercise in humility, grace and power.

Though some would say it is a stretch to talk about something like stone skipping in this way, clearly, I disagree. I have gone so far as to develop a set philosophical considerations (e.g., epistemological concerns, a complete ethical system, political/social philosophy and metaphysics, etc.) that will be addressed in a subsequent piece (The Philosophy of Freestyle Stone Skipping (still in the process as of June 2015; abandoned as of 2019)).

B
efore going much further into these notions about Freestyle Stone Skipping, it is important to point out that I
recognize and celebrate the full variety of what a stone can do when skipped, as well as the dynamic relationship one has with the river when skipping stones, which only adds to the act of stone skipping, to the point where it is no longer merely "kids' stuff" or "grandpa's favorite thing to do at the lake while camping."  This essay, however, while not delving as deeply into the (quasi) intellectual  side of my interests on the topic, will consider the significant aspects of Freestyle Stone Skipping as it contrasts with the more conventional sort, and sing its praises.  The act of skipping a stone, when done with a whiff of whimsy and creative contemplation, is as profound an act as any, and my enthusiasm is not meant to add value to it, but rather to reveal what is always already present under every stone gathered and with each one skipped.


The following will go through the process sequentially, mentioning the significant aspects in each step of a stone being skipped, in the hope of both explaining and encouraging, and any references listed or implied should be followed up at your own discretion. 

******* ******* ******* ******* ******* ******* *******
Searching for Stones

The act of selecting stones, the first thing one does as a stone skipper, is an exercise in meditative focus and, with but the slightest embrace of Zen sensibilities, can be a useful tool for enlightenment. To be standing amidst a pile of stones that can number into the hundreds of thousands, looking for stones with very specific characteristics among the tumultuous and ever changing mass of a river bank, seems like it could be a prohibitively arduous exercise with which to begin. But, like many things in life, with patience and practice the search for stones becomes as enjoyable and gratifying as skipping those rocks turned stones shortly thereafter.* In time one learns to peruse the stones with such a precise sense of purpose that you only bend down for the best of the bed.


*- All stones are rocks, but not all rocks are stones: A rock in the bank of a creek is much like, although often smaller, than the stones that make up walls, bridges and homes. The difference between them is that rocks that have been chosen, and therewith given purpose, are metaphysically converted into stones. Therefore, each time you pick up a rock and think,"this will work well--I choose it," you have transformed that rock into a stone.


In order to process all that you are seeing as you scan the stones of of the riverbank for skippable specimens it is not only helpful to clear your mind of all extraneous thoughts, when one is fully focused on the search there is no room for thought and the mind is cleared. One enters into a trance-like state that takes over your perceptual powers--you often don't hear people call your name, or notice the cold (or heat) as much, and hours seem to pass in minutes--and the mind is cleared of all thoughts by the concentration necessary for the search. Focusing intently on something that seems so radically unrelated to the life-world that spins wildly around us, like skipping stones for no reason other than to see how well you can do it, is not only relaxing, but also gives us a chance to take a break from our lives and return to them anew having allowed our emotions and thoughts to settle before re-engaging ourselves as it exists away from the creek. I not only metaphysically change rocks into stones, I change myself when I skip stones--as we all do--and enter a world where rocks bounce on water and all is forever well. I re-immerse myself into the eternal tranquility of existence for the time that I search the stones. As I focus on my search I find something that was not sought after--or perhaps, something finds me. When I reduce my world to a bank of stones all that matters are the rocks, and in that time my mind wanders unconnected to "reality," free from worry--clear.
Some may be unwilling to accept that staring at a pile of rocks in the woods qualifies as a meditative experience that helps us realize our place in the world, but even if that is true, it still involves being out in nature, near the running water that assembles the stones and is the skipping surface, and can only be done with daylight. Since it is hard to see the stone skip in rain, and they won't skip on ice, stone skipping can only be done in fair weather, when it's not too cold, and the experience of being in nature is a wonder that never gets old, or at least I think it shouldn't.
*******
That we are allowed reprieve from life's unwanted stress, giving ourselves a chance to stop think about things while searching for impossibly subtle differences in stones, by default in nature on a nice day, is enough of a reason to satisfy a "why?" of stone skipping, but in addition there are morally and spiritually nourishing analogies to Freestyle stone skipping that take it from the kids game you remember having done with your Grandpa and turn it into something fresh.

******* ******* ******* ******* ******* ******* *******
Skipping Stones


With each stone skipped across the water we have an exercise in the acceptance of those things different, for no two skips are alike, and we also practice an impractical approach to life--which can be useful as a respite from stress. Unless everything has some kind of value, sometimes simply because it exists, there would be nothing to make spinning stones across water worthwhile. Freestyle stone skipping encourages us to see how everything, no matter how unconventional, has something that makes it special in a way that nothing else in the universe will ever replicate. Though we take something that is worth nothing, do nothing but spin it vigorously with our hand, and leave it in its original (worthless) state, we derive tremendous pleasure from a process with no product.



Freestyle stone skipping is often confused with it's predecessor--what I call Conventional stone skipping, which does not have the potency or profundity of freestyle. Though the difference between the two is very subtle and most will scoff at my distinctions, the power of freestyle stone skipping lies not only in how you spin your stone, but how you approach the river, the stones...yourself.

******* ******* ******* ******* ******* ******* *******
Conventional Stone Skipping


In Conventional Stone Skipping there are very few kinds of stones that work well and only one thing to do with the stone you choose: take a flat, skinny stone and throw it at the right angle, spinning the stone off your finger, so that it skips across the water as many times as you can.
::Check out --http://www.prostoneskipping.com/--for more info::
(This is the stone skipping you might remember from when you were a child.)


Though I am drawing a line between Conventional and Freestyle stone skipping, the difference is extremely one sided: Conventional stone skipping is all but the same as its Freestyle cousin, the only difference being that it does not value a short skip which changes direction, bounces off a tree and flips backward at the end with a "plop!" as any more than four skips (whereas Freestyle recognizes and celebrates it for having turns, ricochets and interesting sounds.)

******* ******* ******* ******* ******* ******* *******
Freestyle Stone Skipping


Freestyle stone skipping distinguishes itself from conventional stone skipping on several levels. The first difference between the two schools of stone skipping is primarily related to the location: Freestyle can only be done in a (relatively) narrow creek-bed with plenty of obstacles, whereas Conventional stone skipping works best with large areas of open water. The reason for this is at the core of the disparity and is the cause of all the other differences.

The confined creek bed makes Conventional skip counting all but impossible and leaves only Freestyle for the stone skipping enthusiast.



The open water leaves space for Conventional stone skipping but makes Freestyle uninteresting.



Freestyle stone skipping is essentially Conventional stone skipping with a detail-oriented twist: while the number of skips and distance traveled is significant, the most important element of a skip is how it interacts with the river.

The skipping station, aka the launch, aka whichever bend in the creek or bank of stones you find yourself on when you skip, is a primary factor in determining what kinds of skips are possible. Each station will also have different types of stones that, naturally, affect the way that the stones skip.



There is only so much you can control when skipping a stone: Once it leaves your hand it is the shape of the stone and the way it was thrown that dictates where/how it skips. Elongated stones very regularly skip strongly and then turns dramatically with big splashes; extra thin stones can be made to fly through the air with grace before skipping lightly across the water; heavy, balanced stones can skip so fast it's hard to count how many there are. Freestyle uses the control you get choosing from many different kinds of stones to create new challenges and games. At the end of the day, it's all about pushing yourself to achieve all that you are capable of...much like life.




Because of the different types of desired skips the types of rocks used are very different, which also dramatically affects the stone search: instead of only using one type of stone a Freestyler can use just about anything in the river bed, and different stones will produce predictably different skips.



Like the other freestyle sports (e.g.: skateboarding, rollerblading, skiing, snowboarding, Parkour,  etc..) the only opposition is your limits (and gravity), so when you're in the river skipping stones, you are free to experiment with what is possible. As with all the other disciplines there is a blend of power and finesse. Because freestyle is usually done in a creek or river, if there is only 25 feet of open water then you can't throw your stone as hard as possible or it will just hit the bank and fall into the water; though conventional stone skipping is impossible in the creek, the freestyler is free to use spin and style to skip the stone over and off obstacles, under logs, and over water falls.
Our style really is free.

28.9.09

Dawn has yet to break and I feel as if I am truly alone as I eagerly await her arrival on this dark and silent morn. As I sit here in the dark trying to find words to express my situation I meander aimlessly through my thoughts as though I might accidentally stumble upon that which I seek, but an(other) accident is precisely what I am trying to avoid.
Some days come and go without but a whisper, while others make such a spectacle of themselves that it is impossible to ignore their arrival, presence or departure. The darkness and silence of this early hour may not be extraordinary, but it is strangely awkward, as if this day has yet to decide whether it will fade calmly into the endless cycle of life or "rage against the dying of the light." Perhaps it is because of what happened on this day last year that I am having such trouble, for to set this morning against the backdrop of its predecessors makes its arrival all the more imposing.
Today is the day of reckoning in my father’s house: On this day, we, as individuals and as a group, are told to offer our case for being written into “the book of life.” By joining together and, simultaneously, retreating to our personal space, the task is first to know, and then to show, that ours is an energy worth sustaining. Last year, in order to delve deeper into my inner being, I charged heedlessly into the mysterious void within and, in my blind scrambling to “know myself,” I crashed violently into the lives of those near and dear to me. In my attempt to better understand who I was, where I was going, why and how I needed to continue, whether on the path which I found myself on or a new one of my design, I set in motion a series of events which made abundantly clear to me that my role in this drama is not entirely inconsequential, albeit only on the limited level of my limited life.

Ah…the dawn is come! As the light creeps steadily across the threshold of my entryway I can see now that this will be a beautiful day. Last year’s bout with introspection was tainted with juvenile and selfish indulgence; this time around (the sun), as I find myself in such a different place—mentally and physically—there is no doubt that the results will be dramatically different, as opposed to merely dramatic, as they were one year ago this day.
I need not revisit the particular goings on of last year’s debacle. I was sustained in my prolonged stillness, not by the light of life that I had hoped to assure myself, but rather by machines of life whose touch I never wanted to have known. I was seeking the reigns of my spiritual half and in that process all but gave up control of my physical being. If I had died before I woke it could have been said that I had already lived, and yet, having been to the edge of death and back, I can see how much more there is before us all.
In the aftermath of my calamity I remained calmly aware of the fact that all which lay ahead of me—from that point forward—would have a new light shed upon it by the specter of that which could have been. While I pursued the age old adage "know theyself" I ran smack into another one, “be grateful for today as tomorrow may never come.” It was thrust upon me with such force that it is impossible to ignore the simple truth that this may be the last day. We can’t go calmly into the dark night. I have no qualms with procrastination, but I have developed on overactive unwillingness to compromise my beliefs, desires and intentions. This has irrevocably changed the way I interact with others, just as it has undoubtedly changed—for better or for worse—how they understand who I am.

Another result of my experience at the end of last year’s Days of Awe is undeniable: I couldn’t care less about what others think of me. Today’s task, however, is not about deciphering what others understand me to be, nor to better know the role that I play in the performance that is life in this plane of existence; I sit here, plodding through the inner workings of my self-awareness, my doubt and my hope, all in pursuit of a truth that has evaded me since I woke in that strange and sterile room last year. "Know thyself."

Unlike last year, when I was surrounded by everyone who loved and cared about me, today I find myself 10,000 miles away from the nearest familiar face. This doesn’t change a thing, though, because even then—as I lay, motionless, in a foreign bed…just as I do today—one great truth remains: No matter where we find ourselves, we are alone in this life. When our last light fades to black the only thing we have that can keep us sound is ourselves. To some this may seem a discouraging reality, but the only thing daunting about the independence implicit within this is the veracity of its responsibility.
Today, exactly one calendar year after my greatest trauma, I am half way around the world, hailed by many as “one lucky guy.” Luck has nothing to do with it! (This is not to say that I am what kept me alive—that would be absurd…but luck?) True, I know of people who had similar things happen in their lives and they are no longer with us because of a similar accident, but that does not excuse me from the inescapable dialectic of cause and consequence. Many people said that I must have had a “guardian angel” watching over me, but that is just a veiled way of saying that something else controls our “fates,” and that the course of my “destiny” is not under my control. Just as I am unwilling to allow anything else to take credit for my successes, so will I forever stand up and claim responsibility for my failures.

       It is impossible to know precisely how that which came before us determines that which stands before us, or to make out from that what will come as its result. It is in that uncertainty—though it may be but the blink of an eye—that we can find our freedom. Sure, there is no denying that equality before the law is nice and justice is wonderful, but it is freedom that is of supreme importance. Freedom, the fundamental feature of human life, that which makes us human, is what guarantees that each new day will be worthy of attention and action, and ensures that each individual in this life is unique and full of promise.
The wake of my accident has shown me that I cannot hide from my mistakes, nor run from the consequences thereof, as it is precisely those things that I have erred in doing which make me who I am. I have also learned that there is nothing meaningless in this life, even if it is frivolous beyond a doubt, for no puzzle is complete with even one piece missing. Mistakes are an essential part of who we are, because it is mistakes that help us form the questions which populate our lives with meaning. I can’t guess at what will follow from this day, but I can deduce from my actions what got me here, and if I want more of the same then I must follow that which has guided me up to now. Does that mean I will unabashedly risk my life in pursuit of knowledge when stagnating contentedly as I was one year ago yesterday? To do that would prove I paid no heed to what there is to be learned from my mistakes. I have fulfilled a dream in the year since that tragic day, which, in a way, transforms that tragedy into a triumph: I sought control though awareness, and now I am aware that I was in control the whole time.
I have said it before, but I need to say again: I am sorry to those who suffered because of my actions. I am also sorry that I cannot promise that I will never wake up in such a condition again, for tomorrow’s script is yet unwritten, but I am no longer the same person, so concerns about that "happening again" are not worthy of serious speculation. Everything I do is done in light of the past, just like you, I hope, and it is that same light which makes the future seem bright. Gloriously bright it is, truly. To my family (and friends): thank you for having had faith in my ability to come back from what happened: without your love and support I may never have achieved anything more.

One last thing I have learned from this whole experience, and the year that followed it, is that, despite the fact that we are ultimately alone in this life, we are nothing without the bonds that tie us together: In the fabric of life we are each our own thread, existing entirely on our own accord when removed from the whole, but it is the knots that bind us which form the whole of our existence, our culture, our world of meaning in a universe of blind being: without each other we are all nothing but useless threads floating in the void, where together we are that richly woven tapestry which keeps us safe and warm in the cold darkness that surrounds us all.

2.9.09

7/17/2008 3:00 a.m.

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Why can't we, instead of talking endlessly about trivial things, talk trivially about endless things?

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I would say,
"Speak to me about the world without you in it. Tell me if what you put in is equal to what you take out. Not only do most people take out more than they contribute, but most of what is put in is filth--waste. The world needs more than greed ridden refuse in order to thrive. If you can't stop consuming, at least, then, try to add to the world around you -- even if it is just a kind word to a stranger.
If you need someone to tell you something, to tell you what to do, then you haven't been listening. Don't ask me what you should do, ask yourself...

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We are all but shadows of ourselves. The cave we have been led into is not the world that we have been told it is. There is so much more that each of us are capable of, and could become a reality, if only there were a muse for every pair of hands. There are projects to be undertaken, words to be spoken, thoughts to be heard. We, finally, have been given a set of circumstances that beg for rebellion. Our time is one of epic proportions--just like the time before ours, and the one that will come after us. There is nothing banal about existence!

If you are bored it is your own fault.

There is absolutely no limit to the full potential of your imagination. Nothing is impossible. There is always something. Nothing escapes you except that which you let freely evade your senses. The world we live in lives with us, breathes as we breathe, in flux to the point where -- in order to function communally -- we have developed the cultural illusion of consistency, which is what has duped us all into civility.
There is no constant but the inconstant.

We are at the whim of our own creation until we are ready to be free. The key to freedom is in your hand. No one else holds the secret to your happiness. How could they? The only wisdom that exists has been and always will be, forever. To become aware of it requires only that you be receptive to its presence. The knowledge of life exists in everything; we are living vessels of knowledge, as are trees and mountains and animals.
Knowing anything starts with having a sense of what question is suited to the situation, not what answer is sought at the end. ALL of what we are is a series of questions. The answers accumulate into the balancing weights of a scale, but it is the questions that shape and sustain us.

The consequences of our choices are the knots in the fabric of existence; the questions, the eternal quest for knowledge, make up the colorful strings that weave the patterns of the infinite realm.

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When a fish moves through the water it has no sense of up or down the way we do; Isn't it it is as easy/difficult for a fish to move upward toward the surface of their realm as to move down toward the bottom? If so, then they exist free of gravity's burden.

Does that make fish special?

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::CURIOSITY IS TANTAMOUNT TO FREEDOM::

How can freedom, once attained, ever be taken away from someone while they still breathe?
Death, even , is not a restriction of freedom--no, it frees us from the tyranny of the senses! We are free in death to enjoy pure existence, without all the glitz and sham, crash and ahh, that we have come to know in life. We will have peace.

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(Page 1)

Out upon a midnight, weary, the hour's hands are quietly touching as the rest is brought to bare. The crest is broken on the sand, the rocks lay still and moved. Without but a whisper the wave builds itself from the foundation of its own ruin, only to crash again, and again on the same, moved sand.


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The point of philosophy is not seeking wisdom, but loving it.


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