The Four Voices

  In Mark Sullivan's "All the Glimmering Stars", the main character learns about four internal voices that contribute to individual suffering. They are rush, or impatience; violence, or justice and anger; lack, or desire; and fear, or doubt. Any time you are suffering by thoughts alone, one of these voices are likely playing in your head, like a recording you can't turn off. And that is why overthinking can be so hurtful. Whenever you catch yourself hearing them, tune them out.

 Rush is when we are multitasking, doing too much, not allowing enough time for the quality our life needs. When we do things fast, we can't be interrupted. We are quick to anger and likely to curse. We hold our breath as if locking it in time, trying to pause it so we can catch up. The cure for rush is a break, vacation, or a reduction in duties; but mostly patience.

 Violence is anger at perceived injustice, whether it is for the self or others. When something isn't fair, we seek balance by returning it to the universe, punishing those we believe deserve it. The cycle of revenge only generates more suffering, both for others and ourselves. We believe we've earned the right to harm because someone has harmed us or our loved ones. The cure for violence is self-control. Only restraint can transform an outburst into calmness.

 Lack is the voice you hear when you want something unattainable. You believe you need it to make you happy or complete. You can't live without it or you'll get nowhere. Pursuing the unattainable will lead to even more mental suffering. There's a saying that even when humans finally get what they want, they only want more, and this comes from lack. The cure for lack is moderation. Find the balance in everything, not the excess of anything.

 Fear is what prevents you from reaching your full potential. The voice of fear tells you you can't, you'll fail, nobody likes you. You won't try new things for fear of change or pain, but the thoughts fear generates already cause it. You'll never know what things are worth if you don't try them. Thus regret lives strong in the voice of fear. The cure for fear is belief. Things will be ok if you give them a chance by believing that even failure can teach you something.  Believe in yourself and others and you will feel more confident and trusting; and most importantly, open to the truth. 

 We cannot let these voices control our lives or cause us harm. Each can increase stress, which in turn can be a leading cause of disease. The fully realized, mentally healthy person does not let the voices make them hesitate. The opposite voices must be heard: patience, calmness, moderation, openness.

Meditation for Spirit Communication

  When you find yourself needing to talk to someone for which it is impossible, whether they are dead or not, close your eyes and meditate. Ask your spirit guide to summon their spirit. Typically this is a communication with them in the future, after they are dead and have reflected on life. They will answer general questions but nothing specific, as a psychic would.

 I tried this recently with someone still alive. I believe I heard the voice of the spirit from the future. They helped me clarify a few things I was confused about, giving me closure on things I cannot discover in real life life.

 If you are in doubt about this procedure, bear in mind that shamans and priests have been communicating with dead or discarnate spirits from millennia, long before science deemed it impossible to measure. What's even more incredible is you can communicate with the dead spirit of someone still living. The universe is always more wondrous than we are aware.

HelloPoetry.com

  Recently I decided to share some of my poems on a networking site called HelloPoetry.com. The second one I published, called "E-motion" is trending on the site. How terribly exciting it is to finally get recognized for a life's passion. I'm publishing the poems in chronological order, so technically this poem is from 2001. I think I will keep publishing every few days and see what kind of attention I gather. This site is better than others because it isn't a critique form- just good old-fashioned liking, commenting, and sharing, which is surprisingly hard to find in the poetry community. I have never handled criticism of my writing well, so this may be the right place for me. It's also a good chance to engage other poets.

Water On Mars

Scientists have calculated that large reservoirs of water exist about 6-10 miles beneath the surface of Mars.  This was found by processing data from a Martian rover that measures seismic activity on the planet.  The process is similar to the way geologists measure earthquakes to look for water and oil deposits under the earth’s surface. 
 
Huge underground caverns filled with lakes are not dissimilar from Jules Verne’s vision in Journey to the Center of the Earth.   While there are likely no large animals that far beneath the surface, the biomass of such reservoirs may approach or even succeed those of the French author’s vision, which had dinosaur-sized creatures roaming the shores.  Imagine huge colonies of microbes, fish, or rock-dependent life-forms, and you might be foreseeing the red planet’s very own subterranean biosphere. 
 
I’m glad this water is far below the surface because it presents a formidable challenge for humans to drill for water and exploit it through colonizing the planet.  Such activity would destroy potential Martain ecosystems in the process.  (I can’t believe I am seriously writing about Martian ecosystems!).  Billionaire Mars investors like Elon Musk would not be thrilled about having to drill 6 miles for irrigation.  Now, if water was found to be closer to the surface, we’d have a much bigger story, and these investors would be accelerating their missions to go there.  It would be the biggest space story of the century.

Wheatscapes

 East of Montana's glaciers
 There were miles and miles of wheat
 Fields unharvested, glittered gold
 By the light of the sun
 Transferring cosign radiance
 Under the rim of the Rockies.
 It was a time when
 Grains and bugs still splattered
 The car windshields,
 Glossy graveyards between rolling hills
 Sketching a windswept horizon
 Full of wheat, all wheat,
 The amber threads weaving
 A tapestry for the road.
 Peacefully they waved in a sunset's mirror
 That filtered through the mountains
 On evening's open ceremony.
 My young hands gripped the wheel,
 My face grew tired
 As their tendrils gripped me,
 Whispering the secrets of death
 Tossed and turned in the mill uphill
 Shredding their nutrients

 Off the highway sand.

 There's no telling

 Whether we domesticated them,
 Or them us.

Twin Paternal Surnames: Gold Crystal

  My father realized that my wife's surname and his family's share the same meaning. Both translate to "gold crystal" in Thai and Hebrew, respectfully. A stunning cosmic alignment, just like our birthdays being three days apart. I never took the name Goldberg but would have if my parents had gotten married. So we are literally a family of gold crystal. No wonder its my favorite color.

You Found Me

In the gym I started running hoping to get attention, the crystal oceans in your eyes bonding to my broken skeleton.
I tried to go fast but couldn’t, they were taunting me, the ones who ignored me, the ones who loved you.
Go away, I said, I never wanted to talk to any of you, just let me be, I am a runner, let me run. When they followed me, I felt noticed for the wrong reason, turned out of the gym, away from you, the horde falling behind despite my numb feet.
You’re gone now, a thousand miles across the distance of fjords, green islands, mountains, all the way past the rim of my heart.
Onto the track I stumbled, knowing you were following me, looking for me, like the others, a game, I was just a game.
But then your blue shirt traipsed up the 100-meter ribbon glowing in parallel waves that rolled with your hair.
The fear escaped me, neutralized by the light in your eyes, that incredible light, blue shirt and smiles and waves of joy illuminating my concealed face, the others following yet stumbling out of the picture, out of my mind forever.
You found me, I said, you finally found me.

Mt. Rainier Day Trip

  It was quite a long day at Mount Rainier, which I hadn't been to in 12 years. It started with a bad omen near where we live. Someone drove a car off the highway and into a ravine. It was all blocked off so we couldn't see anything, only the ominous missing rail where the car had gone through.

 Next I missed a sign that Paradise is now requiring reservations between 9-3 because it is too busy to handle standard crowds now. What made it worse is we'd left early to beat the crowds. The park ranger I talked with said we could go somewhere else in the park or wait until 3 to enter. We decided on going down to Packwood against my better judgment, as I was upset with the ranger and just wanted to leave.

 My wife kept a cool head through it all. She found a trail for us to explore in Packwood- the kid's first hike. The most surreal moment of the day was finding all these wooden snowmen that someone had dressed with clothes. At first it was pretty creepy. The way this day was developing reminded me of how a lot of horror movies started, with a group falling on hard times, being out in the middle of nowhere, and stumbling on someone's messed up idea of hospitality.

 We made it back to the car safely, deciding to return to the Paradise road to wait another hour for it to open. Meanwhile the road was getting busier with idlers waiting to get in, so we knew it was going to be busy. But I was not prepared for how busy it ended up being. Paradise was a zoo- never go there on weekends.

 The drive up was incredible for the whole family. As we got closer to our mecca of mountains, the oohs and aahs increased in intensity. This relieved me because they'd been scared of the heights coming into the park. Redeemed by Rainier, phew.

 Things got difficult again when parking was hard to find and I was getting dehydrated. Going to the bathroom took half an hour. Before we knew it it was 4 o'clock and the crowd seemed to be getting bigger. The main trail of the mountain made me nauseous and my youngest quickly tired. We took a side trail that was the highlight of the day. All of a sudden we were alone in a homely field of wildflowers underneath the mountain. My wife said she felt like she was in heaven.

 It was their first National Park and the highest they've ever been (5,400 feet). All of them.

 Interestingly, a bag of chips we brought was all puffed up at this elevation. I was worried it would pop if opened too quickly. My wife made a minor incision that released the pressure, no pun intended.

 The way back was equally eventful. We stopped in a town called Elbe that had model trains for buildings and a large Trump sign. We drove through Eatonville, another small town where my stepfather and his family live. Just north of there I saw a horse and carriage walking up the highway, I kid you not. Then my wife got confused when the freeway ended in Puyallup, a genuine fork in the road when I wasn't paying attention. She took the wrong fork of course, taking her right where another freeway ended  which was a downright clusterfuck. I spent 10 minutes trying to figure out what happened when my oldest son had been right all along. The first thing he said after she went the wrong way was that the freeway ended. I swear that kid is one step ahead of me sometimes. Maybe two.

 To cap it off, right near our home there was a fire burning a bush close to the Bartell store, where people were wisely calling the fire department. We heard the sirens as soon as we got home. Fingers cross that the fire did not spread.

 Wow, what a day. It's like a whole week's trip crammed into one day. Since we can't afford one this year, maybe that is the universe's way of compensating. But Lord am I exhausted, good night.