12/21/12: Keep Calm and Meditate

The big month is upon us. That is, the month that people have been exploding to apocalyptic proportions for a very long time--December, 2012. As far I know, the experts have allowed two possibilities for our imminent destinies: Life or Death.

...hmm. That actually doesn't sound too far-fetched. We either experience worldwide doom, or we keep on living and realize we've been duped yet again. Well, if you look at it this way, I could either keep living today or die today, two trajectories we each face every single day.

So why should 12/21/12 be any different? Why should we be afraid of something we really don't know anything about? Because we need more excitement! An apocalypse should do the trick.

No, seriously, this is ridiculous. And I am content to believe that most of my generation is making fun of this nonsense as much as I am rather than stocking their closets with reserve baggies of weed or Facebook statuses for the coming darkness.

My opinion on the matter is somewhat different than being purely skeptical, however. I think that this global awareness and anxiety about the end of the world could actually be utilized in a positive way, with a mass meditation on global change and personal change. What I mean is that this whole 12/21/12 business could actually be useful. Let me begin by introducing a great book.

Harold H. Bloomfield and Robert B. Kory wrote The Holistic Way to Health and Happiness in 1978. I found this little baby in a thrift store in Iowa, a true treasure. It's a book that addresses in separate chapters every problem one might have with one's health, whether that be depression, insomnia, weight, sex drive, anxiety, smoking & drinking, and spiritual crisis. While each chapter is definitely worth reading and pondering, my favorite advice of the authors is that of The Healing Silence.

Wha...? Huh?

I sense your befuddlement. Here's what the book explains about The Healing Silence: "The easiest way to beginning more inner silence into your life is to close your eyes and relax for ten minutes once or twice a day." Seems simple, doesn't it? That's because it is. Meditation doesn't have to be just for Tibetan monks who are so skilled they can travel outside their bodies to visit their grandmothers in San Francisco for afternoon tea.

Here are the four steps to achieving the Healing Silence (trust me, I've tried this and it's miraculous):

1. Sit comfortably in a quiet room.
2. Close your eyes.
3. Relax your muscles systematically, starting with your feet and working up to your head.
4. Repeat the word "one" (or any simple word or syllable you might choose) to yourself with each exhalation of breath.

Silence is something we dread nowadays, because it usually denotes awkwardness, boredom, or something else negative. The book explains, "Our culture has become dependent on excitement as a primary source of enjoyment [...] Recent research indicates that the addiction to excitement has become so great that some people cannot endure a half-hour of complete silence without becoming edgy or nervous."

Furthermore, the kind of person held in high regard in our society is one who can handle all kinds of stress without breaking down, someone who is on the go all the time, busy and hurried, accomplishing a million things each day without hesitation. That kind of person may seem full of vitality and energy on the outside, but on the inside the stress is causing all manner of damages. The Healing Silence and silence in general is vital to feeling better in almost every way, whether it be about body image, anxiety, or simply boredom and apathy.

Here's my tie-in to the 12/21/12 theme: I urge you to try meditating once a day, for ten minutes. Try it. Afterward, when you have that overall tingly feeling, like you've been asleep but more acutely aware than ever, think about yourself and how you're changing. I think if enough people use our obsession with the Apocalypse to a different end--to start meditating on inner and outer change--maybe a new age will actually hit us, an age where thought and talk on a global scale becomes more important and the collective good becomes the center of our decision-making.

Or, if global change strikes you as too far-fetched, at least try the Healing Silence for your own good, for your own personal struggles. Because even if we only effectively change ourselves and our attitudes about ourselves, a ripple effect is created, and we have changed something.

Get off your computer now, go grab a comfy chair in front of a window, sit there and be quiet for ten minutes. See what changes occur and embrace them.

Obama Says It All--At My College!

Though I was unable to attend the speech, being in Prague and all, I was still so thrilled that President Obama returned to my school, Cornell College.

Watching this video, I soon realized Obama basically stated everything I wanted to hear from him.

All I can ask of my readers is that you vote--utilize your rights as Americans to make choices about your future. I won't badger you about whom to vote for, just think long and hard about what your real priorities are in this world, and how you want to leave the world behind for your children.

Here's the video of Obama's speech at Cornell College:

In Search of Reads

If you've ever been living indefinitely in a foreign country without work and without too many friends, you've probably spent a lot of solitary hours alone reading a good book in your native language instead of attempting the daunting task of learning the language of the land in which you're residing. (Sorry, fellow grammarians, that was a super duper run-on sentence. Another result of living in a foreign country--total linguistic regression.)

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In other words, I've been reading a lot. What I call my Reads-In-Progress are the selected short stories of Anton Chekhov, an anthology of Lewis Carroll's letters, The Ghost Trio by Linda Bierds, The Hidden Reality by Brian Greene, Che: A Revolutionary Life by Jon Lee Anderson, Harry Potter auf Deutsch, and finally, my most recent capture, Murakami's Sputnik Sweetheart. 

That's a lot of books. But I pile my reads upon a metaphorical lazy Susan and alternate what I read depending on what mood I happen to be in. For the past month, I've been in a South American revolutionary mood, hence Anderson's 800-page biography of Che. (Which, if you can believe it, I actually finished last night, notes included. I call that masochistic dedication.)

Prague was gloomy today (surprise surprise) and I was in a literature-browsing mood. I took a bus and then a tram to Prague's Lesser Quarter, Mala Strana, where the imposing green dome of St. Nicholas cathedral thrusts above the other meeker church steeples. Passing the entrance to Charles Bridge, where hordes of tourists were whipping out their cameras and maps, and stopping to listen to a one-man band (see image 1), I hurried across the cobbles and into a comfy street that lead away from the crazy hubbub (see image 2).

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A German couple stopped to ask me where the John Lennon wall was, and I told them keep going straight, then turn right somewhere and maybe a left somewhere. They were thankful for my instruction but I felt useless, and I almost walked with them to find it, because in the smaller streets and alleys of Prague I know directions better by the feel than by the route. I kept walking, stopping to take a picture or two, and finally found myself dead-ended into my destination: Shakespeare and Sons Books (see image 3).

This bookstore has a cozy, old-timey feel, with a slightly cramped layout. There's no lack of literature, no matter if you're searching for the latest J.K. Rowling novel (Casual Vacancy, a book I am urgently waiting to read till I can get it used and cheaper) or just the many volumes of Marx's Das Kapital. You become instantly swept in by the layers of the rooms and the colorful titles on the shelves. My first eye-catch was the selection of Murakami's works, all of which looked good enough to steal (I'd gladly trudge to jail with his complete works bulging in my coat pockets).

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The real magic, however, occurs downstairs. As you step down 600-year-old winding stone stairs, you hear gentle music coming from some hidden speakers, and enter into a vast cavern-like browsing chamber. Besides books in English, you can also find French, German, Spanish, and Russian books. I scanned the philosophy section excitedly, picking out works dealing with the transcendence of the human ego. Unsurprisingly, my attention didn't last long, and I moved on to fiction, where I read bits of Alice Walker and John Irving. I then moseyed into my favorite room, a quiet reading study with windows opened to a secret water channel flowing off the Vltava river (see image 4). On one of the walls sits a bookcase full of antique books of all sorts, which are under lock and key. A while ago I'd bought a 1940s publication of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. A true treasure trove.

This is the perfect spot to sit and read for hours, and you won't be bothered by anyone except for the rare browser. The atmosphere begs for meditation and reflection, the ideal place for immersing yourself in a fictional or nonfictional world. There's even an old typewriter on display--how romantic is that?

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Shakespeare and Sons is also a great place to meet other Americans and English-speakers, if you're feeling extra lonely. The only way it could get any better is if they added on a small kavarna, a coffee shop. But, alas, sometimes searching for reads doesn't have to involve consumables.

A few hours later, after I'd contemplated purchasing the poetry of William Carlos Williams and the autobiography of Charlie Chaplin, I finally settled on Murakami's Sputnik Sweetheart, simply because the main character sounded so eerily similar to myself. So far, thirty pages into the book, I'm greatly satisfied with my choice, and highly recommend Murakami to any reader in search of easy to understand yet magically transcendental writing.

If you're ever in Prague, make sure to take a detour to Shakespeare and Sons, where you can find almost any book you could possibly want. And literary classics like James Joyce and Flaubert are only 85 crowns, about $4! You won't find that in just any big chain bookshop.

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(The magical basement chambers)

Philosophy of a Wanderer

It's been more than a year since my last post. Since then I've graduated college, traveled to Europe, traveled around the U.S., attended an Artist Residency in Iowa, and got a job at a Starbucks in Needham, Mass. 

One of the many tram stops downtown Prague

Currently I'm sitting at my kitchen table in Prague, listening to BBC on the radio and nursing a coffee addiction. The new flat I've just moved in to boasts a half-sized dishwasher (a huge commodity in this city), and even a washing machine, though my clothes have to be hung out on a line on the balcony. It's not much, and is inconveniently far from Old Town, but I'm reminded of the greatness of Prague's public transportation every time I skip out my door to catch Bus 137 to the nearest metro, which will take me anywhere I wish to go. 

This part of the city is quiet and residential, and makes me forget I'm even in Prague. During my free time I reminisce about the people I've met and chatted with during my recent travels, most notably Freddy, the charismatic taxi driver from Rockford, Illinois. He picked me up from the Clock Tower Inn at 10pm, and though I was insanely tired and had been traveling for more than 24 hours, Freddy's bright, loud voice and friendly countenance woke me up. He wore a baseball cap, pullover, and blue jeans, a fairly typical getup for middle-aged Mid-Westerners. Freddy asked me about my travels as he drove me to my grandmother's home, and I told him about Prague and the beauty of the city. Curiously, he'd been to Prague, and was descended from a Russian and a Czech--he was fluent in Russian, though I didn't press him to show off his skills, due to my incapability to comprehend that round, dark language of my own heritage. 

I told him about what I studied at college. He found my interest in writing and music fascinating, and we fell into a discussion about eReaders; both of us understands the need for them, and the convenience of them in today's fast-paced, travel-oriented world, but we both agreed that the connection between a person and a physical book with paper pages was an almost spiritual necessity and cannot be replicated by electronic screens. With the dawn of social media and Skype, the frequency of physical immediacy and presence has fallen, in my experience, and to be enlivened by physical closeness to raw materials and real human beings is something we should not take for granted.

Freddy dropped me off and dragged my 50 pound luggage inside. He gave me his card and thanked me for such engaging conversation. A week later, he drove me back to the bus stop, and we continued our conversation, this time talking about the state of popular music and the true greatness of classical composers.

Later, in a roomy, homey Starbucks in Newton, Massachusetts, I sat at a large table with my laptop, trying to write sleek, boastful e-mails to local publishing firms in hopes of snatching up my dream job as an editorial assistant. I wasn't alone for long; a man with a brief case and a disheveled appearance sat down at the corner, and immediately began emptying the contents of the case onto the table top. Papers and sticky-notes, folders and pens, all covered at least one quarter of the table and inched innocuously toward my spot in the other corner. After attaining a coffee, he messed with his phone and sang along to the overhead music, much more loudly than just any ordinary person would dare to sing in a Starbucks.

Soon another older man sat at the table at the chair across from me, and set up his own laptop. The tops of our computers were touching because of the limited width of the table, and the briefcase man made a humorous comment--that was the spark of conversation, and the three of us at the table began talking. Bill was a businessman dealing in sports equipment, and the man across from me was Sam, a Jewish lawyer. 

It was as if we'd all known each other for years, the way we listened and spoke interchangeably. Both men were strong democrats, and when I voiced my concern about the "issue" of women's rights being debated politically, Bill announced with surprising conviction that women should rule the world, because men had had their chance and had simply screwed everything up. As a 3rd Wave Feminist, I felt a burst of satisfaction at this comment, but I had to tell him that the ultimate goal should be absolute social, political, economic, and private equality. He agreed. 

The conversation moved through politics (skimming, to my excitement, the Cuban Revolution, my newest obsession), and lingered on the issue of public transportation in the States. I told them about Prague's trams, subway, and buses, and how having a car was considered an annoyance and, for most people, an impossibility (with gas prices soaring to 9 USD per gallon, it's not hard to understand why). Americans, we all agreed, have a unique relationship with their cars and their travel independence, and living in such a large country has certainly aided that relationship. Americans get panicked without a car, and yearn for the freedom of owning one so that they can go where they want whenever they want without fuss. To some Americans, having to buy a bus ticket, get to a bus station, sit and wait as it stops every five minutes, is a nightmare. I used to think that way, but living in Prague has changed my idea of transportation, and fewer cars on the road help to alleviate and slow global warming from carbon emissions. 

I asserted my opinion on trains in America, and how our locomotive industry has fallen behind the rest of the world's, especially that of Japan, a country that has utilized the latest technology, magnets. America, I told the men, could create thousands of new jobs with a complete revamping of the locomotive industry, and create a more efficient, planet-friendly way for the everyday American to travel the country. Right now our trains eat up fuel like starving grizzly bears, and are mostly utilized for the transportation of material goods. Train tickets would be much cheaper than plane tickets, and would provide an economic jumpstart in that it would provide jobs in security, management, advertising, building, ticketing, planning, engineering, and many more. Bill said it was a good idea, but the issue was still Americans' attachment to their cars and their strange cultural unwillingness to even carpool on any given day. Families like their minivans and like toting around their stuff in a machine they can call their own. In this case, they don’t like to share.

Among others, I met a young American Airlines flight attendant who was worried about losing her job due to the bankruptcy crisis, and talked with me about how she doesn't get paid until the plane is in the air--at the time we'd been sitting on the tarmac for an hour waiting for morning fog to lift; a young woman and her Chihuahua, T.J., who was dressed stylishly in the clothes from her Build-A-Bear teddy bear; a young soldier who was flying home for the first time in eight months, who told me how so many boys and girls think going to war will be like playing their favorite video game, but once you're there and see the reality of human injury, hatred, not knowing whether your next footfall will set off a mine, you realize how serious it really is, and how much the citizens of Iraq just wanted their soil back. 

Fellow world travelers touching the gold on a Charles Bridge statue,
which is said to bring good luck

I've discovered how traveling and talking with people from all areas and all walks of life really enhances one's understanding of one's place in the world. Without even thinking about it, we go through our day passing by dozens of strangers, never speaking to them or even making eye contact. But when you take the time to start a conversation, or even just smile, you see how open people are and how willing they are to know you and your story. In our large, wide country, we Americans tend to forget how similar people are in each region, and we allow our presumptions and generalizations about people to make us feel separated from the rest of the country and the rest of the world. It's our way of cocooning ourselves and focusing on individual concerns, which makes us selfish and self-absorbed--if we could just interact with different people without putting up walls, we could find out how collective our hopes and dreams really are. And during this turbid time in our history, with the elections coming up and with political and religious polarization, this realization of the collective human experience is truly an essential step toward peace and lifelong contentment. 

My last piece of advice: Do a little wandering, and carry no expectations with you. Just an open mind and heart.