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    Tuesday
    Nov152016

    The Fall

                             I have a terribly lovely habit of working hard and playing harder, and while a greater emphasis should be placed on the former if I am to increase my chances of success, I am a selfish bastard who is living life as though I were just informed I have cancer and have only two more months to live.  I try to be as honest as possible about my selfishness and hypocrisy (so when others call me out on it I can refer them to the fact that I’ve already acknowledged this contradiction).  There’s no need to get into the details of how my actions (transportation, consumption, waste, willful ignorance, technological dependency, not caring to learn about solutions) contribute to war, poverty, and environmental destruction, and I would not be able to argue with a person if they were to accuse me of being cut from same selfish moral cloth as those who would like to make of this world their playground and that I’m just trying to get my piece of the pie.  But I would like to think that there is a slight difference between those at the top and myself:  even in my actions of excessive energy and material consumption and neglect to my perceived responsibility for service to others and the natural world, I at least try to tread lightly – remaining conscious of the deleterious impacts of my decisions – and not hurt anyone or anything along the way.  Not a day passes that I do not thank my lucky stars that I am alive and free.  Not a day passes that I am not grateful to whom (my ancestors) and what (the rest of nature) has given me this opportunity to be alive.  By the same token, not a day passes that I do not remind myself of those in this world whose lives have been destroyed as a result of the policies carried out by the government and military of my country and their inter-governmental and corporate accomplices, subsidized by my taxpayer dollars, and for whose livelihoods I've failed to fight for.  


                    I believe that one way to avert a regrettable experience of one’s death is to position yourself well beforehand.  That is to say when you die, you may have a chance to glance at what you have done and who you have become and compare that to your unfulfilled dreams, and while you may not have had the opportunities to fulfill your goals, if you can say that you’ve tried to do the things you set out to do then you’ll be alright, even if you weren’t able to see everything through.  But, if at the moment of your death you look back and say that you did not try, then you shall die in regret and with a heavy weight bearing down upon your broken soul.   Having said that, here are some photographs of my friend’s farm in Northern California, where I go to pick persimmons to send to my mom every fall.  This slideshow is followed by some of an autumnal motorcycle ride to the Mendocino Coast.  I failed to adequately capture the beauty of the fall along this ride because I had other things on my mind than taking pictures, but I thought to myself today:  you should have taken the time to take more pictures, autumn is but once a year, and there will come a time for both you and the fall to come to an end. 
     

     

    Friday
    Jan152016

    2016 Monthly Goals Calendar 

           The 2016 Monthly Goals Calendar is a tool that you may find useful in mapping out your goals for this year.  I've pasted a screenshot of what it looks like below.  If you want to open this file as a Microsoft Word document that you can download and edit, click here.  You can print it out, cut it up, and hang it on your wall as a reminder of the things you seek to accomplish (or have not accomplished, which is often my case*.  If you want an example of what a portion of mine looked like last year, click here.)   I'm also including another PDF of a yearly calendar that can be printed out, cut up, and put above its corresponding month (a screenshot of this calendar is below).  I understand that this type of extreme planning ahead is slightly crazy, possibly counterproductive, and is not for everyone. 

     

     

    Screenshot of the supplementary yearly calendar, the PDF link for which is above:

     

     

    *I like to aim high because I'll either end up somewhere in the middle or, more likely, toward the bottom of the target.   I probably succeed in less than 25% of the things I set out to achieve, and set out to achieve less than 5% of the things that I would like to try to attempt.  Meaning, of the projects I pick-up, I'll complete 25% of them.  Of the places I want to go, books I want to read, things I want to draw, and other things I want to do, I'll embark on the path to attempt 5% of these things.   C'est la vie.  Not one day passes that I do not thank my lucky stars for my existence and life and being who I am.   I hope you feel the similarly about your own life.

     

    Twirling round with this familiar parable
    Spinning, weaving round each new experience
    Recognize this as a holy gift
    And celebrate this chance to be alive and breathing
    A chance to be alive and breathing...

                                                          
                                                      -
    Tool, Parabola

     

    Tuesday
    Nov242015

    Dachau Concentration Camp and Man’s Search for Meaning

    I approached another skeleton, this one too afraid to talk, turning away after whispering a single word, “Dachau.”

                                                      -Love Thy Neighbor, A Story of War, About the war in former Yugoslavia, Peter Maass, 1996

    This was but a prelude; where books are burnt, human beings will be burnt in the end.

                                                                                   -German poet Heinrich Heine, 1820

    For the liberation of a people more is needed than economic policy, more than industry: if a people is to become free, it needs pride and willpower, defiance, hate, hate and once again hate!

                                                                                   -Adolf Hitler, Munich speech, April 10, 1923

    Haven’t you heard the fatwas that have filled our streets and mosques by permitting people to eat cats, dogs and other animals that have already been killed by the bomb attacks?  Are you waiting for us to eat the flesh of our martyrs and our dead after fearing our lives?

                                                                    -Syrian Imam pleading for help after the lifting of religious bans on eating dogs, 2013 

     

               Man’s Search for Meaning is a powerful pocketbook which examines how it is possible for a person to find purpose in life when the surrounding world has fallen apart and one becomes a concentration camp prisoner during the Nazi Holocaust.  The author, Viktor E. Frankl (1905 – 1997), was Austrian psychiatrist working as the head of neurology at the Rothschild Hospital (the only Jewish hospital) in Vienna during the start of WWII.  After the National Socialist government shut down the hospital, the American consulate offered Frankl a U.S immigration visa, which would have allowed him to leave.  He declined the offer for the sake of his aging parents, and in 1942 he and his family were arrested and deported.  Viktor Frankl spent the next three years of his life in four different extermination camps.  “The odds of surviving the camp were no more than one in twenty-eight, as can easily be verified by exact statistics,” writes Frankl. 

            Below you will find important excerpts I have transcribed from the book, a slideshow of the afterward to the book (which is good to read to obtain an overview of Dr. Frankl’s life), a slideshow of scanned excerpts from the book (which I would highly encourage you to read in full), and then a slideshow of a separate book that my father purchased for my brother and me on a visit to Dachau in the mid-1990s.  The book is called, Concentration Camp Dachau, 1933 – 1945, and was published in 1978 by the International Dachau Committee.  The introduction states:

             This catalogue is intended to accompany the visitor to the Dachau Memorial Museum… Although Dachau was not intended as a “mass extermination camp,” hunger and illness, arbitrary killings and mass executions along with the SS doctors’ pseudo-scientific experiments, resulted in the continual “extermination” of prisoners… Originally planned to accommodate 5,000 prisoners, the camp was primarily intended to eliminate all political opposition.  In the course of time, in addition to Jews, gypsies and anti-Nazi clergymen, any citizens who made themselves unpopular with the regime were imprisoned here… On April 29, 1945, the liberators of the Dachau camp found more than 30,000 survivors of 31 different nationalities in the disastrously overcrowded barracks, and as many again the subsidiary camps attached to Dachau.  During its 12 year of existences, 206,000 prisoners were registered in Dachau.  The number of “non-registered” arrivals can no longer be ascertained.  During this period of time 31, 951 deaths were registered.  However, the total number of deaths in Dachau, including the victims of individual and mass executions and the final death marches will never be known.  

     

    Man's Search for Meaning, Afterward (right-click to view image in full):


     

    Excerpts from Man’s Search for Meaning

     

               As I have already mentioned, the process of selecting Capos was a negative one; only the most brutal of the prisoners were chosen for this job (although there were some happy exceptions).  But apart from the selection of Capos which was undertaken by the SS, there was a sort of self-selecting process going on the whole time among all of the prisoners.  On the average, only those prisoners could keep alive who, after years of trekking from camp to camp, had lost all scruples in their fight for existence; they were prepared to use every means, honest and otherwise, even brutal force, theft, and betrayal of their friends, in order to save themselves.  We who have come back, by the aid of many lucky chances or miracles – whatever one may choose to call them – we know: the best of us did not return.  (Pg. 5)

              The significance of the finger game was explained to us in the evening.  It was the first selection, the first verdict made on our existence or non-existence.  For the great majority of our transport, about 90 percent, it meant death.  Their sentence was carried out within the next few hours.  Those who were sent to the left were marched from the station straight to the crematorium.  This building, as I was told by someone who worked there, had the word “bath” written over its doors in several European languages.  On entering, each prisoner was handed a piece of soap, and then – but mercifully I do not need to describe the events which followed.  My accounts of have been written about this horror.
                We who were saved, the minority of our transport, found out the truth in the evening.  I inquired from prisoners who had been there for some time where my colleague and friend P---- had been sent.
                “Was he sent to the left side?”
                “Yes,” I replied.
                “then you can see him there,” I was told.
                “Where?”  A hand pointed to the chimney a few hundred yards off, which was sending a colum of flame up into the grey sky of Poland.  It dissolved into a sinister cloud of smoke.
              “That’s where your friend is, floating up to Heaven,” was the answer.  But I still did not understand until the truth was explained to me in plain words.  (Pgs. 12 – 13)

               Strangely enough, a blow which does not even find its mark can, under certain circumstances, hurt more than one that finds its mark.  Once I was standing on a railway track in a snowstorm.  In spite of the weather our party had to keep on working.  I worked quite hard at mending the track with gravel, since that was the only way to keep warm.  For only one moment I paused to get my breath and to lean on my shovel.  Unfortunately the guard turned around just then and thought I was loafing.  The pain he caused me was not from any insults or blows.  That guard did not think it worth his while to say anything, nor even a swear word, to the ragged, emaciated figure standing before him, which probably reminded him only vaguely of a human form.  Instead, he playfully picked up a stone and threw it at me.  That, to me, seemed the way to attract the attention of a beast, to call a domestic animal back to its job, a creature with which you have so little in common that you do not even punish it.  (Pg. 24)

               I shall never forget how I was roused one night by the groans of a fellow prisoner, who threw himself about in his sleep, obviously having a horrible nightmare.  Since I had always been especially sorry for people who suffered from fearful dreams of deliria, I wanted to wake the poor man.  Suddenly I drew back the hand which was ready to shake him, frightened at the thing I was about to do.  At that moment I became intensely conscious of the fact that no dream, no matter how horrible, could be as bad as the reality of the camp which surrounded us, and to which I was about to recall him.   (Pg. 29)

               In spite of all the enforced physical and mental primitiveness of the life in a concentration camp, it was possible to spiritual life to deepen.  Sensitive people who were used to a rich intellectual life may have suffered much pain (they were often of a delicate constitution), but the damage to their inner selves was less.  They were able to retreat from their terrible surroundings to a life of inner riches and spiritual freedom.  Only in this way can one explain the apparent paradox that some prisoners of a less hardy make-up often seemed to survive camp life better than did those of a robust nature. (Pg. 36)

             In other work parties the foremen maintained an apparently local tradition of dealing out numerous blows, which made us talk of the relative luck of not being under their command, or perhaps of being under it only temporarily.  If an air raid alarm had not interrupted us after two house (during which time the foreman had worked on me especially), making it necessary to regroup the workers after, I think that I would have returned to camp on one of the sledges which carried those who had died or were dying from exhaustion.  No one can understand the relief that the siren can bring in such a situation; not even a boxer who has heard the bell signifying the finish of a round and who is thus saved at the last minute from the danger of a knock out.   (Pg. 46)

               Those who had pitied me remained in a camp where famine was to rage even more fiercely than in our new camp.  They tried to save themselves but they only sealed their own fates.  Months later, after liberation, I met a friend from the old camp.  He related to me how he, as camp policeman, had searched for a piece of human flesh that was missing from a pile of corpses.  He confiscated it from a pot in which he found it cooking.  Cannibalism had broken out.  I had left just in time. (Pg. 56)

               And so the last day in camp passed in anticipation of freedom.  But we had rejoiced too early.  The Red Cross delegate had assured us that an agreement had been signed, and that the camp must not be evacuated.  But that night the SS arrived with trucks and brought an order to clear the camp.  The last remaining prisoners were to be taken to a central camp, from which they would be sent to Switzerland within forty-eight hours – to be exchanged for some prisoners of war.  We scarcely recognized the SS.  They were so friendly, trying to persuade us to get in the trucks without fear, telling us that we should be grateful for our good luck. (Pgs. 60 – 61)

              Many weeks later we found out that even in those last hours fate had toyed with us few remaining prisoners.  We found out just how uncertain human decisions are, especially in matters of life and death.  I was confronted with photographs which had been taken in a small camp not far from ours.  Our friends who had thought they were travelling to freedom that night had been taken in the trucks to this camp, and there they were locked in the huts and burned to death.  Their partially charred bodies were recognizable on the photograph.  I thought again of Death in Teheran.  (Pg. 62). 

                An active life serves the purpose of giving man the opportunity to realize values in creative work, while a passive life of enjoyment affords him the opportunity to obtain fulfillment in experiencing beauty, art, or nature.  But there is also purpose in that life which is almost barren of both creation and enjoyment and which admits of but one possibility of high moral behavior: namely, in man’s attitude to his existence, an existence restricted by external forces.  A creative life and a life of enjoyment are banned to him.  But not only creativeness and enjoyment are meaningful.  If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering.  Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death.  Without suffering and death human life cannot be complete. (Pg. 67)

                The prisoner who had lost faith in the future – his future – was doomed.  With his loss of belief in the future, he also lost his spiritual hold; he let himself decline and became subject to mental and physical decay.  Usually this happened quite suddenly, in the form of a crisis, the symptoms of which were familiar to the experienced camp inmate.  We all feared this moment – not for ourselves, which would have been pointless, but for our friends.  Usually it began with the prisoner refusing one morning to get dressed and wash or go out on the parade grounds.  No entreaties, no blows, no threats had any effect.  He just lay there, hardly moving.  If this crisis was brought about by an illness, he refused to be taken to the sickbay or to do anything to help himself.  He simply gave up.  (Pg. 74)

                Once an individual’s search for a meaning is successful, it not only renders him happy but also gives him the capability to cope with suffering.  And what happens if one’s groping for a meaning has been in vain? This may well result in a fatal condition.  Let us recall, for instance, what sometimes happened in extreme conditions such as prisoner-of-war camps or concentration camps.  In the first, as I was told by American soldiers, a behavior pattern crystallized to which they referred as “give-up-it is.”  In the concentration camps, this behavior was paralleled by those who one morning, at five, refused to get up and go to work and instead stayed in the hut, on the straw wet with urine and feces.  Nothing – neither warnings nor threats – could induce them to change their minds.  And then something typical occurred: they took out a cigarette from deep down in a pocket where they had hidden it and started smoking.  At that moment we knew that for the next forty-eight hours or so we would watch them dying.  Meaning orientation had subsided, and consequently the seeking of immediate pleasure had taken over.  (Pg. 139)

               It is apparent that the mere knowledge that a man was either a camp guard or a prisoner tells us almost nothing.  Human kindness can be found in all groups, even those which as a whole it would be easy to condemn.  The boundaries between groups overlapped and we must not try to simplify matters by saying that these men were angels and those were devils.  Certainly, it was a considerable achievement for a guard or foreman to be kind to the prisoners in spite of all the camp’s influences, and, on the other hand, the baseness of a prisoner who treated his own companions badly was exceptionally contemptible.  Obviously the prisoners found the lack of character in such men especially upsetting, while they were profoundly moved by the smallest kindness received from any of the guards.  I remember how one day a foreman secretly gave me a piece of bread which I knew he must have saved from his breakfast ration.  It was far more than the small piece of bread which moved me to tears at that time.  It was the human “something” which h this man also gave to me – the word and look which accompanied the gift.
               From all this we may learn that there are two races of men in this world, but only these two – the “race” of the decent man and the “race” of the indecent man.  Both are found everywhere; they penetrate into all groups of society.  No group consists entirely of decent or indecent people.  In this sense, no group is of “pure race” – and therefore one occasionally found a decent fellow among the camp guards.
               Life in a concentration camp tore open the human soul and exposed its depths.  It is surprising that in those depths we again found only human qualities which in their very nature were a mixture of good and evil?  The rift dividing good from evil, which goes through all human beings, reaches into the lowest depths and becomes apparent even on the bottom of the abyss which is laid open by the concentration camp.  (Pgs. 86 – 87)
     


    Man's Search for Meaning
    (right-click to view image in full):

     

    Concentration Camp Dachau (right-click to view image in full):

     


    Viktor E. Frankl

    Monday
    Dec012014

    Monthly Goals Calendar 

               I am a man of many lists.  Too many items on lists and not enough action makes for an unfulfilled life.  So, for the sake of organizational clarity, I’ve devised a simple way of streamlining the things that I would like to do on a monthly basis.  I believe that mapping-out, filling-in, and then pinning-up this physical, year-long calendar can help a person strive and reach their goals while helping them better understand the things that they want to do and that can realistically be accomplish in life.*   The 2015 Monthly Goals Calendar template is available as a PDF file here, or you can download it as a Microsoft Word document here.  You can save this file (thus charting and comparing your goals and progress if you were to use such a calendar in the future), revise it whenever you deem necessary, and then print out a fresh copy to re-pin to your wall.  I believe that seeing your goals for each month of the year laid out before your eyes is a good way to take charge of your time, and to then be very disappointed in yourself once you see that you haven’t done anything (speaking from experience). 

    As an example how you can use this list, below is an image of two months from my personal calendar.  The category titles of my calendar below are geared toward my interests and objectives.  Feel free tweak your calendar so as to accommodate your own personal goals (I have made the category titles of the calendars linked above as general as possible).   Left out of the category titles are things such as developing habits like “go jogging” or “practice drawing,” objectives which one could incorporate into their monthly goals as regular and recurring items to be taken care of for months on end. 

     

    *Indirectly related to this is the notion of being able to read all the books I want to read before I die:  If I read two books a month, and live to be one hundred, I’ll be able to read 1,680 books – give or take a couple hundred depending on my consistency, pace, and the length of the books.  This doesn’t account for the possibility that my vision may go downhill and I won’t be able to read all, or perhaps I may able to upload countless books to my brain in a decade or two from now, or that more than likely I’ll be dead long before I reach one hundred (I’m basing this on the fact that I’m currently experiencing my mid-life crisis). 

    Friday
    Oct312014

    Edward Abbey – Industrial Tourism and the National Parks

    I would give ten years off the beginning of my life to see, only once, Tyrannosaurs Rex come rearing up from the elms of Central Park, a Morgan police horse screaming in its jaws. We can never have enough of nature.

                                                                                                                                                  -Edward Abbey

               The slideshow below features an excerpt from Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire.   In the following pages (right-click to view in full), Abbey (1927 – 1989) critiques the National Park system and its relationship to the private forces that seek to exploitatively profit from the natural world in the name of wilderness promotion and protection.  Abbey, who worked a park ranger for a great deal of his life, offers his views of how Nationals Parks should optimally exist and in turn flourish in an era of cataclysmic environmental destruction.  He suggests that upon entering a National Park, a large, animatronic Smokey the Bear could say something like:

    “Howdy Folks.  Welcome.  This is your National Park, established for the pleasure of you and all people everywhere.  Park your car, jeep, truck, tank, motorbike, motorboat, jetboat, airboat, submarine, airplane, jetplane, helicopter, hovercraft, winged motorcycle, snowmobile, rocketship, or any other conceivable type of motorized vehicle in the world’s biggest parkinglot behind the comfort station immediately to your rear.  Get out of your motorized vehicle, get on your horse, mule, bicycle or feet, and come on in. Enjoy yourselves.  This here park is for people.”

    The book is a great read.  I hope that you get a chance to enjoy it.