it must have been around 1:15 am.  i was sleeping beside my wife.  suddenly, i heard her scream.  it wasn't at all a movie type scream.  it actually sounded quite operatic, as though "the fat lady" (no implications intended at all!  really.) were trying to hold a note at the end of the opera.  and it sounded as though while she held that note, she were falling from some high, far-off place.  her voice started off soft and distant, and rapidly increased in volume, cutting off at the loudest, most fear-ridden point, and ending with an impact that brought the both of us to a disturbed wakefulness.

i held my wife as she whimpered, cried.  "what happened," i murmured...

***

in the silence that ensued, i had my own dark thoughts.  my own selfish thoughts.  something about how people talk about understanding, but when it really comes right down to it, understanding is usually the last thing that people practice when they encounter others.  people run on their own intuitions, which may or may not be correct, but which inevitably-

i like to think that understanding sometimes is a leap of faith.  it is a belief that somewhere deep inside, someone is there, and that someone is a good person, worthy of respect.  there is a whole lot in the way of that, unfortunately.  a whole lot...

in my musings, i thought of one gregarious and sociable person.  in an imaginary conversation, in which she actually would deign to speak to me, she said, in the most honest way, "you know, i meet with so many people in my line of work.  and it's only when i interact with you, that, well, something is wrong."

and of course, there are the rumblings within me, the objections...  they rise briefly, but like an ingrown hair, their direction inevitably turns back in upon their source, digging into me...  "you're right, of course," finally, a defeated confession comes out.  and once again, i walk away, consigned into the darkness...

***

what i fear most is the Sleep.  it is the Sleep which takes my words, the promises of love and everything good i hope to be, or ever was, and it smothers all of these things with its dead, lidded eyes.  it drags its heavy, clinging fingers over me, and turns me into it, so that all of these good intentions are defeated, not in the waking light of day, not in the battlefield of the present, but always before.  and the eyes of the world, the eyes of the ancestors, the eyes of god, they all only see what is revealed.  they cannot see the demon of Sleep dragging me under...

i have been sleeping a lot lately.  not sure why.  i don't feel particularly depressed, or rather, i am not conscious of feeling particularly sad or down.  but physically, i just feel a sort of exhaustion that simply doesn't go away.  after i come home from work, i sort of drift in and out of consciousness for the first few hours until dinner, and not long after that meal, i commit myself to oblivion...  no dreams in particular rise with me, but an occasional restlessness pursues me into waking... though not with the urgency to combat the lethargy, which inevitably pulls me back again...

i've tried to spin it into a positive.  something about listening to the 10 ton bear inside of me.  i do think that i have something like a 10 ton bear within me.  it's big and heavy.  not particularly mean.  but given its size, and strength, well, when it really wants something, it gets what it wants.  most of the time, i live my life in a kind of fiction of groundless ambition, trying to do the impossible.  the bear reminds me, on occasion, that it needs respect too, and fuck the stupid dreams and projects...  there's something liberating, ironically, about having that bear sit on my chest, and force me to hibernate with it...  something akin to discovering, and being one with, the lapping of the sea.

well, speak of the devil.  the bear, the ocean, the drowning sleep, she calls.  good night losers.

hi everyone.

i've been trying to live my life with more integrity...  doing stuff that i'm supposed to.  doing things that are in alignment with what i feel are important things...  reading, writing.  stuff like that.

i've been trying to think about what makes a good story.  what is interesting in a story that interests me? i dabbled into "the girl with the dragon tattoo" today, and i also watched the pilot episode of "breaking bad."  both have elements that i consider essential to a good story.  for instance, one thing i actually enjoy reading are the habits of mind of individuals, their modus operandi, particularly when we get to see them "at work" on a project.  at least, that's what i think i enjoyed when reading "the girl with the dragon tattoo."  i suppose what i enjoyed were the description of blomkvist's (one of the main characters in "the girl with the dragon tattoo") settling in on the island, and how he eased into his task of solving the mystery.  it represents, to me, the same task of a writer: an immersion in a story, and the sifting through of material to find some kernel of truth which can then serve as a seed crystal for the creation of something- interesting...

with regards to "breaking bad," i suppose a big draw is the depiction of compelling characters with clear, simple motivations.  even motivations that take on unexpected directions...

***

i also watched the latest miyazaki film, "from on poppy hill," or something to that effect.  the animation was not as smooth or as convincing as some of the other high production features from studio ghibli, and quite frankly, i think the intended audience was japanese nationals, because it tended to have a sort of preachy nationalistic theme to it (the preservation of a latin quarter building represented a return to the old [i.e. traditional] japanese culture), but all in all, it was a good film.  love, in the face of a mix up of genealogy...

***

well, that's it for now.

periodically, i need a new beginning.  so that's what this is- with the understanding that there's no such thing as a new beginning, and that the creditors will still be able to find your new address- eventually.

i am trying to stay on top of things in my life (as i have always been).  i'm resolving to read more, write more, draw more, master taijiquan, master teaching, master parenting, etc. etc. etc. (as i have always been).  so one might ask, what else is new?

... to which i have no response.

***

i think i have a pretty peaceful energy about me.  most of the time.  i appreciate that, when observers come to my room, they often comment on how peaceful it is.  or that one of the former skills trainers that used to work in my room periodically returns with her new student in order to have him use the clavinova.  and how she mentions that my voice is kind, and that the new student likes it (whether he actually does or not is subject to speculation).

there are things about oneself that require confirmation at times.  even if (or perhaps especially if) they aren't necessarily true.

within myself, i find that there is near constant turmoil.  as i get older, it is primarily a battle between my own inherent inertia, and a restless ambition.  and in the midst of the conflict is a kind of indecisive dissolution, pandered away by "easy projects" like playing diablo 3 or losing braincells on facebook.

i'm only getting older, i'm forgetting who i am day by day...

i at present don't feel or don't care so much about all the hatred around me.  i have my projects and dreams, and, when i'm able to pursue them truly, they are my armor and my shield.

***

well, hate to overstay my welcome.  i'll try to write regularly.  take care.

once again, i woke up at about 2 am. i walked into my children's rooms, hugged each as they were sleeping, and whispered a message into their dreams, something about how much i loved them. i did the same for my wife, although i think she was a bit more conscious when i spoke to her...

this morning, i went to the dentist's office in ala moana. she was a former student of mine in acupuncture. during a cleaning, she asked me about why i went into sped, and how i felt now that i have not been treating people as actively as before. i told her about how i would like to continue treating people, but now that i have a job as a sped teacher, it tends to be hard. each thing, each activity, tends to deconstruct into a thousand other things, such that i tend to get overwhelmed. this was what happened with this whole teaching thing. don't get me wrong. i love teaching, and consider myself a passionate teacher, always trying to improve, so that my students can improve. but there are a lot of things involved in teaching that aren't so easy or fun (as there are in all jobs), and that cannot be neatly bundled up in an 8 or 10 hour work day. that, combined with parenting, which is similarly amorphous and difficult to handle, leads to, well, a loss of something...

in any case, because i am awake at, now, 3 am, i was thinking about what is wrong with me. i do think that i am depressed, and perhaps have been for some time now. but in the background, a part of my mind is always searching for an answer. here are some fragments:

- wife and i saw "the incredible burt wonderstone", which was a movie that left a decidedly bad taste in my spirit... as one reviewer aptly put it, "now you see it, now you wish you hadn't." BUT, one character, an old man in a retirement home, the once beloved magician named halloway, did interest me. it was he who pointed out to the main character, burt wonderstone, that he had lost his love of magic, that he had turned what he loved into the rote and routine. magic was that moment when you saw the wonder in the eyes of a child, and for that moment, anything was possible... i thought about what that moment was for me, in what i do. as an acupuncturist, it was when i could see hope in a patient's eyes, and when there was relief from pain or suffering... as a teacher, it is when i see a child feel inspired and confident in discovering his/her own capabilities. in everything, it is finding purpose in the love i feel for others, a love funneled or focused through a skill set/occupation.

- tonight, we let the kids watch toonami on cartoon network. willow was raptly paying attention to naruto. in the episode, haku, a younger ninja who was in the employ of zabuza, a ruthless killer, told his story to naruto. i honestly never really paid attention to that arc of the storyline, for some reason, so i was half-listening as i passed the room. haku lost both of his parents, and it had something to do with his bloodline limit, a special sort of power that cannot be acquired, as it is "genetic." in any case, haku said that what was the worst thing about his life after that was not that he had lost his parents; it was that he had lost his purpose. he sat bereft of purpose until zabuza, who could perceive the child's hidden power, "rescued" him and gave him a cause to live for... i thought of myself, who oftentimes felt a similar loss of purpose...

- i heard an interview with phillip roth, author of portnoy's complaint and other novels that i have never read. anyway, it was his birthday, and he was talking about how he had officially retired from writing, and what a relief it was, as he could just experience life, and not always think about how he was going to use his experiences to fashion a good story... the interview struck me with the sense of writing as a vocation, not as some frivolous activity.

ANYWAY, i really am thinking about purpose at this moment. i need to return to it, in order to survive.

i wake up early every morning, about 2-4 am, with this feeling of anxiety. i have probably been doing this every day for years now. it makes me feel- ugly. disposessed. as though there is no continuity of hope in my life. it is as though i had been working so hard on something the previous day, and then someone came in while i was sleeping, and destroyed it, and all memory and motivation about it as well. and the feeling- that i have been, that i am, just wasting time.

i have been longing for a dream that would be happy, and just connect me from one day to the next, so that i can believe in something that i do longer than a single day. so that i can, by extension, believe in myself. i oscillate between despair and hope, when i hope there is a haunting sense that i'm being duped, when i despair, there is a haunting sense that i've given up too soon. it is square one.

have you ever felt this way, trapped, as you watch the lives of others who pass you by? and then, to feel this bitterness. and then, to regret feeling the bitterness. and to go on and on this way. others seem to look at you and say, "it's so easy." and, like a parent of some autistic child, you look at the others and repeat, "yes, it's so easy," and you look at your child, and start to shout, "it's so easy, do it," but nothing happens. people laughing. god laughing. it's so easy. bitterness. no-bitterness. repeat. repeat. repeat.

hope. despair. hope. despair. give up. don't give up...

perhaps the only reason i don't give up is that time keeps passing, and i can't. not with my kids, not with my wife. i can't.

i have been reading joseph conrad. i read a long introduction about him and his work, and i came to the conclusion that he was just like me (or i was just like him)... in the sense that he saw the irredeemable and fundamentally chaotic nature of the human soul (and, by extension, the universe, via the second law of thermodynamics), a vision which seriously called into question any and every endeavor towards truth, beauty, morality, etc., and especially those efforts which we deem either salvific or civilizing... and yet, he also believed strongly in a fundamental duty to maintain our human obligations towards each other.

along this vein, amongst the radio shows i have listened to over the past couple of days was one which i heard, an interview of an author/mother about her recent inaugural work about her experiences as the single parent of a child with tay-sachs disease, a rapidly degenerative, and inevitably fatal congenital disorder which afflicts children primarily of a specific jewish subset. i heard about how she turned to the writings of simone weil and zen buddhism and psychoanalysis in order to deal with the catastrophic feelings associated with this experience. but i also learned of her path to liberation of sorts, which involved a minute, day-to-day, moment-by-moment connection to the experiences of her son, comforting him, loving him, learning of the miracle of him. she realized, upon his death, there was no moment of transcendence, no comforting belief that her son had "gone to a better place", along with all the other tay-sachs children perhaps. he was gone, and there was no one and nothing that could console her of her tragic loss. but in the time that he was in this world, he was loved.

i was moved by this interview, as i felt resonance with conrad, because both articulate an understanding of the world that is fundamentally, and of necessity, anti-totalizing, anti-salvific; but far from being the font of some anarchic, do-as-you-please mentality, it calls us to the simple tasks of human love and obligations to each other. i emphasize simple, because we do not do these things for any higher cause, or for any effort to realize some higher purpose... we do these things simply because they are the natural and necessary and obvious and good things to do. compassion, simply because we know suffering when we see it, and we wish the best for those in need, as we feel it... not the concept of compassion, but its direct expression.

***

i have lamented in recent postings (felt sorry for myself) due to several observations of life. i basically had not "gotten my way," and at the same time, i had seen and am seeing those who either have no true moral fiber in them, or, worse, those who THINK they are in the right, the blessed civilizing force of the congo (ala "heart of darkness"), living their blessed lives, as they spit upon others, as they celebrate their apparent pinnacle of success, at their divine right to it in the horizonless future... and i had lamented at this, at me, and those like me, who feel like nothing, who feel as though they had nothing to show for themselves, and for their suffering, nothing that computed in their calculations of success... whose lives, AT BEST, those blessed others would look at, and "console" by saying, "if i were you, i'd probably die."

no.

i think that my life is NOT going anywhere specific. it often feels like the piscean symbol, two fishes spinning in a spiral fast, seeking an opposite, and an end to things, but only perpetrating the conservative force of the universe in the process... no progress. but that does not mean that i am something to be looked down upon. i often think that i care for the world, but not in a way that is "better" than in any way. but it is an honest caring. it is a caring that i feel, when i feel anything, and it is truer than any truism that those blessed others lash out against the world. i don't do what i do for anyone or anything else, for any other purpose. and in this sense, i like to think, i am more "civilized" than the highest of their high-brow supercilious (super silly ass) gazes...

me, and those countless others like me.