No Way...

... to spend Thanksgiving! We drove up to Los Angeles to see how Sarah was doing and found her pretty much comatose with pain medications. Still she was certainly aware that we were there, and was happy--not quite the word, perhaps!--to see us. She was still in the emergency observation ward when we arrived, but quite soon after was wheeled up on her gurney to a room in the general hospital. I must say that Kaiser has done a very nice job with their new building. Sarah's room is abundantly well equipped with technological marvels, and manages also to be a reasonably pleasant space in which to ail. The staff, too, were all friendly and efficient. We left after a couple of hours feeling assured that, if she had to be in the hospital, this was not the worst of possibilities. Then we drove back down to Laguna Beach and enjoyed some of the fruits of our previous day's kitchen labors in quiet solitude. And watched "Bridget Jones's Diary" on the TV. It was still funny.

I'm reading two books--both advance copies--which are providing some insight into our current situation. The first, The Compassionate Instinct, edited by Dacher Keltner, Jason Marsh and Jeremy Adam Smith, is subtitled "The Science of Human Goodness." The collection of essays by various scientists includes not only a great deal of research information but also a good deal of story-telling and personal anecdote challenging the old survivalist assumption that we humans are hard-wired for self-interest. The newest studies of primates are now telling us a different story--that such qualities as empathy, forgiveness, community, cooperation and trust are as much a part of the survival imperative as the ones that have commonly been accepted: competition, aggression, the urge to dominance and so forth.

The book is divided into three parts, the first examining "The Scientific Roots of Human Goodness"; the second, "How to Cultivate Goodness in Relationships with Friends, Family, Coworkers and Neighbors"; and the third, "How to Cultivate Goodness in Society and Politics." Heaven knows, these qualities and practices are needed if our species is to survive the near-disaster it has brought upon itself, and it is encouraging to know that the scientific community is beginning to promulgate a rational undergirding for them.

Perhaps--who knows--we can use some of this research to our mutual benefit. Who knew, for example, as research has revealed, that in combat situations--at least until recently--the majority of soldiers fired their weapons into the air rather than targeting the enemy? The revulsion for killing a follow human being was so powerful, so innate, that many went through the motions without actually following orders to kill. A hopeful discovery. But of course, once discovered, the finding resulted in the development of new training techniques to overcome the "natural" instinct." The kill rate, in our recent wars has significantly increased.

Still, "The Compassionate Instinct" is a worthwhile read, and one that suggests that what we are discovering about ourselves as a species may, just conceivably, help us to redirect our sense of who we are and where we're going with this fragile planet of ours. The question remains as to whether we have yet "hit bottom," to revert to the language of addiction--and addicts we all seem to be, don't we? We're addicted to our fossil fuels, to our comforts and conveniences, to the kinds of food we eat, to our "rights"... To paraphrase yet another great writer, the poet Rainer Maria Rilke, we must change our lives. ("Du musst dein Leben aendern.")

I'm having a lot of trouble with the second book, the third in "The Art of Happiness" series by the Dalai Lama and the psychiatrist Howard C. Cutler. I had the same problem with the first in the series, when I reviewed it for the Los Angeles Times a number of years ago. But I need to read a bit further into the book before I talk about it in any further depth.

Thanksgiving: Only Connect

I woke this morning with the familiar quotation from E.M.Forster on my mind. Only connect. We had been talking about this yesterday at breakfast with our friend Les, who is visiting from Las Vegas--about that sense of isolation which we often feel and which, more broadly I believe, is at the root of many of our social ills.

We had been hoping to connect at least with family today, having invited our daughter Sarah and friends down to enjoy a Thanksgiving feast with us here in Laguna Beach. We were looking forward to the occasion, and spent the afternoon yesterday in the kitchen, preparing the good food that is in itself a metaphor for connection on such a day. Then the phone rang last night and Sarah's boyfriend told us she had been admitted to the emergency hospital in severe pain and would have to spend the night there. This morning, he called again to let us know that she is being transferred to the general hospital for further care. Instead of the Thanksgiving dinner we had been looking forward to, we'll be driving up to Los Angeles in a little while to see how she is doing.

The lesson, I guess, is not to count your turkeys. I don't want to seem frivolous, with my daughter suffering, but this is clearly one of those times when it's particularly important to let go of the expectations and deal with the reality as it unfolds. In the meantime, our connection will be different from the one we had anticipated; but it will still be connection, and will be valued for what it is. As for Thanksgiving, we extend our gratitude to all those who are selflessly giving of their time to take care of our daughter on a day when they might otherwise be with their own families; and to all those good people throughout the world who devote their lives to taking care of others.

Addendum

As a footnote to this morning's entry, please read this note in today's "Arts Briefly" in the New York Times, and see if you don't want to throw up. Or throw something. "Someone had to write us a check." Indeed.

Just Taking a Moment...

... today to draw your attention to this article in yesterday's New York Times. It reports on a survey by a non-profit organization called Leveraging Investments in Creativity in conjunction with Princeton Survey Research Associates International and Helicon Collaborative, and it tells you nothing you don't already know (if you're an artist!) about the plight of artists in a cultural climate dominated by commerce and the cult of celebrity. It says, presumably in the dry language of statistical analysis, precisely what I have been observing and writing about in essay form for thirty years and more: that in terms of economic theory alone, the supply of artists and their work vastly exceeds demand. The "market" is limited to the topmost strata of the fortunate (and usually, but not always gifted!) few; and the great majority of those who think of themselves as artists (and that includes writers, actors, dancers, musicians, and so on) must find other than conventional definitions of "success" if they are to fulfill their sense of mission in life. This is where the notion of practice comes in handy. As one who could imagine himself in no way other than as a writer, I am grateful to have discovered the daily meditation practice that now serves me as a model and inspiration for a daily writing practice. Together, they make it possible for me to "persist"--by no coincidence, the title of my soon-to-be-published collection of essays, "Persist: In Praise of the Creative Spirit in a World Gone Mad With Commerce."

A Slow Day

Ellie came back from her morning walk with her friend Nancy and told me, as we were getting breakfast together, that they had been talking about me behind my back--specifically about their mutual perception that I am always in a rush, always feeling the pressure to move on, and often so impatient to get the job done that the job gets done more hastily than it should be. I need, they decided for me, more time for the poetry in my writing--not necessarily poems, but just the poetry.

I get what they mean. I know this about myself, and have struggled with this pattern for years. It's an old story, a bit boring at this point and familiar to anyone who has followed my writing over the years, because I have returned to it on more than one occasion. I first became consciously aware of this reactive pattern at a "Write For Your Life" workshop led by the writer Lawrence Block. In a process designed to uncover the "Big Lie" that holds us back from the full power of our creative potential, Larry nudged a memory of my near-strangulation at birth by the umbilical cord and the resultant, unconscious conviction that "I have no right to be here." I had been hurrying away from everything ever since--from academic jobs, from writing, from relationships, from social events. It was always time to leave, time to be done with it, time to move on.

So it was no surprise to hear it again. Though I have struggled mightily to remain conscious of the pattern, and despite years of meditation focused on the here and now, I'm aware that I slip back into it all too easily. Even this blog, though I write in it virtually every day, bears the stamp of my impatience. It offers me the opportunity to get it said fast and move on to the next thing to be taken care of. It's not often that I linger over a thought or image, or allow myself to delve too long or deep into its meaning. I started out, as a writer, as a poet. I even published, early on, two books of poems. But I didn't stick with it, did not allow myself the mental space and time to fully develop that potential. I moved on.

So I took my time yesterday. I did not do much. Sat around a lot, and tried to pay attention every time the urge to be doing something, to be doing the next thing, took over. It's not new, what Ellie relayed to me from her conversation with Nancy, but that fact makes it no less important to listen to.

More poetry, eh? We'll see....