The Sound of One Nub Clapping

Taken at the Red Cross Snake Farm, Bangkok

Taken at the Red Cross Snake Farm, Bangkok

Once upon a day in February
ruminating about creatures scary
staring at a flaring cobra hood
I thought, maybe this serpent ‘s just misunderstood
I know its bad rap (wrap?) is Biblically-inspired,
but perhaps it’s time that rap be retired
if you stepped on me, I’d bite you too
well, perhaps not bite, but in the harshest tone bid you adieu

The crocodile has a snappy smile
and is always dressed in dapper style
if you evict him from his birthday suit
to suit your needs for some snazzy boots
I think we’ll all understand, if he claims as his your right hand
don’t think it’s  some vast assault on man
think of it as a reptilian guru teaching one Zen koan
and, to you, the sound of one hand clapping will be known
hint: it sounds like a bloodcurdling scream
and requires a readied surgical team

Taken at Budapest Zoo

Taken at Budapest Zoo

Your bigger tiger can be a grumpy cat
when unwise souls encroach its habitat
just don’t pitch a tent like you own the place
if you value the features on your face
think of yourself as that visiting kin
for whom “just passing through” looks like “moving in”
you don’t feel nice calling Uncle Bob a pest
think how the tiger feels ripping your heart from your chest

Taken at a "bear park" in Veresegyház, Hungary

Taken at a “bear park” in Veresegyház, Hungary

Grizzly bears’ hairiness inspires scariness
but under that fur is the motive for wariness
it may look like rolly-polly flab
but bears have muscular six-pack abs
you think you’ve got him in your trap
but wonder how your spine just snapped
a minor miscalculation on the tranq front
and your life is liquids through a shunt
can you blame him, the trap ‘s a rusty, toothy maw
that you just caused to kill his paw

DAILY PHOTO: Cambodian National Museum in Phnom Penh

In the courtyard of the National Museum of Cambodia

In the courtyard of the National Museum of Cambodia

The National Museum of Cambodia is picturesque. The collection is small and simple, but impressive in quality. For those of us who run out of “ooh” and “ahh” stamina after a few hundred artifacts, it’s just the right size.  It’s also not stuffy in the usual way of museums– large barred windows are unshuttered while the museum is open. (This is probably less than ideal from both the perspective of security and artifact preservation, but it gives the place a certain ambiance, and maybe helped the exodus of the bats that took up residence during the museum’s dormant period)

It’s great to see what they’ve done with the place considering the state of disrepair it was said to be in after the Khmer Rouge period. With respect to my comment about it not being a large collection, it’s a wonder that any collection exists at all after the wave of lootings from the French through Vietnamese soldiers that took place in the country.

Be forewarned, once one is inside, one will be confronted by Buddhists from a monument preservation society seeking donations at about half a dozen different Buddhas around the museum. If you aren’t a Buddhist, this can be a bit of an annoyance. If you are a Buddhist, you may find their approach disconcertingly unBuddhist. They will try to press incense into one’s palm in order to corner one into paying homage to the Buddha so they can make some dough for their cause. However, they don’t follow one around once refused (as similar individuals have been known to do at Angkor.) It may be a great cause, but they’d probably do better if they restricted it to one per museum and not one per gallery, and just let people drop cash rather than insisting on the idol worship first. I’m nondenominationally happy-go-lucky myself, but I can imagine this being troublesome for some visitors. At any rate, it’s symptomatic of the country’s  poverty and their inability to support their deity at the level to which he has apparently become accustomed.

BOOK REVIEW: Bones of the Master by George Crane

Bones of the Master: A Journey to Secret MongoliaBones of the Master: A Journey to Secret Mongolia by George Crane

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I’m a sucker for a tale of the sage next door. In an unwise world, it’s nice to believe that the wise exist, and that they walk among us. That they are not relegated to secluded retreats, but live in suburban subdivisions. In Bones of the Master a quirky Asian man drops in on his neighbor. The neighbor turns out to be the author of this book, poet George Crane. The visitor is Tsung Tsai, a Cha’an monk who trekked from Inner Mongolia to Hong Kong in 1959 in order to ensure the teachings of his monastery would survive.

The two men strike up a friendship, collaborating on poetry translation and eventually making a journey together back to Tsung Tsai’s home. The first part of the book tells of their meeting and describes Tsung Tsai’s 1959 journey to freedom. The second part deals with the two men’s mid-1990’s return trip. The monk’s ambitious plan is to find the bones of his master, cremate them, and relocate them in accord with the dictates of his religious tradition. He also wants to rebuild the temple that was razed by the Red Guard during the cultural revolution. As this is nonfiction, it’s not all happy endings. Not everything works out as they’d like it to. A brief third part tells of their return to the states with an interesting stopover in Hong Kong.

Much of the appeal of the book stems from how the monk’s worldview rubs off on the author. The monk assumes matter-of-factly that they will be able to sell the book for a sufficient advance to pay for the trip and a monument to his teacher. As one can imagine– particularly anyone who knows a bit about publishing– Crane is suitably skeptical, but ultimately buys into the plan. The monk often tells Crane that he worries too much. However, most of us would worry about these daunting challenges. For example, how to get a one ton statue from New York to Inner Mongolia, or–more importantly–whether the aged and ailing monk will be able to complete the trip alive.

There are tidbits of insight as well as poetry scattered throughout the book.

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Our Most Beloved and Most Deadest of Presidents

Source: Kennedy Library

Source: Kennedy Library

Presidents live the ultimate catch-22, the only way to reliably boost their approval ratings is to shuffle off this mortal coil (i.e.become worm food.)  The more decomposed a president, the more fond our remembrances of him. The worst thing that anyone ever says about a long dead president is nothing at all. When was the last time you heard a scathing character impeachment of Millard Fillmore? (I do realize that a person with the supreme narcissism needed to be president may find silence more insufferable than being called the son of a syphilitic donkey whore.)

(Quick, without looking, name a president from the 19th century other than Jefferson or Lincoln [or Fillmore]?) FYI- there were 23 or 24 of them. If you drank your entire cup of coffee before you could come up with one of the other twenty names, congratulations you are a typical American– or an exceptional non-American.

I first noticed this phenomena when watching the Reagan funeral. Everyone from all walks of life had great things to say about our 40th president on that day. However, while I was still a minor at the time, I distinctly remember half of the country loathing the man spectacularly and engaging in ad hominem attacks against him at any opportunity. Well there was one period during which no one was saying horrible things about Reagan’s character and that was  during the brief period after the assassination attempt when his opponents thought he might die — at which point they went into dead presidents mode. Had Reagan passed away at the hands of John Hinckley, he would’ve achieved a level of freedom from being crapped upon usually reserved for a our first few (long decomposed) presidents.

Still, Reagan has achieved the broadly beloved status of being the Democrat’s “In-your-face President” just like Kennedy serves in that role for Republicans. An “In-your-face President” is one that political parties use to attempt to show that their current opposition is on the lunatic fringe by indicating that that iconic leader supported something vaguely, roughly approximal in a similar sort of way to what they are trying to do in the present day. These statements being followed by a silent, but understood, “IN YO’ FACE.”

I’m sure that when Carter dies, equally lovely things will be said about him — though never has a bigger train wreck of state been seen then the term of James Earl Carter. To be fair, some of the wheels that rolled off the RV-of-state were not his fault, but we  give all the credit and all the blame to the president. Why do you think Clinton is always grinning like he just had sex? No, it’s not because he just had sex– though he did (the speaking circuit is like fishing with dynamite), it’s because he reigned over the big bubbly part of the bubble. When we were rich because we thought we had a lot of valuable stuff, before anyone bothered to look inside and see what we had was rotten at the core.

Admittedly, Nixon’s demise did challenge everybody’s ability to grin and say nice things.  Comments were made such as, “That Checkers was a good boy, such a good boy, yes he WAS… YES he WAS. Oh yeah, and how about that China thing, that was a real work of diplomacy.”  (Checkers was one of Nixon’s dogs, made famous by a Vice Presidential speech of the same name.) The word “China” was used at Nixon’s funeral more than it was used at the Chinese Conference on China in Beijing, China. Of course, there wasn’t much nice to say about Nixon. Democrats can’t even take advantage of the fact that the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) was a Nixon Administration initiative. Nixon can’t be an “In-your-face President.” It’s too much like slapping your opponent with a bloated dead fish; you may hit them, but you’re going to get the stink on you never-the-less.

BOOK REVIEW: Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer

Into the WildInto the Wild by Jon Krakauer

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Nature is a harsh teacher. That was the last lesson Chris McCandless ever learned. A recent college graduate, McCandless struck out for the Alaskan wilderness with minimal resources, his body was found by a party of moose-hunters several months after he’d begun his Alaskan adventure.

Into the Wild gives us a well-researched explanation for how McCandless died, but it also tells us a great deal about how he lived– and that story is fascinating in its own right. Many thought McCandless must have been crazy, but refusing to acquiesce to the work-a-day world is often incorrectly diagnosed as insanity.

McCandless had an obsessive desire to find out whether he could make it on his own, not just separate from his parent’s wealth but from all the trappings of modern society. McCandless’s most iconic indicator of insanity-by-way-of-thwarting-convention was when he gave away the entirety of his $25,000 savings account and burnt all the money in his wallet. He wanted to know whether he could survive if he was returned to the state of nature from whence mankind came. Sadly, the answer was no.

It would be easy to dismiss McCandless as a dumb kid who got in over his head. Though he certainly was that. On his deathbed, in a bus carcass in the remote Alaskan wilderness, McCandless likely had a revelation that most teenagers pass into adulthood without ever realizing, that he was mortal.

However, McCandless was more than a kid with an underdeveloped sense of his own mortality. He was a kid with the courage to confront a question that most of us just let nag in the back of our minds. That question being,do we have what it takes to live not as a cog in a machine but as a human in the natural world.

I know many are intrigued by this question in part because there are entire TV channels that are practically devoted to survival shows. Yet most people don’t take it beyond sitting on a couch contemplating whether they could survive. Will thinking man (Homo sapiens) be replaced by doing man (Homo effectus)?

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There was a movie based on this book. I didn’t see it, but here is its trailer.

DAILY PHOTO: Buckingham Palace in London, England

Palace Guard

Palace Guard

I took this in 1989 or thereabouts. I think I just stumbled upon the changing of the guard (thankfully this has nothing to do with diapers) ceremony that day. How about those snazzy backpacks?

BOOK REVIEW: Eclipse of the Crescent Moon by Géza Gárdonyi

Bas relief of Siege of Eger

Bas relief of Siege of Eger

Eclipse Of The Crescent MoonEclipse Of The Crescent Moon by Géza Gárdonyi

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This book is the English translation of a volume originally written in Hungarian and titled Egri Csillagok, i.e. “Stars of Eger.”

Historical fiction works best when the event it’s built around requires no fictitious embellishment to fascinate the reader. Eclipse of the Crescent Moon takes place during the 1552 siege of Eger. During this siege, 2,000 Hungarians held off at least 40,000 Turkish invaders for over one month. (In the book the Turks have a two order of magnitude advantage.) The Turks retreated despite having had superior armaments as well as a massive numeric advantage. It’s the perfect underdog story.

Reading a purely historic account would be interesting enough, but Géza Gárdonyi creates value-added by imbuing his characters with depth, particularly his lead Gergely Bornemissza. There wasn’t much known about Bornemissza. He was a minor character in history compared to Eger’s commander, István Dobó. However, his expertise in explosives did play a role in this Hungarian success story.

The book begins when Bornemissza is a young boy. He and a girl named Éva are captured by a Turk. The couple escapes and manages to free others. They later elope to avert Éva’s arranged marriage. They have a child who is later captured by the same Turk who had captured them.

A major subplot is a trip made to Istanbul in the heart of enemy territory to attempt to aid in the escape of Bornemissza’s  adoptive father.

The book is well translated and an engaging read.

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DAILY PHOTO: Akihabara in Tokyo, Japan

Tokyo's Electronics District

Tokyo’s Electronics District

Akihabara is where one goes to find the latest in high-tech gadgets. I was there in 2008, about exactly 48 hours before the multiple-fatality stabbing spree that darkened the doorstep of this lively consumer district.

If you’re wondering about the girls in the French maid costumes, they weren’t kinky prostitutes. They were giving out free tissue packets with advertising  on them. Why wear such costumes? I have no idea– except that I imagine they sell a lot of what they’re selling to sarariman.

BOOK REVIEW: The Journeys of Socrates by Dan Millman

The Journeys of SocratesThe Journeys of Socrates by Dan Millman

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The Journeys of Socrates shines the spotlight on Dan Millman’s mysterious teacher from The Way of the Peaceful Warrior. We discover that Socrates was born Sergei in Russia to a Cossack father and a Jewish mother.

His youth is scarred by tragedy. His mother died in labor with him and his father died of alcohol poisoning while Sergei was away at military school. His only remaining relative that we know of, his grandfather, dies. He flees military school to avoid having to harass Jews as a soldier, and in the process he has to battle his arch-rival. He marries into a family, but that brings its own tragedy. His family by marriage are Jews living under false identities at a time when it is very dangerous to be a Russian Jew.

It is after this tragedy that Socrates’ search for warrior skills and revenge drive the narrative. In injecting so much tragedy into his life, Millman makes the main character’s transformation all the more impressive. At every turn, Socrates is faced with events that should fill him with bitterness and hatred, but he must keep going and learn to control his emotions to become the warrior that he wants to be.

He proceeds to train under a warrior trained in the way of Japanese swordsmanship, a man named Razin. Razin only reluctantly accepts him as a student. He then lives at a hermitage, learning to reign in his mind and to respond freely and appropriately to attacks. His teacher at the hermitage, Father Serafim, teaches him to fight, while encouraging him to give up his vendetta. Finally, he travels abroad to train with a convened collection of sages from various traditions (Taoism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity,etc.)

Socrates narrative arc is well developed. He is pitted against a powerful enemy named Zakolyev, aka Gregor Stakkos, a military school rival who became an antisemitic Cossack gang leader. Socrates is reluctantly drawn into a final decisive battle with this nemesis, but there is a twist at the end to further complicate that event.

I’ll admit I’ve had mixed feelings about Millman’s work. I was a big fan of the original books Way of the Peaceful Warrior and to a lesser extent Sacred Journey of the Peaceful Warrior. Those books provided great insight into mind-body development in a readable narrative form. However, I later picked up one of his subsequent books and found it to be some sort of numerology/astrology drivel. That was disconcerting not only because it offended my sensibilities as a Cartesian skeptic, but even more so because it seemed to fly in the face of the Peaceful Warrior message– which was one of self-empowerment, not passive acceptance of some randomly bestowed fate.

So I picked The Journeys of Socrates reluctantly. However, I found this book to be the most readable of all. It is written like a novel or the memoir of someone who led the rare novel-shaped life.

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DAILY PHOTO: Gulf of Finland Inlet

Taken from the Hilton Helsinki Kalastajatorppa

Taken from the Hilton Helsinki Kalastajatorppa

In 2011, we made a mid-summer trip to Helsinki. We stayed at the Hilton Helsinki Kalastajatorppa. It’s located northwest of Helsinki proper up the inlet to the city’s west side (not far from Seurasaari Island.)

This photo was taken at probably 1:30am. Vampires beware: I don’t think it ever got fully dark. There was always light on the horizon. Those little black specks on the water are birds whose circadian rhythms were as confused as was mine.

BTW, that hotel has an awesome breakfast buffet that’s included in the room price.  It’ s a little out-of-the-way though.