Stones

35,000 feet above Canada.
Somewhere between Fort McMurray and Churchill.
Having just finished watching Martin Scorcese’s chronicle of the Rolling Stones—Shine a Light.

It affected me in a surprising way. I’m not sure exactly why I selected it from the case of videos the flight attended offered after we boarded. I suppose I had heard some good things about it, but I’ve not typically been a big fan of rock films. The preliminary scenes of Scorcese and the band hassling over arrangements was more compelling than the opening rock numbers, I wasn’t even sure I’d last watching the whole concert. Fortunately, Scorsese peppered it with old film clips of the band, especially interviews from their early years that gave a larger context to the film. It was more of a telescopic view of the lives of four artists. The vintage segments were used sparingly and powerfully.

Early on one interviewer banally asked how long the band expected to continue. Baby faced Jagger replied with honest wonder that he was surprised that they had already lasted two years. He figured they might be good for one more. Later in the film Dick Cavett asked Jagger if he could picture himself still rocking at sixty. Jagger unhesitatingly replied in the affirmative which drew laughter from the audience. Little did they know.

This made me wonder about my future and my past. I am sixty. There were few things that I was doing in my twenties that would have warranted such a question. Then again I’m not Mick Jagger. Still it’s a great question of anyone at any age. To set it up properly I think I would first ask something along the lines of, “What are you doing now that most excites you?” Then I’d follow that with, “...and do you see yourself still doing it in twenty, thirty, forty years?”

What I was doing in my early twenties was mostly art. Making some. Teaching some. It is hard to place myself back in the mindset of that time or even to pick a single point in time from which to evaluate those questions. The answers would change so rapidly from phase to phase—as an art student, as an art teacher, as an architecture student.... Of course all of those experiences became the bedrock of who I am today as an architect and a trainer.

More than this retrospective look I was drawn, during the course of watching this film, to think about my future.

What excites me now? Training. Design. Writing. Tikkun olam. Prayer. Eldering. Cycling. A nice list.

Do I see myself doing any or all of these even twenty years from now?

“You bet.”

(Let the audience laugh if they think I’m kidding.)

More Blessings

We went to shul this morning--Debbie and I. This is a rare occurrence in itself. One congregant told me she searched the Yartzeit list to see if we were their to honor the memory of a departed loved one. Why else would both of us be there?

We were there not to give blessing so much as to receive. Yes, we recited the blessing over the Torah. That was an honor given us to position us on the bema to receive the rabbi’s blessing for our trip. I had arranged this in advance. I knew it was something I wanted to do. Debbie was willing to join me in shul for this. I suspect neither of us anticipated exactly what it would mean to receive this blessing.

We ascended the bema. I touched my tallit to the text in the scroll that was to be read. I kissed the tallit and extended it to Debbie's lips for her to show her reverence to the Torah as well. I placed my hands on the turned wooden handles of the scroll. We chanted the ancient Hebrew words praising the source of this precious heritage. After the reader chanted the Torah verses we added the concluding prayers and then turned to the rabbi for his blessing.

His words were rich with meaning for each of us and for the two of us as a couple. All I had expected was some version of the traveler’s prayer that asks God to guide one in peace, keep one from dangers on the way, bring blessing to the work of one's hands, and return one home in peace. The rabbi included that. He prefaced it, however, with words that blessed our relationship, that spoke of our spiritual growth, that called for my deeper connection to the causes for which I am riding--peace and the environment. He said more. My memory fails me. What I do remember clearly was the welling of tears in my eyes as he touched my soul so deeply, and the warmth of Debbie's presence at my side.

It was a true blessing.

Debbie and I left the bimah changed. I felt a connection that I know we will maintain as we fling ourselves half a world away. Two connected souls in strange new beautiful bewildering inspiring places.

Blessings

from VACILLATION

My fiftieth year had come and gone,
I sat, a solitary man,
In a crowded London shop,
An open book and empty cup
On the marble table-top.
While on the shop and street I gazed
My body of a sudden blazed;
And twenty minutes more or less
It seemed, so great my happiness,
That I was blessèd and could bless.
William Butler Yeats

Tonight I received blessings from my men’s group.

It would take more time and space than I care to allot to this blog to adequately describe this group, its purpose, process, and people. Suffice it to say that we have been meeting weekly for over seventeen years. We don’t do what a lot of other men would do at a regular Thursday night meeting. No booze. No gambling. No cigars. No sports. Nor is it a therapy group—although it is highly therapeutic.

It is a space where our authentic selves are allowed not only to exist, but to flourish.

Tonight was my turn to lead. Given that this is my last night with the group before I take off with Debbie for a week in Italy, a few days with family in Stockholm, and then the big ride, I looked forward to this evening with some anticipation. Still, I didn’t know what theme I would introduce until this afternoon.

As I was walking to Como Esta for lunch I thought about how this Shabbat I will attend synagogue and receive or recite—not sure which—the traveler’s blessing. Debbie might even join me! This is something I look forward to, and at the same time it makes me wonder. What is a blessing, anyway? Is it a fiction? Do blessings really exist? Who has the power to bless? Does a blessee have to receive the blessing for the blessor’s action to be valid? What have been the greatest blessings I have received? And what about the opposite—curses?

These were the issues we pondered for nearly two hours. Toward the end I had us pair up and ask one another what blessing the other would like, and then give him that blessing.

It was moving, warm, and deeply felt. I proceeded to close the session by turning down the lights so the lone candle was the only illumination. I began singing a favorite niggun—wordless Jewish melody. After several rounds of the niggun I reached to sound the chime that we use to signal the end of our ritual. Barry interrupted me. I was ready to clobber him, because it was not the first time I had attempted to end a session and he had something to add. I’m glad I didn’t clobber him. He interrupted to suggest that before I depart on my long and to some degree dangerous journey that each of us would give me one more blessing.

I gladly took them in—

Blessings that I find what I seek. Blessings for my physical and metaphysical well being. Blessings for my heart and soul to be deeply connected to source through my wanderings.

It seems, so great my happiness, that I am blessèd and can bless.

Compared to What?

“Compared to what?”

That was the punch line of some standing family joke when I was a kid. I don’t remember the setup, but today as I was riding up Old La Honda Road (for the fifth time) I became acutely aware of the continual commentary of comparisons coursing through my mind.

I’ve mentioned Old La Honda Road before. Its impact on Peninsula cyclists was well summarized in a blog by a Felix Wong:

Many cyclists on the SF Bay Area Peninsula seem to know their best time up Old La Honda Rd., as it provides some measure of one’s climbing aptitude (both relative to your previous self, and to others).

The official start of the hill climb is the stone bridge; the end is the stop sign at the top of the intersection of Old La Honda and Skyline Blvd.

The course record, according to various posts on USENET newsgroups, is a few ticks under 15 minutes (14:50 or so), and is either owned by Dr. Eric Heiden (the Olympic speed-skating champion who lived 2/3rds up Old La Honda), or a guy named Mike Murray.

The Western Wheelers even has a “rider category system” based on a rider’s times up Old La Honda. (This helps match cyclists with Western Wheeler rides of his or her appropriate level of difficulty). The system is as follows:

Category A: total novice
Category B: it takes the cyclist 40-60 minutes to go up Old La Honda
Category C: 30-40 minutes
Category D: 25-30 minutes
Category E: 20-25 minutes
Category F: under 20 minutes

I’m in category B, and that’s a great accomplishment for me. My five assaults on this monument to strength and endurance were as follows.

1. Made it about a third of the way up before feeling light headed
2. Stopped to catch my breath about 10 times. Managed to finish in about an hour and a half.
3. Stopped only 3 or 4 times. Completed in about an hour.
4. Made it to the top without stopping! 47 minutes.
5. Today 45 minutes!

Of course I was passed frequently by more accomplished cyclists. On my previous climb I actually managed to pass a person--an octogenarian with an outmoded bicycle.

As two guys passed me today I felt the need to share with them the fact that I too had passed someone once, and I mentioned the age. One of the riders replied. “Did he have one leg?”

So I spend a lot of time judging and comparing. If I manage to get beyond comparing myself to the younger, stronger people with whom I ride I am still plagued by comparing myself to me! I’m not just talking cycling here, of course. Every time I accomplish something it seems I set a new bar for myself, and subsequently feel the challenge, the pressure to surpass whatever it was I managed to eke out previously.

Why do I torture myself this way?

There is probably an answer in Eastern thought somewhere. Sounds like a topic Krishnamurti used to talk about. No doubt it is a very common human proclivity. Nonetheless, it would be nice, from time to time, to simply be, and accept, and grow (or no) without all the angst.