Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Phenomenal People Interview: John Turski

I met John Turski many years ago at a Christmas party.  We became fast friends and one year we had a complete heart to heart and discovered we had many things in common.  His spiritual sense and wonder are two of those things.  He is a Medium and a Spiritual Liaison.

If I asked you a simple question like “Who are you?” what would you say?

I’m just another version of you…I don’t know…you are whatever expression you choose to be, our expression is all we really are…what the hell am I trying to say…I am the divine expression of myself.   

Explain what you do for a living?

I’m a medium.  I’m the middleman between our conscious self and our unconscious self where our spirit resides.  The people who see me are often parents who have lost children. 

I help people in developing the deepest parts of themselves.  I don’t like to use the word ‘Psychic.’ I don’t like to use that term because the connotation is that you can predict the future—I don’t think that’s not possible but I don’t choose to go into that territory.  I am empowering you to create the life that you choose to have---if I tell you something is going to happen you will create that. 

Do I speak to the dead?  Yes and no.  Yes I can connect with loved ones who have departed.  But it’s more that I am connecting with a Higher intelligence.  What I really do is show up in the office and sit in the chair.  I sit: they talk.  Loved ones, guides or energy. 

Do we all have guides?  We all do have something.  The word guide is a way to personalize and put a name and face on it.  We are all guided by something.  But even the word ‘guide’ limits what you can really receive, there is something higher that comes into me and I am the expression of that. 

I like to call myself a Spiritual Liaison:  But I have settled more on the term ‘Medium.’  I can’t describe what I do; you are going to have to experience it. 

Give me an example of how you have helped someone?

I can’t, when I’m in a session I’m speaking words that are not mine, I forget everything that happens in a reading.  And that is a good thing.  In my session you are getting to bear witness to the expression of yourself.  Loads of people need permission to be themselves.  Permission to move forward. 

This work is awakening bold expression of their nature and being.  It’s hard for me to wrap my own mind around it…if we really could understand it; it wouldn’t be godly. 

Can you prove to me that you are a medium or psychic? 

Come on in.  I don’t feel like I have to defend myself or prove to anybody anything.  I don’t really stand on that side of the fence that hasn’t been too much of a battle for me.

How did you learn this technique or is it a natural gift? 

A little bit of both.  I have learned or put a frame of reference around what was so natural.  I had to get with the program or go crazy.  I was doing readings for people when I was nine years old.  I was always playing around with tarot cards.

Remember the Eighties, Cleo, when I saw her on T.V. part of me was kind of like that was a possibility.  If there was anybody I would want to be it was someone who could tap into the unknown.  I would always be laying out tarot cards and reading people.

In my work I am remembering what I’ve done before not learning something …we are all surfing on the same wave of potential: alignment—when you are being yourself and truly you are the full expression of yourself. 

So when you see someone on the street strutting their stuff out of the box, being themselves and confidant, you see some of yourself.  Witnessing someone being themselves: a little bit of yourself, a little bit of you wakes up.  Do you know how hard it is to be yourself?

I think to myself for example:  Here’s a transvestite who got a sex change and they are the happiest in their life-regardless of what we believe: they get to be.  This life is their new game.  Full expression of yourself.   All you have to be is witnessed by others, you don’t need to be as hands on as you think!

How do you manage your life with all the ghosts, spirits, and premonitions?

Pretty well.  I don’t manage it, it manages me.  We don’t become divine; the divine becomes us.  I owned it.  I received it, which is a journey on itself.  My motto is just Show Up.  I sit they talk. 

Do you think that practice makes it better?

The more you show up, even at your worst is somebody else’s best.  I am in a world that can’t be gauged or measured it just is what it is.  More alignment with frequency all day long---divine light—hang out in an energy, bask in the light—however you want to put it. 

How I see life is different—When I’m in my space I see more light from the trees. I see people how they should be seen. 

Spiritual bliss?  It’s always here—I may have a rough morning it may have taken me a little bit to come alive but spiritual bliss--- I think of the hippie offering love--- it is a deep sense of contentment---nothing has changed not obstacles and cannot be defined.  It doesn’t’ matter what you are talking about you receive your frequency.  When people come to see me they come out and say what did we talk about?  It's like a time warp---sometimes it is their first realization ‘I wasn’t in the world for a little bit.’ 

For those who do not believe in mediums, what would you have to say to them?

I wouldn’t say anything to them— I feel bad for them not because they don’t believe in what I do.  You have little belief in something more than yourself. You are a very scared person.  I don’t need you to believe in me.  I don’t have to prove or stand up to what I believe, they have never given it try.  Come into a session open minded and openhearted.

What do you think happens after death?

I think the return of innocence, the return of our source nature.  We wake and we know ourselves in our fullness. What we really are is expressionless, formless, nameless, cannot be destroyed, can’t be created, we are limitless. 

Do you believe in reincarnation?

I have to believe I don’t have just one chance at this.  If I just had one chance it wouldn’t be fair.  If you are going to believe in eternity—one lifetime in this doesn’t make sense. 

Heaven?  When we leave here there is only one way out and that’s up.  When we first leave our bodies we experience the inner expressions of how we see ourselves.  You are going to experience everything inside of you, then we all finally dwell in that same place.  In spirit we have free will.  When we are spirit we know what we are who we are and what we serve.  Oneness: space. 

If you do believe in reincarnation, then how is it that dead people talk to you?

Define passed, take out the idea of time past and future, your thoughts and everything we occupied is inspired by time.  There is only the space of now, the moment.  When you die you leave your body and you are out of your mind ego.  You are out of the idea of time, all of this is happening together now—all that ever existed comes together in one experience one moment.  All dimension all converge in this moment. 

The dead have never left…they are still here.  They are still experiencing us.  Being in a human body, the only way we get to experience is through our five senses---we tell ourselves it can’t be real and true, it can’t exist.  I show people the new way of relating with their loved ones.  Alignment---that which we all are.

Do you know what I’m thinking right now?

I can’t tell me form you sometimes.   Recently I would have said I want to know about nina…I would want to connect and become nina… But now I’m more grounded.  I’m never going to be anything or know anything that you don’t know.  I may have expressed it differently than you do.  Can I read your thoughts?  Yeah I could.  I play the numbers game with my friends when I’m hanging out.  I can guess the numbers they are thinking.

Why don’t I win the lottery?  Anytime you do this gift for greed you will lose the gift. If you are focused on money you are not focused on source. 

Manifesting?  It’s like what I call a California version of spirituality.  Attracting abundance money and things, I think you can manifest things but why are you doing it---you gain a sense of power---gain but loss…It’s an L.A. West Coast version. 

What is meditation to you?

Remembering where you came from.  I don’t do it as much as I used to, I feel now I am in a constant flux or flow.  I use meditation if I need to calm myself or get deeper.  Xanax or meditation.  I don’t have to be in mediation all day everyday.  Meditation creates openness where you get to receive a whole new creation— higher levels of inspiration and creativity.

What is the goal of your spiritual path?

I don’t know…why do we have to put a goal…the goal is to keep going.  I want to make people feel a little more brighter and inspired.   It’s not about you anymore.  We are here to serve others, serve yourself by serving others. Be transcendent. There is one moment.  We are one with everything.  When we manifest people, helping them, you feel core layers of you.  

Why would someone want to come to you?

Usually something in you just moves you to just come. A lot of people tell me, ‘I don’t know why I’m here, I just knew I had to show up’…experience the greater the gifts in themselves.  They can become a part of something greater…I am nothing unusual or gifted…The only difference between me and others is that I pity the fool and I’ll be damned if anyone gets in my way. Usually people leave me with an opening to a deeper sense of themselves.  Knowing themselves in this expression.  

To contact John Turski for a session call 567-288-3210
Check out his website at: 

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

You Think You're Cooler than Me...

12 year-old nina
So I can’t remember if I’ve told you this story yet…so I’m going to tell it to you again.  When I was in sixth grade one of the “cool” girls invited me to her birthday party.  I was excited as hell.  This was going to be big.

Speaking of big, my mom had an idea for a gift.  She bought a HUGE ASS cooler, like a thing you put ice in and stuff.  She decided that I was going to give that as a gift to a 12-year old girl. 

Did you hear what I said? She wanted me to give this ENORMOUS cooler to my friend who was just a regular girl.  I protested, but apparently I lost because she wrapped that thing.  It took both her and my dad to wrap it together to get it done.  I could hardly pick it up. 

So I come into the party, trying to act ‘cooler’ than I looked while carrying a cooler.  Literally.  Everyone was staring at me when I entered my friend’s house.  “Yours is the biggest present we will open that last!” one of my friends yelled.  I looked at her like I was scared. 

I was nervous until it was time to open presents.  I tried to hide in the bathroom but that didn’t look so good.  So I stood there with my palms sweating.  My friend got cool stuff like magazines about pop stars and other appropriate things.  “I can’t wait to open your gift!” was my friend’s sentiment towards me.

I can’t wait to fall over and die is what I thought.  My face started turning red, as it was my turn.  Everyone was paying attention to this one. She slowly unwrapped the gift; oh I forgot to mention it was wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper.  Red and green.  Could I have looked like more of a fool?  How could I look less cool?

As she opened the gift her eyes were wide with wonder, and then it happened.  It was right there for everyone to see.  Another friend of mine looked at me curiously, “It’s a cooler?”  I didn’t say anything and tried to smile.  I wanted to scream that it was my mother’s idea; it was all her weird fault.  But that would have just made me look weirder. 

It was bad enough that I was the only minority in the room.  But trust me everyone was assured that I was ‘different’ when they saw that gift.  “You got her a cooler?” my friend’s mother asked. 

Yes I did people.  I am not cool. I had to bring something to cool my ass. 

It was a sleepover party and later that night I wanted to hide in the cooler, I was so embarrassed.  But I think everyone was over it, I think they stored all the other gifts in the cooler.  I bet you her parents used that cooler at barbeques and picnics.  It was more like a ‘family gift’ if you ask me. 

So after my mother forced me to commit social suicide, I went to school like normal the next Monday.  I don’t know if kids were talking about the cooler, probably everyone forgot about it.  Everyone but me.

A year later I moved to Troy, Michigan.  I was on my way to being less cool when I entered a new school.  At the time I wore very colorful sweaters with huge patterns on them.  I think they were in style.  I cannot be sure. 

I was definitely uncool in school when I first moved to Troy.  It was one of the hardest years of my life.  I wasn’t as studious as the smart Indian kids and I wasn’t cool enough for the cool kids.  I didn’t fit in anywhere.  I was the smartest kid in Livonia and the dumbest Indian in Troy.  No one knew what to do with me; least of all did I know what to do with myself. 

However, finally by high school I gave up the swirling patterned sweaters and lost some weight and looked almost ‘normal.’ I mean I wasn’t ‘normal’ normal.  I was just now as much of a freak as I was in middle school.   

I think I was cool in college.  I mean I’m having trouble analyzing it objectively but I hung out with some ‘cool’ people.  I didn’t drink like a mad woman or have random sex in college but I had a good time.  I even bought a black leather jacket from The Gap.  It was by far my coolest possession.  The check bounced when I bought it, but I ended up owning it nevertheless.    

When I moved to New York for grad school I bought a sable colored leather jacket.  I was funky back then.  Everyone is cool in New York.  You can be yourself there.  There is no standard of coolness: people are so different all around the city. I think I finally came into myself there.  Although I did lose my mind there as well, but I was never ashamed to tell people in New York that I had Manic Depression.  I felt like you had to have something to get into the School of Arts at Columbia.  It’s not a myth; writers and artists are bit mad. 

I swear a couple people were jealous of me that I had so much to write about, being crazy and all.  It was cool to be crazy at Columbia.  In fact I told a couple people I had to spend some time in a psych ward.  This one guy was like, “Man if they put me in there, they would never let me out.”  He was not diagnosed or anything, he was just street crazy.  He would exclusively write about gory homicides and rapes.

The real question is, am I cool now?  I don’t know how to answer that: I’m almost forty. I don’t know if I care anymore. I think I need to start using a new word besides ‘cool.’  I think I’m groovy.  How about that?

What about you, are you cool?  In my biased opinion I think if you are taking the time to read this, you are definitely cool. 



Monday, July 21, 2014

All we are Saying is Give Peace a Chance...


The least I can do is mention what’s happening in the Gaza.  I can’t ignore the gory pictures and horrific stories. I can tell you this:  I am lucky to be living in a war free zone.  I don’t know what it is really like but I can only tell you what it was like to live in New York on Sept. 11th 2001.  
I was there.

When you see people covered with debris and think you might be living in a war zone, it changes you.  All of a sudden that paper I had due did not matter as much.  When a Muslim friend of yours is almost arrested for having the same last name and initials as one of the hijackers, you realize that it doesn’t matter that the dude you are lusting after pays attention to you.

I was twenty-five when it happened.  I was really into shoes and coats and purses back then.  I had more of a retro style, like a hipster more than anything else.  I would buy some of my clothes at vintage stores and the Salvation Army.  I thought I was cool.

I cared about being and looking cool.  I cared a lot about stupid superficial things until two planes hit two buildings.  I still care about that stuff but it is a little less now.  

I had a Sikh friend who lost his job after 911 because his office was in Battery Park,: that was the place that was hit.  When it got hit, he stopped wearing a turban and wore his hair in a ponytail.  He didn’t want to look like a terrorist. 

People often think I’m Mexican or Muslim.  I get “randomly” selected at airports every time I go. 

I didn’t care about any of that when the twin towers were hit.  I lived five miles away and I didn’t even think about my area getting hit.  I thought about moving on.  I didn’t watch the television coverage of the attacks because they happened in my backyard.  I saw missing people signs everywhere. 

There were vigils for the dead everywhere I went. 

I had lived in a completely peaceful area of Michigan most of my life.  I did not know war.  I did not know the worries of violence on the streets. 

All of a sudden I knew something new.  I knew I could die at any moment.

What did I do about that?  What did we all do in New York about that?

We got together in groups and drank more and ate more for a little while.  Sometimes we talked about what was going on, but mostly we tried to joke about other things.  I was in a writing program and did not write about it.

I’ve seldom written about it. 

I’m writing about it now because I think I’m ready to talk about living in what was considered a possible war zone. It wasn’t a real war zone, I did not see dead or dying or wounded people on the street.  I heard about them though.  I heard people scream that day.  No one showed up for work that day in the restaurants because no one could get anywhere by train. 

No one cared.

I didn’t know anyone who died.  I’m incredibly lucky.

I didn’t die or get injured, I’m even luckier than I thought.

When you think you could die when you go outside you are living a different kind of life.  You become different.  I collected shoes at the time.  Let me tell you what I thought my collection after the towers got it:  Who the fuck cares about shoes? 

I have shoes.

There are people living in war torn countries with no shoes.

I didn’t want to give away my shoes, don’t get me wrong.  But all of sudden I was walking in someone else’s shoes when I began to live with fear in the back of my mind. 

I lived next door to a girlfriend beater and drug dealer.  He lived with his parents, they all lived in what I assumed was a two-bedroom apartment.  When I first moved in I created my “bitch face” so that every time he walked by me I made it clear he was not to look for too long. 

Sometimes when I walked the streets of New York City and saw signs of people missing and walked past vigils of people crying, my “bitch face” came back on automatically.  I wasn’t mad at anyone in particular.  I was mad at the world.  Sometimes I cried with the world at the vigils. 

The world had not changed that much, war was everywhere, but suddenly my world changed. 

We are so privileged to live in such a peaceful country.  Yes I am aware that there are mass shootings and drive by shooting and too many fucking guns.  I know all of that, but even after all of that, we live in relative peace.

Look at what is happening in Gaza.  I don’t have to show you the pictures or describe in detail the level of pure violence.  I don’t want to talk about the reasons and the political pros and cons. 

I want to tell you that we only have a small understanding of what it is like to live in a war torn country.  I want to tell you that we need to do whatever we can to try to stop this from going on. 

For you if that means standing up and holding up a peace sign on the street, than you go on…For me I am writing you a request to think about it. 

I don’t know what I can do except say a prayer for those innocent people that are involved in all this.  I know a prayer is not exactly political action.  Maybe writing about it is. 

Share this this if you agree.


Image courtesy of Serge Bertasius Photography/

Sunday, July 20, 2014

Digital Diet


I know, I know, I hate diets too...just trust me on this one...

I have this new fascination with trees.  I would rather be looking at a tree right now than a computer screen.  There is something wise and peaceful and calm about trees.  I mean they have seen it all and they know.   They may know more than my computer.

I want to be like a tree.  I want to just sit there in the sunshine and breathe.  Creating oxygen and growing is their only job.  I used to never be nutty nature girl, but now I’m like so granola lately it’s out of control.  I know I’m a self proclaimed hippie and all, but I mean I’m not a gypsy.  Although I’ve lived in a few different parts of America in my day.

Perhaps like Bono I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.  Have you?

I’m looking for trees apparently.  Trees and waterfalls and oceans.  I want to be close to the beauty of the world. 

Of course I’m at a place that has no respect for trees, Barnes and Noble.  Do you realize how many trees have been chopped down to create all these books?  I don’t know if I love it, I hate it or I’m indifferent.  I love books, real books with pages and covers and interesting smells.  But let’s be honest the e-book is saving trees like nobody’s business.  We need trees more than we need the nostalgic value of a hard cover book.  Don’t get me wrong, I want to sell the hell out of hard cover books, but that my friends is another hypocritical dilemma I will deal with in the unknown future.

The thing is an experiment is being done on me by circumstances.  I had to leave the house for like six hours for various reasons and left my cell phone at home.  I’m going to be straight up honest: it is very freeing.  First of all because no one can bother me as I’m working, I don’t have any distractive little thing to text with or fuck around with.  I mean I still have the Internet on this computer, but generally speaking no one really knows what I’m actually doing or where I am.  I kind of like that story.

I remember in college, for irresponsible reasons my phone was disconnected at my apartment.  Irresponsible is a euphemism for “I didn’t pay my bill.” I didn’t talk to my parents for like two weeks.  Nowadays it’s strange if I don’t talk to my parents twice a day.  I liked when they could not get a hold of me for weeks at a time.  In fact once I lived in Washington DC and didn’t even have a phone in the room I was renting.  I was “temping” at the time and I would call my parents from various company telephones.  And sometimes I would not call them at all.  In fact once I didn’t call them for like a month. My mom started screaming that her daughter had run away when I did call. 

My point is I was free.  Yes I was free to screw up my life in any way that I wanted to.  But freedom is freedom.  With all its risks and counterpoints, in the end I loved being free.  Does that mean I don’t want a cell phone surgically connected to my hand twenty-four hours a day?  No.  I want my phone.  I just don’t want to set the precedent that I’m available on my phone all the time.

What’s in a phone anyways?  I mean why are we texting and emailing and Facebooking all the livelong day?  What were we doing with that time before then?  We were living, people.  We were living.

Is this electronic obsessive behavior really living?  What about walking in the middle of the forest and not taking our iTunes with us, but listening to the sound of the birds instead?  Or walking with a friend and having a really long, really deep and meaningful conversation? Or how about laughing our asses off without having to say LOL?  How about we actually laugh out loud instead of proclaiming that we are laughing out loud?

I love my Kindles and phone and light as a feather computer as much as the next guy.  In fact I’m using the very computer I’m warning you against to warn you against it. 

Isn’t it ironic?  Don’t you think?  Sooo Ironic.

I was teaching a class on irony and tried to use Alanis Morissette’s song: Ironic.  I tried to get the video to play in the class so the students could write down all the ironic things that she pointed out.  Of course the video was not loud enough and they could not make out her words.  That is technology for you.

In the future, when robots are teaching kids, we won’t have to worry as much about technological glitches.  We won’t have to worry about anything: we will be robots.  We will have apps instead of emotions.  Our phones will be surgically put into our bodies along with a GPS device and our social security number.  People will know where we are, what we are doing and how to get a hold of us.  They will record our conversations, video tape our actions and find us wherever we are.  Nothing will be private, nothing will be real and the world will be sadder than it is now.

Wow, look at that.  That is a premonition I don’t want to come true.  I’m not sure where that came from but I think it was as deep-seated fear.  A fear that we are not only connected to machines but we are becoming machines.  Or we have become machines, you pick.  Are you a machine?

Am I a machine?  I mean I really don’t know if I can look at myself objectively.  But am I closer to a machine than to a tree?  Maybe. 

I’m trying, I mean this whole day without a phone is kind of a blessing.  It’s making me rethink my relationship to technology.  The thing is I shouldn’t have a “relationship” with technology, relationships are saved to have with people.  Somehow I think technology increases or enhances my relationship to people.  It doesn’t.  It may also be impeding my relationship with myself.

Why can’t I be alone and just be me without needing these gadgets?  When is the last time you were disconnected from the world and let yourself just be?  I want to breathe again and feel and really live. I don’t need the Internet or a phone to do that. 

Truthfully I don’t know if it is the fault of our technology as much as it is the fault of our society.  We have become more disconnected, there is a less sense of community.  People are lonely and alone.

We in fact are social animals, and naturally we don’t need social media to fill up our social needs.  We need people.  We need real friends, not just Facebook friends.  How many of your Facebook friends could you call up in the middle of the night if you had an emergency.  I think I can count them on one hand.  I’m lucky I have that many people. 

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy having a public persona, but this is just a persona.  I want to be real with my real peeps.  I want to shoot the shit. 

You know what shocks people, when you call them in response to a text.  It usually surprises them.  Do that.  Instead of emailing someone, give them a ring or stop by their home or work.  Let’s make a date with each other. 

Let’s have a real relationship with the world.

Now put down your device and go do something real.


Saturday, July 19, 2014

Mr. Miyagi: Wash on, Wash off

Have you ever seen The Karate Kid?  I know Mr. Miyagi.  That’s my father.  When I came back home from college and didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, he made me pull weeds and plant flowers. 

Pull weeds and plant flowers.

That’s his way.

There are really only two things in my religion which my dad taught me about:  Seva and Simran. 

Seva is service.  It’s not just service to the poor; it is service to anyone in your life.

Simran means to REMEMBER god.  What does that mean?  It means I think to remember that everything around you including yourself is a manifestation of god.  A creation of god.  To remember that means to honor the world and life and the self.  Oh and also god. 

Pull weeds, plant flowers, seva, simran.

I say these things over and over again to remind myself of what and who I am.  What I should be doing in this life. 

Once we had to remove the scriptures from our prayer room because we were selling our house and we didn’t want people to disrespect the room with their shoes etc.  I went into the room that we call the Baba Ji room.  I went in that room when the scriptures were removed and just sat there.  My dad came in and said to me, “You know you can still pray in here.  This is still the Baba Ji room, the Granth (the scriptures) is still here.”  I looked at him and started to cry, about something unrelated.  But he knew. 

He knows how to tell a tale too.  Probably where I learned it.  I asked him once what the scars on his face were from when I was very young; he has some indents on his face.  He told me he was in a bullfight.  He told me he won. 

He thought it was hilarious that I would mix up the words, chicken and kitchen.  He would purposely let me get it wrong. 

Pull weeds, plant flowers, seva, simran, humor

Regarding my writing:  If my father says to me one more time: “You know the girl who wrote Harry Potter was on welfare.  Can’t you write a bestseller?  Just one.” 

Pull weeds, plant flowers, seva simran, humor, success 

Before I went to college he sat me down:  "If you get involved in drugs, alcohol or sex I will not pay for your education.  Do you understand?”

He always says about everything:  “It’s the principal.”

Once he told me his boss said, “Everyone is a prostitute, it’s just a matter of price.”

Everyone except my dad.  He never sold out. 

Pull weeds, plant flowers, seva, simran, humor, success, morals

He loved when I sang to him, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.” 

People he appreciated my singing at a young age.  He adored me when I was a kid.  Apparently I was a fun baby and would say “Hi” to everyone and make friends at grocery stores and everywhere we went.  My father was proud of me and still is.

“You will go to Columbia,” he said to me the day I got in.  That day his father died.  He was so happy when he found out I got in, and when he found out his 98 year old father died he was sad but taught me how to take the good and bad. 

He is a humble man, not with too much pride.   “You have to tell them at work that you have done something or they won’t notice.”  They noticed him, when he was blind he won awards.  He was the best manager: he won the respect of his employees.  But he never tooted his own horn.

He does not usually argue, he converses, engages in conversations. 

When I told him I wasn’t really into our religion but I was into spirituality he was upset but he said to me, “As long as you are on a path, stay on that path.”  I told him my path was where all the paths intersect. 

He used to tell me, “Organized religion and organized crime are two sides of the same coin.”  Our religion, Sikhism, is small, “Don’t worry it’s not organized.”

When discussing health:  “Every white powder is bad for you…whether it be sugar, salt or cocaine.”

About my relationships:  I talk to my father about dating.  His general guidelines:  "He should be educated and make at least $100,000."  

He stopped drinking so we would not drink.  He had a beer though on Mackinaw Island after he accepted that both his daughters drink and there is nothing he can do about it.  He toasted us. 

About my depression:  Every morning he would wake me up.  “Regulize your life.  Discipline.”  The word Sikh means disciple.  He is a Sikh.

He doesn’t wear a turban, but I don’t wear one either, but that is another conversation for another blog. 

He is the most spiritual man I know.  He does what we call Ardaas at the end of his reading of the scriptures, (he listens to tapes) and then he makes an Ardaas or request for his family.  He prays that his family live in peace.  That’s it.  Nothing More.  “I don’t want to do selfish prayers.”

Every time he eats a meal, he closes his eyes and silently prays this prayer:  “Jai parsaad chaatey amrit kaaye, tis Thakur ko rukh man maayaa.”  The one who gave you this 36 kinds of food, keep him in your mind. 

The list of things he taught me goes on and on.  But what will really stay with me is this:  Pull Weeds, Plant Flowers. 

Mr. Miyagi is my old man.  In many ways he taught me to fight the good fight. 

I am his oldest son.

I was never good at math and he was very upset with that, “Calculus can solve the meaning of life, everything is calculus.”

That’s cool, I don’t know for a second what it means since I literally fell asleep during my A.P. Calculus exam in high school.   But my father is so passionate about math, he would sit for hours and help me solve problems in school. 

He has solved a lot of my problems. 

I love him deeply, but still don’t know how to tell him that. 

But he knows.


Friday, July 18, 2014

Checkmate: Word Chess...World Chess


Have you ever played chess?  I haven’t played in years, but in my novel chess is a theme.  Why?  Because it represents life in this way: this battle of good and bad and what not.  I don’t know.  I think the marble pieces are pretty also.

As one of my friends pointed out, I did say to her at some point that, when people go to Toys R Us don’t they want to play chess?  Because at home we don’t always have all the pieces.  I was missing pieces in my plastic chess set…how about you?

My friends thought that was hilarious, why I still wonder.  The point of the story is:  What pieces are you missing?  I’m currently missing my King.  I don’t know; that’s just me. Or maybe I am the King, because we are playing a sexist game.  What are we playing anyways and for what?

And what’s at stake?  Our very existence. 

Alright already, I will stop with the metaphors. 

Sometimes I want to laugh about it, metaphors and symbolism and all that crap.  Yes I do have several degrees in this type of thinking and I do live and sort of die by it.  I still can laugh at it.  I mean come on now…

But it’s not funny.  Everything is funny and not funny at the same time.

Everything is and is not a lot of things at the same time.  Dichotomies are present in almost everything, duality.  We are made of ego but we are all pure love.  We are animals but we are also gods.  We are nothing but we are also everything. 

I want to be a bird, but I’m more like a statue.  Maybe I’m man made, I’m not real and I’m not able to move. I want to fly.  But I can’t and I can.  I know how to stand.

What are these things, these things we speak of?  Look today we are not going to talk about my undergarments, I’m sure they will come up another time.  In fact I just bought some fancy underwear I will tell you all about it in some other post. 

Today I want to talk about what’s real. 

You and I sitting on the dock of the bay, talking, that is real.  The only real thing is our conversation.  The only real time is when you are you. 

You want to have a breakthrough, so do I? I want to break through it all.  I want to stand tall, while they wait.  Who are they? 

They are nobody; don’t worry about them.  I’ve said so much yet so little has been said. 

Do you understand me?  Do you even care, about me, about you?  Do you care about this, whatever this is? 

I want to surprise you and I want to make you make yourself. 

I am nothing if I don’t make myself.  I’ve created me. 

That’s the key.  I am the creator.  I mean I will admit that “he” probably gave me the idea to make me.  Maybe he even gave me a blueprint.  But I created this monster and I’m going to own it.

Are you a monster?  Did you ever see the movie Monster?  Not Monsters Inc., Monster. 

She was sick.  We are sick, in this way.

If you get sick what happens to the game, can we still play it?  What is it?

We are all one big thing.  Just one big conglomeration: a huge thing.  Like a monster.  We are all together one thing.  We make one.  We are one.

I came here to dance with pieces of stone and call it a game.  I ended up staying late into the night and called myself sane. 

I was thinking of writing a song…a song about songs. 

I was thinking about writing my way until the music just came into the room by itself.  I think music can walk.  It can definitely talk. 

I know how to talk.  That may be all I know…which way I want to go with the story is another matter.  I am unsure, unsure of what road we are on or if this is a road at all.

I don’t think it is.  I think I’m walking on air.

Believe it or not I’m walking on air…Do you remember the Greatest American Hero?  I remember him well.  I remember which way he flew.  I think it was to the right.

I’m not high I’m saying these things because I’m not high.  They don’t make any sense.  Is sense all you came here for?

I’ve got much more than sense to give you.  I can show you the world, the senseless world.  My senseless mind.  That I can show you.  I am you.

I’m thinking I’ve got so much more to say.  There is so much heavy space on a page, so much room.  You could dance in this room if the piano was in tune.  But there are songs not written yet and words we still have to say.

To each other we still need to be nice.  The mean people are the ones that edit our words, make us rethink our own thoughts.  The question is, should you censor your thoughts. Are there things that are taboo to think about?

What is the right side of the window where the wind blows into the west, saying to me?  I want to know the message.  I want to know everything.  Or maybe understand nothing. 

I am something of the nothings because some infinities are in your void, and some are in your reality.  Some things are infinite; somethings are nothings.

Am I really even saying anything at all?

Catharsis, this feels like catharsis.  This feels good.  I feel clean.

I feel like I’ve said it all.  But nothing has been heard.


Image courtesy of Boains Cho Joo Young /