I watched the Dhamma Brothers last night with two friends who have also done the 10 day Vipassana meditation course. One of the friends has done several ten day sits. She's the same friend who talks non-stop when she isn't meditating. I often wonder how the heck she does it or if she does it to give her jaw a well-needed rest. I'd only seen the trailer to the documentary prior to last night. Let me say that I don't cry easily, but I did cry watching this film. I also laughed and commiserated with the inmates as they took part in the course. One inmate (all were lifers) said afterward, "I did eight years on death row. This was harder." Did I ever feel better after hearing him say that! Vipassana kicked my ass. I have not yet done another course even though it has been three years since my first one. I am signed up to go for a three-day course in November. We'll see. As hard as it is, Vipassana has a profound and life-altering effect on you. It had such an effect on these hardened inmates, transforming them from thugs to Dhamma Brothers.

I've been working quite a bit on my latest embroidered jacket for my friend Terry. She comes down periodically to check the progress. My plan is to have it finished in time for her to wear it this fall. Each of these projects have had a life of their own. I got a little better with each one, with my stitching and with the designs. All that said, I still love mine the most because ... well, because it is mine and because it was the first. Here's a photo of Terry's jacket so far ~  

 I got Terry's jacket at a thrift shop. They are great places to look for jean jackets and you only have to spend a few bucks for them. If you're interested in seeing some close-ups, you can check out the slides here ~ Terry's Jacket.

Aubrey's jacket was a thrift store find also. This is her finished jacket ~ 

And this is mine ~ 

These jackets are extremely labor intensive. People have said to me, "Linda, you could sell those!" Probably, but how do you value an embroidered jacket that you have countless hours invested in? You can't.

They are labors of love.

I haven't forgotten what this day is and even if I could, the media wouldn't allow that at all. Seven years ago was one of the hardest days of our lives. The months that followed left the country in a depression. I remember and honor, but I am not going to wallow in those memories. Let the dead rest in peace.

I had a lot of work to do today, but I didn't do any of it because I ran across a free podcast that I found utterly fascinating: Buddhism and Quantum Physics. I urge you to listen to it, but only if you have time on your hands. (Oh, that's right -- time is relative. I only think I'm home. There's another me back in the bathroom still working on a toilet seat and yet another me who decided not to it herself and hired a plumber.)

Well, that podcast led to another podcast and before you know it, I'd listened to about five hours of podcasts on various scientific and spiritual matters. I so dig that kind of stuff.

For me there are no big deals today. I may feel differently tomorrow, but today everything is groovy.

Sometimes my ego wants to hold on to pain because it makes me feel so special. My suffering is worse than anyone else's suffering. Over 200,000 people die every day, but I rarely think about that when I've had to face some insurmountable difficulty like going back to the hardware store for the third time because I'm too damn dumb to measure a toilet seat or understand that some are round and some elongated and never the twain shall meet.

Oh, the pain of it all! The gas wasted! The embarrassment of having to face the clerk for the third time and explain how my major in college was English, not engineering or architecture.

Anyway, life is good. It's as good as my ego will allow it to be.

A human being is part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from the prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty… The true value of a human being is determined primarily by the measure and the sense in which they have obtained liberation from the self. … We shall require a substantially new manner of thinking if humanity is to survive. (Albert Einstein, 1954)

My granddaughter dragged another stray home.  You can read about Schmitty on my blogspot if you're interested.

http://linda-trudger.blogsp...

Schmitty is an adorable little terrier mix that undoubtedly would have been euthanized if taken to the SPCA or animal shelter because of his condition.

 This video is fascinating, informative, and uplifting.

I've watched the video three times and will probably watch it several times in the future.

What I find so captivating about Jill Taylor's description of the experience she had is her ability to explain, as a scientist, what many of us would describe as a spiritual experience.

I urge others to watch.  You may come away still skeptical or believing that what Ms. Taylor was describing was simply the result of illusion created by dying brain cells, but even the most jaded among us cannot deny that if this is what dying is like, maybe it's not so bad.

I was sharing with my oldest granddaughter yesterday about a time I went to Kentucky Fried Chicken and ordered a dinner with extra-crispy chicken. The girl taking my order said, "We're out of extra-crispy."

 "Okay," said I reasonably, but with a little irritation creeping into my voice, "give me the regular then."

 "We're out of regular," she replied sulkily.

 So, I said with no small degree of sarcasm, "You do sell chicken here don't you?"

 She called me a smart ass as I angrily drove away mulling over what I could do to get back at the her, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the universe of fast food franchises.

 I stewed over it for hours until I finally realized that I had just turned my will and my life over to the care of the girl in the greasy apron at Kentucky Fried Chicken.

I had handed over a most precious gift -- power over me -- and she didn't even realize she had it. I had trickled out of her mind as soon as the next victim came in with the delusion that he or she could purchase chicken at Kentucky Fried Chicken.

 Once I realized that I was allowing another person -- someone I really didn't even know (and who was right, by the way, I was being a smart ass), it took all the sexiness out of being angry.

Sometimes my monkey mind thinks that it is my duty to stay mad at someone -- to give them a jail sentence in my mind for a certain length of time. Some people have even been sentenced by me to life without the possibility of parole.

The HUGE problem with that is that as long as they are in my jailhouse, in my capacity of jailkeeper, I am as much a prisoner as they are.  When I let the prisoner go, I am free too.

 With that bit of insight, I was able to let go of the girl at Kentucky Fried Chicken until she reincarnated and took at job at Der Wienerschnitzel.

 Sometimes I get amused at the way I can allow things that I cannot do a darn thing about twist me into righteous indignation.

 Elliot Spitzer, for example.  He’s a hypocrite squared.  He ended up hoisted by his own petard as so many of our moral police have been in the past.

 What can I do about the Elliot Spitzers of the world?  I can learn from their mistakes and not make them prisoners in my mind by endlessly dwelling on or harping on my outrage.

 This may sound hokey, but I like to start the day thinking of good things to offset the bad news that pummels us daily. I can often think of many good things, but some days it is a challenge to find even one.  That says a lot about my frame of mind rather than reality.  So, I make sure that I keep dwelling on the positive until I can at least list three good things.

 Today’s list includes:

 1.  Another gorgeous spring day ahead.

 2.  My granddaughter spent the night last night.

 3.  I have friends who forgive my almost chronic, but not yet pathological forgetfulness, without me even asking to be forgiven.

 If you read this, your challenge is to tell me three good things going on with you.

larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view

 Sunday I went hiking with friends.  We went about fourteen miles past Glenville on 155 to a trail leading us to Cedar Creek.  The trail was wide enough for a vehicle and, in fact, a forest ranger was coming down as we were hiking up.

The weather was stunningly beautiful.  The trip up to the trail was stunningly beautiful.  The rolling hills around Granite Station, punctuated with fascinating rock outcroppings was lush with green grass and gold, orange, white, and lavender wildflowers.

The trail to the creek was a relatively easy and steady ascent all the way.  About a mile up the trail we began to hit patches of snow and saw tracks where the Forest Service vehicle had to turn back because it wasn't equipped for the road conditions.

We found a place to sit on granite boulders and eat our sparse lunch before we began the trek back down the hill.

G. M. Trevelyan said, "I have two doctors, my left leg and my right."  Human beings have evolved to be upright and to use their legs.  It is good for the soul and the body to be out in nature.  I plan on getting out in nature for as long as I am able.  Hopefully, that will be for a long, long time.

As a child, whenever I became righteously indignant towards my parents and wanted to argue for justice, my mother would tell me, "Linda Kay, you are spitting in the wind."  I learned early on to pick my parental battles wisely.  As a naturally argumentative person, it was a good lesson to take out in the world.

Then the Internet came along.  The Internet became a place we could crusade all we wanted, fairly or unfairly.  We could even do it anonymously.  We could do a virtual rape and pillage on someone else's blog, slander them, say whatever we wanted and not have to worry about anyone finding us.

It's a great gig for a moral coward.  It's a great gig for a bully.  It's a great thing to do instead of, oh say, beating your wife and kids.

Just because we can say something doesn't mean we should say something.  In fact, studies have shown, contrary to what some believe, blowing your stack, spewing your venom, doesn't always relieve pressure -- sometimes it just allows for more stack blowing and venom spewing.

There are many people who get a perverse pleasure out of feeling crappy. They are the same kind of people who get relief from their inner hatred by cutting themselves.  The pain of cutting takes their mind off of the pain of being.  There's a heavy population of virtual cutters on the Internet because it is so very safe to be bad here.

I tend to look for people who inspire me, not incite me.  Like most everyone, I can get my dander up, but I don't have to join every fight I'm invited to -- I can send my regrets.

Maybe I'm suffering from electile dysfunction, but I could barely stomach listening to the speeches last night after the voting in Ohio, Texas, Rhode Island, and Vermont. I especially got a queasy feeling listening to Hillary Clinton's victory speech.

Maybe that's because of the kitchen sink approach she made coming up to these important primaries. First she's a victim always being picked on first in debates, (riddle me this: Who wants a victim holding the highest office in this country?), then she's vague in her answers as to whether Barack Obama is a Muslim (he isn't), then she's the most likely to answer a phone at 3 o'clock in the morning to save the world (while I suppose Barack would still be sleeping after a long day at the mosque).

If the Democratic campaign process goes all the way to the Convention and if the Clintons are able to strong-arm superdelegates into backing them if they are behind in the popular vote and delegate count, I will not be voting for Hillary Rodham Clinton.

I'd rather vote for the old fart, unless, of course, his campaign uses the same tactics.

You should not vote for someone merely because they belong to the same gender as you or the same race as you. You should vote for someone you think can get the job done because they inspire and convince, not because they have more dirty tricks they can call upon when winning by convincing isn't possible.

Clinton is about as inspirational as my mother was when she was trying to get me to eat peas.

Chris Matthews says Clinton is warm and charming in person. Who cares? It's what she is like as a public officer that concerns me. Can we trust her? I say, "No." We cannot trust someone who will do anything to win.

That proved true with George Bush and it will be true with anyone running for office who does not have the moral backbone to run a campaign that is honest and straight-forward.

larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view larger view

Yesterday I went hiking with my friend Maureen.  We went to the Mill Creek Trail because it's not a long drive to get there and we both had other things to do with our day.  Mill Creek is flowing nicely due to the rain we've had this season; Mo and I had to cross over water four times.  Both of us slipped on rocks and got a bit wet.

At one of the crossings we ran into a couple horseback riding coming in the opposite direction.  We were told that they had turned around before reaching Breckenridge Road because of automatic weapon gunfire in the distance.  The sound of gunfire is not conducive to hiking or horseback riding.  In fact, it's downright antithetical to most nature lovers.  (If you're a member of the NRA, please, I'm not bashing gun owners.  They have their place -- like a museum of antiquities.)

Anyway, the day was gorgeous.  The hills were green, with amazing rock outcroppings dotting the landscape.  There were butterflies, bees, lizards, hawks, rushing water,and  blue skies.  I never tire of nature.