What in hell?

I saw an old friend and his wife (who by now is also an old friend in her own right) last weekend. It was a good occasion, a concert at Tanglewood: big enough to be noteworthy and not so large that it would drown out the better pleasure of reacquaintance. We sat in a faux frontier lodge and caught up, which was one part exposition, four parts gossip, and two parts staring at our food. There was very little talking about the old times, and it was good.

There is nothing wrong with the old times, of course, or at least nothing that newer, better times cannot remedy. It was there at the table - all the old joys, tears, jubilations and recriminations. We remembered them. We thought about them. Past a certain time we no longer need so badly to speak about them at dinner.

They spoke about milestones, degrees earned, new jobs and houses. I searched for milestones and realized I have not had many: I have not been back to school, my jobs were not to my liking, I did not buy a house. So I spoke instead of contentedness, that I (and I should hope, they) have gradually found myself living the life I want to live, without really knowing how or when this came to pass. There comes a time when we have lived and fought for long enough that we find rest.

I don't have much in common with my old friends anymore. They married, I did not. I moved to the city, they did not. I can't speak for them, but I have certain assumptions - they want to live where they grew up, they crave some measure of stability, they want a family. I don't want those things. While I described my happiness, a part of me felt almost smug, that I should have the things I prize (my city, a safe degree of uncertainty, and above all the ever-present feeling that each year will be better than the last), and how can they not be jealous? But of course they are not.

The friends who swore they would never change, change. They do not often want what we want. Our interests diverge, icebergs calving away as we drift from life to life. And this is as it should be. This is a proper sadness, that should be welcomed. We meet our old friends, echoes of former selves in their new bodies and new identities, and the sadness of nostalgia carries us back and forward like the tide. It is a reminder that we live many lives in each life, that we should hold each one dear even as we let it go. I am not the angry, unstable youth that I was, but I was him, and I love him. I love his friends and his tragedies. I wish he had dressed better, and done something about his hair.

We grow up, we leave our homes, and the friends who we leave behind, we bring with us. Everyone from that first circle of friends, the adolescent crucible that informs our first adult identity, everyone I disappeared from, came with me, frozen in time. They will always be young, and I will always be young when I think of them. Meeting them in the flesh, older and calmer and evolved, does not change the younger thems I keep in my pocket. How could it? How can one afternoon change the indelible past?

They say that the Buddha told us that life is suffering and suffering is to be overcome, but I do not think that this is so. There is great and precious suffering in life, in now and then and later, and this is right. We cannot transcend sorrow, or sadness, or pain, and still be human. Rather, we stand in them, let them pass over us and through us like a wave, and when they are gone we find that we remain. We are all our own selves, passions and points of view encased in flesh, withstanding the erosion of memory and time, and always are we our own selves.

I will be here until I am gone, and then I will be elsewhere. That is the way.

Current Location: Fort Victoria
Current Mood: calm
Current Music: Berlioz - Requiem - Hostias

Yes, it's the first-ever ounceofreason Tattoo Post. As I understand it, blogging is a key part of the tattoo process, and it takes at least three posts before a tattoo can be applied. So, this is number one: The Background Post.

I've been wary of tattoos until now, because I have terrible taste in lifestyles. My rule of thumb is to pick a design and then wait a year to see if I still like it, and the last two choices have lasted about six weeks. Giant celtic knotwork dragon? I am very glad I didn't get you. Two lines of a musical score? It's an OK concept, but my favorite score is about as constant as my favorite everything else, so the best I could do is just get the bar lines inked, and then draw in notes with a magic marker depending on what mood I was in.

Actually, that's pretty awesome.

The current candidate is this guy:



The designer is an animal-rights activist, so what the drawing means to me is a lot different from what it means to him. Like most "deeper meanings," I'm afraid that it will lose something in translation if I try to explain it here (so, get me drunk, I guess), but the gist is it fits in with the Taoism. I'm still not sure what I think about the idea of Enlightenment*, but the idea of breaking the cycle of birth and rebirth resonates very strongly with me. I don't quite have it in words yet, but I equate freeing oneself from doubt and uncertainty with freeing oneself from death. Hence the caption "Liberation," which I've considered changing but can't find anything better.

It's here where I realize I don't know anything at all about actually getting a tattoo. How do you pick an artist? Where should it go? Etc, etc. So, in a year or so, I'll probably be needing the advice of more experienced tattooees who can help me find a good place, and then tell me how brave I was for only screaming a little bit each time the needle goes in.

Thanks Internet! I know I could count on you.

*My current take is that focusing on Enlightenment will not bring it any closer; rather, Enlightenment is reached by living life. The better you get at being human, the closer you become to Enlightenment, although being a great person may just be a way station, one step on a larger journey.

Current Location: Fort Victoria
Current Music: The Decemberists - The Crane Wife