fpdorchak

We just got back from a Labor Day weekend trip to Moab, Utah, and while there, it reminded my of an article I’d long ago written for a newsletter. Though I no longer mountain bike, I thought the article timely enough to republish in this post, with minor editing.

Eat dirt. Taste life.*

There’s all this talk about what to do for, and about, writing…all this talk about hooking up with agents and wooing publishers…all this brouhaha about technique, style, and yadda-yadda-yadda…but not much about (now, hold on to your sensibilities!) getting away from it all.

Heresy?!

Recently, my wife, Laura, and I went to—no, not “went to,” yea, experienced—the Mecca of Mountain Biking. Trails with names like Porcupine Rim to Jackass Canyon, Slick Rock, Poison Spider Mesa, and Top of The World. Panoramic vistas that make you wanna either leap off butte ledges and soar like a eagle…or stagger backward, curl up into an eyes-closed fetal position and bawl like a newborn. Now, neither of us make fantastic claims about being gonzo riders, or anywhere near gonzo, but we both do profess an ardent enthusiasm for the sport. Laura’s more into road-boring-biking, but I love barreling over obstacles. After all the formative and adult years of trying to avoid things like rocks and tree trunks, I’m fascinated that I can now ride over them. Well, attempt to, anyway.

So, we became one with Moab, Utah, the small, desert community with a humungous, legendary rep. Mountain Biking. To da max. Talk about gonzo. Talk about a fit population. Easy trails here are not-so elsewhere. Into town we roll, somewhere between beginner and intermediate, and, boy, did we take the plunge.

(are you afraid to die…)

Somewhere along the way, we talked about the stresses of humanity. About how we get so caught up in the Rat Race. About how can we make our personal lives more manageable–and was that even possible? Laura actually brought up the topic of writing, and I, I’m not in the least ashamed to report, cringed. Yes, you betcha, I actually cringed. How could I profane such awesome desert beauty and total getting awayness with the thought of…writing?

With “work”?

I did my best to steer her away from the topic, all the while aghast and fascinated with myself—was I actually doing that? Was I actually trying not to talk about what gets me off like nothing else (alas, this PG-article isn’t about that, either…)? I couldn’t believe it, yet somehow I continued to drive myself to not talk about writing. Our conversation turned toward the related topic of “getting out of our heads.” That, perhaps, this was what more people need to do (in our exalted opinion); to get out of their heads. Get away from it all. To do something that so shakes up your sensibilities as to exhilarate you out of your box. Your cage. That stupid little goldfish bowl most of us tend to find ourselves trapped within.

I used to think the gym was my getting-out-of-my-head thing. But it ain’t. It’s a daily activity. Sure, it releases stress, and it’s good for me, but it’s not quite… you know…that. It’s…“local.” Every day.

I used to think writing was my getting-out-of-my-head activity, from the work-a-day world. From reality. Well, lo-and-behold, neither is it…that. It is what I pledge my life to, and there are a trillion-and-one essays written on what writing is to each and every one of us, but, you know, it still wasn’t…that.

(…or just afraid to live!)

We needed shock. Total and utter getaway.

Something that each of us should probably do to give us our much needed, spiritual and/or physical, swift kick-in-the-pants. That human reset/reboot. And I found my epiphany on a T-shirt I bought in Moab, one that reminded me of one of our more intense rides: Are you afraid to die…or just afraid to live! Eat dirt. Taste life.

There’s no machismo to this story. No I’m-better-than-the-next-guy/gal one-upmanship. Just a message, plain and simple. To—every now and then—get the hell out of that frigging fish bowl and experience a little excitement, what it is writers are trying to write about in the first place. To do whatever it is that sets adrenaline to pumping, body to bruising, and minds to reeling. Is it sky-diving? Scuba diving? Hiking? Traveling?

Acting? Rafting? Flying?

What is it that you always wanted to do, and are willing to shake up your life over? Is it to get in that car and just drive? One-lap USA? Or just Kansas?

Do it.

Drop what you’re doing and give yourself a reboot! Do it now, and don’t waste a second thought on your writing, work, your “previous” life. It’ll be there when you get back, believe me. It’ll always be there. But give yourself totally and unconditionally to this process. Without worry that you could have written thirteen more chapters, answered piles of fan mail, or Facebooked some more. Soak—yea, drown, I say!—in what you’re doing, be in the moment, and the moment only. Don’t talk to others you meet about what you do for a living or even that you’re a writer (and certainly don’t ask them about their previous lives, either). Pretend that all you do is what you’re doing now. Focus on the clear blue skies turning pregnant with thunderous intent. On the fear of being struck by lightning on that mesa or mountainside. On whether or not you have enough water and the right stuff. On the rattling of your gear and bike chain and how hard you’re gonna hit that rock (and why the hell doesn’t it move, anyway?). On what pretty colors of purple, blue, and yellow your arms and legs are going to turn after your tree/rock-hugging OOBE (out-of-bike experience). The smell of dirt, rock, and river. The screech of the raven, the howl and sting of the wind and rain….

I’m not saying to try to kill yourself, or that you need do this with every vacation. Find your own way, your own thresholds. What makes you sweat and wonder if you got in just a titch over your head. Or if your tire’s gonna blow over that rock, or the next—and can you patch it? Expand your perspective. Put the fear of Kokopelli in you. Give it all you have. Eat some dirt and experience what it tastes like. Do you feel more alive? Do you wanna taste more from a different butte? Experience the hardness of a different rock, the scrape of a different shrub? Or just the breathtaking view of a sheer, two-thousand foot, jaw-dropping, red rock, gorge.

And if you’ve experienced any of these, then you’ve found your getting-out-of-your-head thing. As I’ve said, my wife and I ain’t (yet) gonzo bikers, and I certainly don’t go looking for endos—but when I find myself soaring head over heels over my front tire, limbs a-flailing, I sample the dirt. Then I pick myself up, bruised, scraped, and whatever, but wholly exhilarated. Rebooted in a way difficult to describe. Alive.

And isn’t that how we’d all like our readers to come away from our writing?

Eat dirt. Taste life.

* Taken from a trademarked T-shirt sold in Moab, Utah, by SanSegal® Sportswear. I can no longer find this logo over the Internet.

I recently completed reading book five of The Personal Sessions, by Seth, Jane Roberts, and Robert Butts, and I found a certain section coming to mind, I wanted to, well, “run off at the mouth,” about. About two-thirds of the way into the book, Rob and Jane discussed problems they were having with Prentice Hall, their publisher for the bulk of the Seth material (it no longer does metaphysical publishing as far as I know). This is of particular interest to me, because I’m also a writer. And it’s not so much that what Seth said was such a surprise, but it was the corroborative nature of his comments that hit home, you know, once you get past those out there who say, “nothing mystical about what was said there.” Point taken from those of you from that particular point of view, but to those like me who do believe in these teachings, we—I—find it corroborative.

But there’s more.

Seth went on to discuss how things—at least things for Jane and Rob—took the best course of action possible, and reminded them that still, we all create our own reality, and this occurred here, too. Seth reminded Jane and Rob, back in October of 1979, that for all they were both interested in doing—and not doing—Prentice Hall suited them extremely well…and allowed them to, essentially, publish their efforts in as untouched and as pure a manner as they came in to Prentice. That Prentice Hall did not distort their work. Seth also went on to say that had Jane and Rob desired to do more in promoting their books, Prentice Hall would have done more, too. That Jane and Rob had to better trust the Framework 2 of their lives, the nonphysical origin of our physical selves, of Framework 1 (have to scroll a ways down to find these terms).  Essentially, go with the flow, maaan.

Then Seth discussed the business side of things. Seth pointed out that businessmen and women run businesses. We (writers) don’t always think of that as writers—well, maybe nowadays most of us do—I do, given all my “schooling” in the world of publishing, but this is something that needs to be remembered and pointed out, if not known. Business people, for the most part, are not artists. They are business…people…yet, in the publishing world, they do have an interest in publishing for some reason, or they’d go run another business in mining or vacuum cleaners. They (these business people) do what they do best, and artists (us neurotic sacks of flesh and bone) do what we do best, and together we two [should] work together in the best possible way to make our collective dreams and goals come together. It is, Seth says (quoted form page 219 of book five of The personal Sessions), “…foolhardy to expect them to have a sense of the artists’ values, whatever the may be, and then to become upset when they do not live up to that picture.” That really struck me. Yeah. Completely true! To them, and this is being heavily pushed to the author level these days, books are products, and as such, businesspeople do their damnedest to get those products out and sold as best as they know how (here I might add, that this, IMHO, doesn’t necessarily absolve them from continuing to use outmoded publishing practices developed during the Great Depression—no, not 2008—the Great Depression…), all things considered. But even considering books as “product” (this is my running off at the mouth, now…), we need to not forget that they are, first and foremost…books. Period. Ideas and emotion and all of humanity captured between various types of binding.

Books.

What it comes down to, Seth continues, is that at the end of the day, these are cubicle workers who just want to get through their day so they can go home. Now, maybe this was all geared toward the publishing world of the 1970s, but I’m sure there are definite elements that continue to thrive in today’s world. I understand this, also being a cubicle worker myself.

Seth also pointed out where one people, in this case, the Dutch, might cut a few words from the book, another people, such as the French or Spanish, might add. That no idea written in one language can really be totally translated into another language word-for-word. That the mindsets behind each language are different and don’t always translate, well, basically. Makes sense. If they were absolutely the same then they would be of the same language.

The overall message of this passage seemed to be, “don’t take life too hard.” That in Jane and Rob’s lives they had it pretty perfect, the two of them. They published books, pretty much untouched (not sure how the actual editing was handled or how much was actually bestowed upon their work—I’ve always wondered about that!), they was spreading across the world, and they only did as much or as little promotional efforts as they wanted to do.

Pretty much unheard of in today’s publishing world, yeah.

What I take away from all this is that if we go into our efforts with a good heart, some smarts, and expect the best, the best will come. It may not be exactly as we want or expect it, but come it will. I know many out there probably laugh at these words, but I ask…how is your life working?

Do you have lots of conflict, strife, and negativity? How do you look at life?

Do you think pessimistically?

I always say, I’d much rather be happy and positive in life than the alternative, no matter the outcome. And reading this section on the publishing world gave me a new perspective fro a different angle, if you will. Yeah, there are contracts and such, oligarchies that decide the fate of our efforts in no less swift a manner than in the days of sword and mace, but if we properly form our desire in Framework 2, then act it out, it will work its way into reality in the best possible way. We all just have to be open to that.

And keep writing.

Frank

I recently read an article by Deepak Chopra, M.D., in Publishers Weekly (August 17, 2009), about why he writes. I liked what he had to say. A lot. About reinventing the body and soul. Regaining the mystery of our lives. But what I got most from the article was that science is—albeit slowly, as most change seems to occur—realizing that not all things are as science believes them to be. And I use that word “believe” intentionally and with far more depth than many might at first realize. Dr. Chopra went on to say how many are no longer considering the body a “thing.”

What a COOL thing to say!

That the body is rather more of a process, a “fluid process,” right on down to our very genes, “…ever attuned to the slightest changes in our surroundings.” I loved this. Lately, perhaps because of the article, I’ve been contemplating the nature of genes, and how things change because of them. How, when the, uh…stork…delivers its babies, how the mixing of genes “chooses” what gene will mix with what gene.

Like, how does this happen, maaan?

Is it a conscious decision? A mathematical one? A chemical one? What are the actual mechanics behind this choice? How does one gene literally “decide,” however defined, where it will go and what it will do—with whom (in gene terms)? I’ve forgotten what chemistry I knew, but eventually we have to get down to the atomic and subatomic levels, where—theoretically—consciousness doesn’t exist.

Or does it?

Is it all about valences and electron shells? There are more and more theories abounding about subatomic consciousnesses. Yes aware particles. How do we account for quantum entanglement? There are quite some weighty definitions out there, but quantum entanglement comes down to is that particles once together and now separated by a distance (the amount doesn’t matter) know about each other. Yes, know. That means what you do to one particle, affects the other (nudge one and the other also feels it), the actions of one particle affects the other. Oh, there are all manner of theories and postulations…but are they any more far out than, say, aware, mindful, and cognizant particles? Maybe not on our Human level of consciousness, sure, but are we—a mass of protons, electrons, and what have you—the mere sum of our parts? A bunch of unaware things comprising an aware thing (okay, process…)? The age old conundrum: from where does consciousness originate?

In keeping with other changes to the way of scientific or medical thinking, remember the old saw that said the more booze you drank, the more brain cells you killed off—forever?

Wrong. Disproved.

Years ago, I did some research into head injuries and found in medical libraries records that showed some brains miraculously compensated for damaged portions of other parts of the brain. Lose a section of your left hemisphere and your right hemisphere kicked in and picked up [some of] the destroyed function. I don’t remember to what extent, nor how common this was, but I remember it actually had occurred and had been documented.

And every time we turn around we find one study or another says one thing, only to later have  another study come along and eradicate that previous one. Look at my post on the amount of sleep with which Humans are presumed to be in need. Look at the more mystical individuals in our world who meditate and science is actually finding that their brains (and therefore their minds) are drastically different than your average human’s.

And did you catch that movie, What the Bleep DO We Know?

So, I love the work by Dr. Chopra (I don’t seem to find the “Dr.” part with his name a lot…) and others like my brother, Chris. Here are two people who are what I term “healers,” and are out there trying to figure out a better ways to deal with Humanity and all our ills. It’s always bugged the crap out of me when I go to one form of healer to be told one thing—then go to another and be told something completely different. What really is needed, and what my brother and others are trying to do, is educate the public and bring different disciples together to get a “whole person” concept goin on. Get more into the metaphysics of life than just the cutting-up-and-removing-of-body-parts M.O. (“medical operations”). I feel all of our ills are the direct results of metaphysical issues. That doesn’t mean knowing this instantly heals or protects us. Our issues are real and hurtful, and concrete, and I am not dismissing or in any way diminishing any of it or those so affected—many of us out there truly are hurt. But I am saying that all our ills come from some other sources that are manifested into our physical world—by our actions—as the illnesses we experience. But so is the good…and healing. And many in the healing world are becoming more aware of this and trying to work all this out. Kudos to the Chrises and Dr. Chopras out there!

We are smashing many previously held [pre-]conceptions about ourselves and our lives. That is a good thing. That doesn’t mean life will become rosy and easy. It just means our actions will lead to other questions and still other advancements in consciousness and Human understanding. Regaining the mystery of our lives in not about being wowed by unknowns and leaving them as unknowns. In my humble of opinion, it’s about gaining respect for what is behind our minds and bodies, and how it all works out. About how can we better tap and understand our mysteries.

Why do we need to cut up and destroy in order to understand?

Even the blind do not so maniacally scrape and tear and rend at something they are tying to understand. They use gentle, careful touch and exploration. They listen.

Many espouse that our thoughts create our realities. Many decry and ridicule the same. If doctors admit emotions affect our bodies, is it all that far of a leap to understand thoughts also affect our bodies?

I find that optimistic people tend to lead optimistic and fun and happy lives, while those who are not…do not.

Frank

So, my wife and I are crossing the road yesterday, at a beautiful park we frequent, and as we cross, there’s a motorcyclist and his girlfriend, and an SUV, coming toward us. We are IN the crosswalk. Yes, in it. In the middle of the road. The young biker guy and his girl both look to us.

And smile.

They never stopped, but continued to fly past–not speeding, just at the speed they were going–but never stopped.

The SUV also follow suit, but he never looked to us. Gee, he must not have seen us, walking across the middle of the road, some five or ten feet from him.

Is it just me, or does the world seem to getting just a wee bit more insensitive, more hurried, more rude?

Growing up, I never remembered such rudeness. People always moved aside when walking on sidewalks, even said “hello”; stopped at crosswalks to let others pass. When bikers (pedal, not motor) came up behind us, they alerted us to their approach with a shout or bell. Perhaps I’m just remembering the rosy-glassed view of my youth, but I’m not seeing a lot of that any more. What’s going on?

Is it that our offenders’ parents never passed on mutual respect and common decency, or, if taught, our offenders cast it aside of their own free will…or is it that many of today are simply so whacked out by short attention spans and workplace and Internet-based stressors that they no longer care about others? What is it and why?

I’m a metaphysical kinda guy, and I read and hear that when we expect people to be nice toward us, they will be. And I do believe that. You know, to a realistic point of application. So, am I, too, becoming affected by the same stressors, so I’m attracting all this rudeness? But whether or not I attracted it, shouldn’t each of our offenders had taken control of their own destiny and behaved in the proper manner?

They frigging SMILED at us as they cut us off.

SMILED.

Everyone seems to be in a hurry, and I fall prey to that same ill myself, at times. I’m always feeling I have too much to do and not enough time in which to do it, but I do my best to treat others with respect along the way. Maybe these are one-time occurrences with each of these incidents, and if so, then there are a LOT of singular instances of rudeness out there, and perhaps that speaks volumes of our times. And every time I encounter such an incident I try to reset my mind to “be nice” and hope that I’ll “fend off” any more such incidents. There’s a lot more analytical slicing and dicing that can be done here, philosophically and pragmatically, but I want to circumvent all that and ask that, rosy or not, naïve or not, that we all take a little more time to be polite to our fellow humans. Are the extra seconds really going to matter?

And in all fairness, I must relate that on our first pass over that same stretch of road, a guy in a truck did stop and let us pass, while we crossed. Thank you, sir!

Welcome to my first WordPress blog! My previous efforts of several years have been at Authors Den. My current topics of interest range from writing-related themes to UFOs. As earlier alluded, the philosophical and metaphysical. But I usually try to make it understandable and applicable to everyone. I try to blog at least once a week, but sometimes several times a week. Lately I’ve been lucky to do several times a month, but do stop by every now and then–and thank you for your time! My website is www.fpdorchak.com, for more fun facts and such about yours truly.

Frank