Be here now 2:09 PM

The Thinker by Auguste Rodin

“A mind that likes to wander ’round the corner is an unwise mind” – George Harrison.

Meditation teacher and author Eknath Easwaran was once asked what Rodin’s Thinker was pondering. “Easy,” he said – “why can’t I stop thinking?”  How many times have I awakened in the dark, to replay or rehearse some unpleasant scenario over and over and over? My mind has a million ways to defy discipline. I think I need to solve problems, or maybe just relax with a daydream, but without careful control, I often just follow the mind into unhappy territory.

A recent report by Harvard psychologists, reviewed by John Tierney in the November 15 New York Times, is an interesting study of what makes people happy. The study was by Matthew Killingsworth and Daniel Gilbert, and published in the November issue of Science magazine as: “A Wandering Mind is an Unhappy Mind.”

The psychologists got 2,200 volunteers to download an iPhone app (“trackyourhappiness”) that called them randomly during the day to ask them how they are feeling and what they are doing.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the 0.5% of the people who were having sex were the happiest, at least until the phone rang. They were also the most focused.  

“When asked to rate their feelings on a scale of 0 to 100, with 100 being “very good,” the people having sex gave an average rating of 90. That was a good 15 points higher than the next-best activity, exercising, which was followed closely by conversation, listening to music, taking a walk, eating, praying and meditating, cooking, shopping, taking care of one’s children and reading. Near the bottom of the list were personal grooming, commuting and working.

When asked their thoughts, the people in flagrante were models of concentration: only 10 percent of the time did their thoughts stray from their endeavors. But when people were doing anything else, their minds wandered at least 30 percent of the time, and as much as 65 percent of the time (recorded during moments of personal grooming, clearly a less than scintillating enterprise).”

The psychologists found that even if you’re doing something enjoyable, you aren’t protected from negative thoughts. The rate of mind-wandering is lower, but when it wanders, it’s just as likely to wander toward negative thoughts.

The corollary of the study title is that a focused mind is a happy mind.  When Karen sent me pictures from Africa, I couldn’t help but notice how much happier the poor villagers in Malawi looked, compared to the typical Americans at a shopping mall.  Perhaps the lack of possessions brings one closer to God.  Or maybe the lack of distractions (e.g., iPhones) makes it easier to focus.

— Kelly Nash
www.29Pieces.org

A Few Good Men 11:52 AM

Dad and me in our yard in Columbus, Nebraska

Ever since the MasterMind news, I’ve been thinking about Dad a lot. For most of my life, I’ve directed gratitude for the better part of me to Mom, and to the universe of women around her – my aunts, Mom’s friends.

But somehow the MasterMind competition and win took me directly to Dad. I mean, upon the news, I was happy. I thought – “This is cool. The Observer is cool.” Then I felt some disappointment that some get named, some don’t. Then I thought of how this might help us with 29 Pieces and Today Marks the Beginning. Then my mind settled on Dad, and the other men in my life who have encouraged me, pushed me, pushed me back sometimes, helped me, fed me, gave me confidence. 

But today it’s about Dad. Dad was from a very poor family of 11 brothers and sisters. (I have 53 first cousins.) His Mom spoke only German, gave birth to at least 13 children. 11 survived infancy. My grandparents had a hard time feeding this huge family and local stories say that Grandma would walk into town and beg for food for her children.

Dad was smart, capable and shrewd in many ways. But like my Mom, and many children in rural America in the early 20^th century, he was not schooled past the eighth grade.

He worked first as a farm hand, and developed skills to be a talented finish carpenter.

He was 6 ft. 2 in., lean and had an angular, handsome quality. He served in the army in World War II and came back from the European and North African front with back injuries that bothered him for the rest of his life. He didn’t talk about the war, except to laugh about some of the funny stories of his buddies and grumble about the VA.

Though now I know that these experiences were visceral to him, to me – as a child, World War II seemed like another time, another place. I had no idea of what made him the man he was.

Dad came back from the war, worked for my Mom’s parents on their farm. By this time, Dad was in his late 30’s, Mom in her early 40’s. Mom was still living with her parents – working on their farm. They got together . . . I never heard any stories of their courtship or their wedding. Mom got pregnant with me. Five months later, they got married, and I was their only child.

Just like every family, this unfolded as a complicated story. Mom showered me with love and attention. Dad saw something in me, and had the initiative to go through a process of having me enrolled in school early. While Mom would’ve been ok with a passing report card, Dad would raise his eyebrows at an A-. He wasn’t pushing me beyond my capabilities, he was pushing me to them. He made it cool to be a brainy girl, cool to excel.

There were times that Dad could frighten me. His temper and sarcasm were sometimes close to the surface. But in regards to my grades and achievements, he guided me with a light touch.

He dove right into science projects with me. One year, my friend Karen Bembry and I were doing a model of a power plant and we had to lock him out of the room where we were working . . . he had become so involved in the project that he wanted to do it!

When it came time to go to college, I was waffling between being a math or art major. Dad could’ve reacted as a cautious parent – even as Mom did – encouraging me to stay in my small town, and find a secure future – working in a factory, or as a secretary. But he encouraged me to be an artist, to stick with it, to do what I loved.

Later, as fortunate things began to happen in my life and career, Dad carried the newspaper articles in his wallet, and showed them to people. When I went through his wallet when he was dying of lung cancer, I found one of the articles and thought – “there may never be another person who carries a story about me so closely.”

He would’ve been grinning ear to ear with the MasterMind competition, because after all that effort of checking my math problems and proofing my essays, it was his kid who earned that label.

Carl Blessen during World War II

He was a complicated man. Our relationship was good but not perfect. Dad taught me to ride a bike, he taught me to drive a car, and he taught me to fly.

— Karen Blessen, written Nov. 23, 2010

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I am an Artist 11:16 AM

TEXAS ARTISTS TODAY, with preface by James Surls

The other evening I went to a book signing at a Contemporary Arts Gallery. It was the usual scene, lots of trendy looking people (+ me) walking around with glasses of white wine in their hands and 12 year old waifs walking with trays of canapés for you not to munch on. The book itself was an elaborate affair, (not so much coffee table size as dining room table size) . . . a photo book entitled  “Texas Artists Today.” The book's contents consist of photographs of current renowned Texas artists and their work. The thing that caught my eye however was that there were several book signing tables where the people behind them had name tags on that stated “I am an Artist” with their page number in the book, the idea being that you would take your newly purchased book and they would sign their particular page, thus increasing the value and desirability of your book. Curious, I spoke to one of the signers and asked her how long she had been an artist, she replied “since the age of 9.” Now to me, every child at the age of 9 is an artist, but she had persisted and had shows in several notable venues. The point being that the notable thing about this collection of “artists” was not their artistic abilities, but their grasp of what to do with your efforts to get them noticed by the white whine set.

— John Katz

www.JohnKatz.net

www.29Pieces.org

Entering into Joy (gratitude) 9:56 AM

Thanksgiving Day, Nov. 25, 2010: The street looking east

Imagine if all the tumult of the body were to quiet down, along with all our busy thoughts about earth, sea, and air;

if the very world should stop, and the mind cease thinking about itself, go beyond itself, and be quite still;

if all the fantasies that appear in dreams and imagination should cease, and there be no speech, no sign:

Imagine if all things that are perishable grew still – for if we listen they are saying, We did not make ourselves; he made us who abides forever – imagine, then, that they should say this and fall silent, listening to the very voice of him who made them and not to that of his creation;

so that we should hear not his word through the tongues of men, nor the voice of angels, nor the clouds' thunder, nor any symbol, but the very Self which in these things we love, and go beyond ourselves to attain a flash of that eternal wisdom which abides above all things:

And imagine if that moment were to go on and on, leaving behind all other sights and sounds but this one vision which ravishes and absorbs and fixes the beholder in joy; so that the rest of eternal life were like that moment of illumination which leaves us breathless:

Would this not be what is bidden in scripture, Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord?

— By Saint Augustine

Saint Augustine was born in North Africa in 354 and lived into the last stages of collapse of the Roman Empire. His Confessions, one of the world's great pieces of autobiographical literature, tells the story of a brilliant, passionate young man who learned to channel all his passions toward God. This translation from book 9, chapter 10, is by Michael N. Nagler.

From God Makes The Rivers To Flow, Sacred literature of the world selected by Eknath Easwaran, founder of the Blue Mountain Center of Meditation; third edition 2008, reprinted by permission of Nilgiri Press, P. O. Box 256, Tomales, Ca  94971, www.easwaran.org.

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Monumental Minimalist 11:53 AM

Artist Jun Kaneko - the 13 foot tall Dangos are prepared for drying.
The sculptures dry for a year before they are bisque fired to harden to clay. 

Nebraska artist Jun Kaneko makes the largest freestanding ceramic objects in the world. Here he talks about the spiritual skills, and the sense of adventure, required by an artist.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvmU5Vm6ioI

www.29pieces.org 

I hear a murmur 2:43 PM

John Katz and Kevin Althans at the Murmur site

I hear a murmur

Railroad trains, clunking metal,

wind through the holes in

the building.

Cathedral ceiling.

A blotted history. What

                  happened here hurt

                  people, poisoned the

                  soil, poisoned people.

It sits waiting.

Could this be the home

                  of 29 Pieces?

A Phoenix rising?

Beauty, spirit, wise

                  colossal reminders

                  emerging from this

                  stained landmark?

There’s a softness present,

                  A quietness . . . something . . .

                  Something like a murmur.

                  Something like home.

STOP

But hold on. You can’t move in

                  yet. There are formalities.

                  There are rings to exchange,

                  vows to be made, papers

                  to be drawn up + signed.

Patience, patience, patience.

— Karen Blessen

www.29Pieces.org

www.29Pieces.blogspot.com

Art & Commerce 2 10:22 AM

Annie Liebovitz

There is an instructional article in the Financial Times titled: How Annie got shot. It tells how famous photographer Annie Leibovitz, while spending her illustrious career photographing famous celebs, along the way ignored her accumulating photographic legacy. Recently, after getting into enormous financial difficulties by ignoring the fine print, (a common failing amongst creatives), she has now belatedly tried to capitalize on her vast portfolio of iconic images in order to climb out of the financial hole she finds herself in. So far it doesn’t appear to be working. Her photographs don’t fetch anywhere near the sums commanded by Avedon, Penn, Steichen and the like. There are various theories why this is.  But amongst the most telling appears to me to be her historical snubbing of gallery owners and art dealers who used to vie for her work and attention. Now that the shoe is on the other foot they appear to be disinclined to cooperate. This may pass. It does illustrate the need, even if you happen to be very famous and busy, not to let bridges fall into disrepair that you might need to cross one day.

— John Katz

www.JohnKatz.net

www.29Pieces.org