The Importance of Now

                                       The Importance of Now

     Now...is "no" without the "w".  I admit, it's a play on letters but, in some sort of ironic way, there really is no "Now".  It exist only because there is a word for it.  By our usage of the word, we can hold time completely still, dwell on the circumstances involved in that hiatus, and see it as something we call a "Now".  Facing reality, there is only past and future, and the so-call present (now) is existing in name only.  At the instant we think of what is happening now, it is already in the past.  So we try to look ahead and we see it coming but the instant you think it has arrive...puff...it's already past.  This strange phenomenon is taking place even as we are reading this sentence. What we think of Now will not hold still for us, and since it really does not exist, why is it important?
    
       Because without Now, we would give up hope of ever accomplishing anything.  Without Now, we would just exist, never in the present, always in the future or in the past.  There will be no power in the universe, no razor's edge of time in our universe (with the exception of a black hole) that will stop and hold time still for us.  Every thing about us will ALWAYS be either in the future or in the past, constantly moving, never stopping,  traveling in a straight line toward infinity.  Everything seems pointless, disorganized, everything is in chaos, people's point of reference gone...unless we invented something that did not exist.  And that something is "NOW".  With now, we have a starting point, we can plan for the future, look back fondly at the past, be at peace with ourselves.  With this artificial construct we can create, organize resources, and have hope.  Yes, we human beings are clever for inventing a word for a thing that cannot possibly exist. 

      But if you really want to split hairs, fool around with semantics...it could be also said that there is no such animal as a FUTURE. nor is there such a thing as a PAST, and it can reasonably argued that the only thing that REALLY exist is the present, or what we all term as "NOW".  NOW is always with us.  It never leaves as alone nor will it go away.  Maybe its importance lies in the fact that it is a fact and not an assumption. 

     My next essay will deal with the existence of God... in five hundred words, or less.  The painting below was done when I was drunk.

 

 

That Time Will Come.

 

 

                                         That Time Will Come

        Let's talk about death.  This is something I really don't know anything about.  But being ignorant on a subject doesn't mean I shouldn't talk about it.  Politicians do it all the time.  Anyway, let's face it, we all think we're going to die someday. I know you have thought about it many, many times.  It dawned upon you when you were young and in your teens and you woke up in a cold sweat and calling for your parents.  It dawned upon you when you grew older and familiar faces were no longer there, and every time the thought of death comes to fore, you push it back, you push it way back...and before you know it, it's forgotten.

       Yes, we're all going to die, but have you ever wondered to yourself...maybe you're not going to die?  Maybe you're different.  After all, you are you, and you know, deep in your heart, that you have been favored by some mystical power to live forever.  You will never die. 
   
         Am I saying something sacrilegious?  I hope not.  I'm for all religions, especially the kind you have to confess to all the time.   Confession does relieves one of guilt, imaginary or otherwise.  No, what I'm saying is that whoever is reading this may never experience an END; death is a word that does not exist, except in letters.  Many individual thinkers and grand religions have tried to deal with this subject of the END, and some quite successfully.  Some religious institutions exist solely for the purpose of preparing you for the END and have grown quite influential and wealthy in doing so.
    
         But I want to look at the end time from a different angle.  My hypothesis (it means 'maybe' in Latin) is that we can't die... because we're really not alive.  We do exist, but only through our senses, which is made up of sight, smell, feel, and taste.  These four senses guides us through this universe and is the ONLY connection we have to the outside world.   What if our senses are not what we think it is?  What if...what if our senses are lying to us?  Supposing nothing exist except you?  Suppose everything you hear, see, feel or touch, are nothing but your senses giving you a universe that does not exist? What if nothing exist except your senses telling you that it does? 

       You have to admit that you can neither prove nor disprove this hypothesis.  Perhaps you are being tested for a higher purpose and somebody is watching?  Who knows, God may be sitting right next to you, right now, judging you.  Many great thinkers and many great religions have tried to deal with this subject in pragmatic terms: in the end, your body will be burnt or buried or sent out to space to circle the earth for all eternity, and what's left is just nothing...Or, if you've been good, you'll find your senses remaining, and you see yourself getting off a train to greet old friends and family that went ahead of you.  All I want (and I really don't exist) is to write funny stories and to show you some pictures.  Is that cool?

    

Once there was a spot

                         

                           
                                          Once there was a spot

       It was a small town, known only to a select few, me and thirty thousand others.   We were between two large cities, and two large highways that ran east and west of us.  To the south, looming at a distance (a safe distance), is the old and battered city of Stockton, known for its corruption, its failed industries and its drug related crimes.  And to the north, is that metropolis of sacred memories known as Sacramento, a city on steroids, overly ambitious, insecure, continually tapping on wine glasses for want of attention and still not getting it.

         But we were separated from these two entities, from their noise and pollution, and its huge expenditures on crime and poverty, by the miles of pasture lands, countless vineyards and endless tracts of wild life preserves.  Yes, Lodi was our little  enclave of serene calm, pure air, and clean water, water that tasted better than bottled.  People here tolerated strangers. We say good morning without a flinch.  No drivers honked their horns from lack of patience.  Even the police department issues parking tickets with deference and apologies.
  
        This place was ideal for seniors: the climate was mild, the terrain was flat and the hospital was but three minutes away by ambulance from any point in the city. It was also an idea place for employment because the town was filled with small, efficient  manufacturers of niche items, specialty shops of various sizes, restaurants, health clubs, wine tasting bars, and supermarkets the size of two football fields.
    
       So what's not to like?  Change, of course. Change and Growth.  Combined, it's like a growing cancer enlarging the seams of our city limits.  Huge yellow tractors appeared one day, breaking the ground, leveling the dirt, driving away wild turkeys to meet their quick death on the village square.  Ever so slowly we morphed from a small, unique and friendly town into a sprawl of two story houses with flimsy plaster board walls and rooms identical to one another.  Developers turned over a rock and discovered gold. 

       The ambiance of being a small village lost its essence and we were no longer alone.  We became a city.  We became the center of everything: the Wine Center, the Entertainment Center, the Geographic Center of the State.  We were equal distance between the city-by-the bay and the skiing of Tahoe. We are now a haven for retired people with a big city culture.  We have become them!

        And it all came to me, this revelation that the Lodian culture of gentility and moderation had gradually withered away, was when I awoke this morning and made my groggy way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth.  I rinsed my mouth, and slowly, very slowly, I realized that the water...the water was...bad.
  

How to Paint.

 

                                                How to Paint.....a painting

        I had to clarify the title or you would think that it's " how to paint a house, or how to paint a ceiling, or how to paint a reputation so black that no one would ever hire him", and so on...

       The basics of painting are simple.  First, find a surface, any surface.  It could be a wall, a sheet of metal, a wooden panel or a stretched piece of canvas.  Anything you can paint on without getting arrested.  On to that surface you spread a mixture of powder and glue.  The powder is called tempera, and it comes in many colors and is sold in round cartons...sometimes square ones.  You choose the color you want and mix it with the glue.  You mix the powder with glue because if you don't, the powder won't stick and all the colors will disappear from the surface with the first breeze.  Imagine having a whole day's work gone just because you happen to open a window. 

       The glue could be an oil, a liquid latex, an egg yolk, gelatin from boiled rabbit bones, or a gum Arabic. You could be bourgeois and buy paint already mixed and in tubes, but what's the fun in that?  No fun at all.

       The next step is to get something to spread this colored glue on to the painting surface.  Most artists do not want to use their bare hands because they're afraid that some of the colors may cause brain damage. That is silliest thing I have ever heard.  I've done it with my hands for years and I haven't suffered any ill affects.  True, I lose my balance every now and then, and I forget where I live, but doesn't everybody?  If you're going to be a sissy about the whole thing, you can use sprayers, or spatulas, or whatever.  Brushes are good too.

       Now comes the hard part.  And that is, what to paint?  Well, it depends on what you have to say.  It is important that you have something to say, otherwise, you might paint for years and years and have said absolutely nothing.  I repeat, it is very important that you have something to say, or your work will have that empty look....
    
       In conclusion, painting is a lot of fun.  People in public institutions do it all the time, and look how happy they are.  You should be so happy.  By following these simple instructions, you will be well on your way toward painting your very first picture.  Good luck.

       My next essay will be on something I know nothing about.  And that is as it should be. Hope to see you here whenever you feel depress.   And if you're not depress, read it anyway for no other reason than that it's free (of course, that doesn't mean that your time isn't precious and I am making light of it...I'm beginning to sound apologetic.  So, thank you).