In the days of Caesar Augustus came the decree, that all the world should be taxed….

I’m quoting that from memory, but it strikes me that is a rather mundane and inauspicious way for the saviour to be born.

All the world should be taxed. And in order to keep things beauracratically in order, everyone had to go back to the town of their birth.

What a mess! There was not enough supplies or facilities for this to work out. A perfectly nice pregnant lady had to give birth in a stable.

Shamefull. Who’s in charge here?

Well, yeah. Unfortunately…Fortunately?–Jesus didn’t come to make the world run more efficiently. Maybe German or a Swede (the home of Ikea!) would have taken that on.

No, restoring love and mercy with supremem generosity was his job.

Oh yeah. Love and Generosity. Which means that the South Park kids were right.

Christmas is all about presents.

There are only three of us here in the house. Me, Chris and the cat. And I gotta say, Skellig doesn’t get that into christmas. Apart from trying to lay on top of the presents, he is not too interested in them. He is a cat of gratitude for small things.

A bowl of cat food, a clean box, and the toilet lid left up. Add a few scratches behind the ears, and he’s good.

So the presents that are piled high under the tree are really a testament to our generosity and relative affluence. Yay for blessings!

But, a not-blessing…Chris is sick. He has a cold and is sleeping.

We went out to lunch with Grandma and Judy (aka Mother) and Bryan. Chris couldn’t do much but prop himself up in the Marie Callendar booth.

Judy said, “Too bad you are sick. You are the one who loves Christmas so much.”

He does. He is an exceptionally loving and thoughtful gift-giver. He plots early and long to give unexpected but perfect gifts that people will enjoy.

His family is a good challenge to him. “Good” because they are impossible to buy for. HIs Grandmother will return nearly ANYTHING.

But even so, he has found good things for her.

But this long rambling Christmas post is mostly to say, Christmas is about loving generosity.

Generosity does not have to be with material things. Can we have loving generosity towards each other’s faults? Why not? Let’s get over the crabby-I-Haven’t-had-my-cup-of-coffee-yet attitudes of our co-workers.

Or even when we must confront people for inappropriate behaviour, let us find a generous way to do so.

Imagine. It’s easy if you try.

In the Eastern Sierras is a very salty lake–Mono lake. It is saltier than it used to be. It’s smaller than it used to be.

That’s because Los Angeles, quite some time ago, began sucking away the fresh water that used to flow into Mono. Los Angeles was thirsty, and also needed the water to grow cows and oranges.

Because Mono lake wasn’t getting water to refill itself, the waer level went down. And something incredibly beautiful showed up.

Tufas.

The waters that flow into Mono lake mingle and react in such a way that makes a sort of mineral snowflake. Those mineral snowflakes flow around in the water, and eventually settle or attach themselves to stuff in the lake.

And tufas grow up like ghostly monuments.

This is my metaphor for my thoughts. Some of my thoughts float around in my consciousness, being of some kind of substance that doesn’t fade away. The ideas and insights, or questions, float around looking for a place where they fit. And eventually, they end up making their own place to fit. A place–a tufa–that doesn’t really fit anywhere, but is still a kind of cool something.

I read once something that may not be true. I can’t’ confirm it on a quick perusal of the internet, but I like the story, so I’m going to tell it. Take it for what it’s worth.

Egyptian cotton was pretty much the best cotton around for a super long time. Maybe as long as it took to find america and fill it with cotton plantations.

It was the best because it had the longest fiber. Cotton is useful for being made into thread, and the thread into fabric. But to make the thread, you have to spin the fibers together.

As I was told, the Egyptian cotton was the best because their cotton had the longest fiber. When the fiber was short, the thread would be all fuzzy and thick. But when the fiber was long, it spun all tightly and smooth. You could have super-fine, satiny almost, cotton fabric.

And people didn’t even want to mess with cotton if it wasn’t long fibered. That is, until a particular cotton spinning machine was invented to do the work mechanically. THEN the thread could be twisted tight enough, even when the fibers were stubby.

I’ve been thinking about my stories, and my thoughts. I have a lot of thoughts and stories. YET, I am not posting about them on my blog, or telling other people about them.

Why not?

Like the tufas, I am not sure how to explain what I’m thinking about. I’ve been thinking about certain stuff for a long time. And I’ve arrived at some structured ideas and concepts with all those thoughts.

But to explain them, and to share my mental tufas…well…It’s not that I wouldn’t love to do so…but…that brings me back to the cotton.

But to explain the cotton, let me tell you another story.

When I started at my current job, I realized almost immediately that I was joining a group that talked about themselves a lot. More than any other job I had ever been at.

These people talked a lot about stuff that was not work.

And I couldn’t quite deal with that. “Small Talk” was what I thought. I just can’t quite do that. I rummaged deep into the topics that are appropriate. Sports? the Weather? The news is dangerous, because that delves into politics and that could get too deep really fast.

So basically, I didn’t talk very much. I pretty much avoided my co-workers, because this sort of conversation was too much for me.

But I didn’t quit. And eventually I got sick of trying to keep to a line of “Appropriate.” I wanted to talk about whatever was on my mind. And if they found me weird, so be it.

So, I decided to start telling a story. I got a little way in, and the phone rang. So of course I dropped it.

But after the call was finished, the guys said, “Keep going.”

I started up again where I had left off, and kept on with my story.

The phone rang again.

And they finished and said again, “keep going.”

huh.

I realized that most of my life, I had had this experience. I would begin to tell stories and get interrupted before I could finish.

There were only a very few people who could sustain interest through my long trains of thought.

Those are my dear dear friend. You know who you are. I will love and cherish you forever.

But for those who didn’t hear the ends of my story…Maybe it’s because I abandoned my attempts. I maybe have given up telling it too soon.

Remember the cotton? Maybe my threads are long. Maybe my threads are fine and marvelous and desirable, a part of a superior experience.

For sure sure sure my stories and thought-trains are long.

And like the tufas, they are often curiously formed.

For example, this very blog entry is long and curiously formed. But this is the way it came to me, and I am choosing now to share it with you all.

IMG_6365

Originally uploaded by murphy_h2001.

Before Chris and I moved into this house, I lived in a condo. It was a 4 story building, and I lived on the second floor.

The first floor was actually the basement, and that is where we parked our cars. It was also where we had a storage space. We kept a lot of stuff in the storage space.

I remember when Chris moved in, and I had to make room in the closet for not only him, but also all his business inventory. We discussed what could reasonably be put in the storage space, which was admittedly huge.

“Why don’t we put all our luggage in the storage space?” he said. “We don’t use it all the time, and when we need it, we can go down and get it.”

We put my luggage in the storage space. And then I always used his rolly bag when I had to go on a trip.

The thing was, the storage space just seemed outside of our path.

This is how I began to understand about human territories. Just like creatures in the woods, we have our trails we follow. And even if a certain thing is not far at all from our territory, we may still never go to see that thing. Because it’s ‘out of the way’.

And the storage space was out of the way. It just was.

This range of territory can be especially true in Los Angeles. This huge sprawling populated area is close to everything and far away from everything. When I lived in Los Feliz, Pasadena seemed very far away. It was not actually far away, but it seemed easier to get to Canter’s Deli than Vroman’s bookstore.

Los Feliz was more or less in the middle of things. But I do not live in the middle of L.A. anymore.

I live in Claremont. That’s definitely not the midle of Los Angeles. But it’s kind of in the middle of the populated area of Southern California.

Kind of.

But my new hometown, in combination with my new job, has widened my territory. I have to go to a lot of places not. There are a lot of places that are no longer out of the way.

I spend a lot of time on freeways.

Which brings me to my point:
Freeway are beautiful.

I mean really, These are amazing works of architecture. They soar, and often have 5 different levels of street. Each one has it’s own particularities.

It makes me think.

Remember the part in the Lord of the Rngs movie, where Aragorn and the fellowship of the ring are passing through the Valley of the Kings? These enormous statues of kings, carved out of the sides of mountain, loom over the group as they float on the river?

I feel similarly about these freeway overpasses. They are majestic.

And that leads me to think. How much money are we spending on these things? They are not cheap. And if we are already spending money on these extremely useful stuctures, why can’t we make them a little more beautiful?

Look at the photo I have included. It’s on highway 15, between L.A./Orange County and San Diego. I love that bridge. It’s gorgeous.

Why not do more of that?

Not so long ago, I came to the conclusion that I am a deeply unsatisfied person. Almost at any given moment, I am thinking of how that moment could be better. How I could be doing something, being something, or experiencing something higher.

I usually consider it my own fault—that I am not organized enough to be the best self I can be. Or perhaps I am lazy and slothful. And St. Paul’s words echo in my mind: the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do [Romans 7:19]

I never get around to doing what I want to do, but all the shit I say I will stop doing—that’s what I end up being very faithful with.

For these and many other reasons, I figured out that I am just an unsatisfied person. This will not change, and I had better find a way of living with it.

I don’t mean that I don’t have things I enjoy. There are also the exciting and exceptional moments of action that absorb my total attention. Sometimes I get in the zone while writing; very very often when I am dancing I am utterly taken away, and sometimes a project can fill me and satisfy me well.

But those are rare and precious moments. For all the other moments, I am wishing for the higher thing—the greater, the more.

I was trying to explain this to Chris. The explanation went somewhat awry, since he is a sweet and wonderful man who wants me to be happy. For him, it is not a good thing for me to be unsatisfied. It is a problem, and must be fixed.

We are both interested in my happiness—he even more than I. But this new understanding I had about my nature seemed both under and over the stuff of “happiness.” Metaphysical realities are not so susceptible to temporal fixes.

But what was it I had really discovered? What did I mean by all this? Maybe it is really a personal problem, something that pills or prayer would fix.

Maybe it was all in my head.

But then I read this from John Stuart Mill:

It is indisputable that the being whose capacities of enjoyment are low, has the greatest chance of having them fully satisfied; and a highly endowed being will always feel that any happiness which he can look for, as the world is constituted, is imperfect.

But he can learn to bear its imperfections, if they are at all bearable; and they will not make him envy the being who is indeed unconscious of the imperfections, but only because he feels not at all the good which those imperfections qualify.

It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, are a different opinion, it is because they only know their own side of the question. The other party to the comparison knows both sides.

Mill, no fool, got it! I discovered my dissatisfaction on my own, but I am not on my own in the feeling.

AND I am a “highly endowed being.” I’ll take that.

Of course, I am also required with my endowments, to bear all the imperfections I so keenly perceive. That brings my mind back to the Bible, this time the red letters of Jesus’s words:
For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more. [Luke 12:48]

I guess the Endower of my gifts would have a right to require me to do something with them.

And I would not have it any other way. I want to be and make the best of myself that I can.

I’ll just have to find a way to bear my imperfections.

They should tell you to wear chapstick. Heck, they should provide you with chapstick. With your mouth hanging open for hours and your whole head anaesthetized so you can’t feel anything, split lips must be common.

I hate dentists. But they are something that must be endured.

I’d wished I’d had chapstick on my last visit to get my teeth x-rayed. I came prepared this time, so my lips were well lubricated. But why do dentists expect you to converse with them while your mouth is full of their hands and metal equipment? I suppose for the same reason none of them ever think of providing lip lube for the procedure.

I was scared. There were needles. It took three injections to make me numb. One big needle, then ZZZZZZ goes the drill. “Ow!” goes me. In with another needle. Repeat.

Think peaceful thoughts. Tell yourself how professional this dentist is. The mantra: he knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Why does it feel like he’s drilled entirely through my upper canine into the other side? What’s going on?

Breathe. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

I breathe. Then I count to one hundred repeatedly to tick off the necessary seconds it will take to complete this.

Then I search around in my head to think of something else to think about. I decide to think about my credenz. In my head, I imagined all the things I needed to do to refinish this piece of furniture.

First, I would need to take the old and discolored stain off. The top, the sides, the drawers would all need to be stripped and scrubbed. I’d take off the drawer handles and scrub every nook and groove down to the bare wood.

I’d wash it, and then sand it, and wash it again.

There would be a few repairs to make. The two front legs are wobbly. I think that just takes a nail to secure in place. But the one drawer sticks when you pull it in and out. I’m not sure how to fix that. Maybe I can look it up.

These thoughts kept my mind away from the dentist drill.

I love to think about all the parts and steps of a process. One of my earliest memories—I was maybe three years old—was lying under the pew at church trying to figure out how it was made.

Naturally I was bored with the sermon. So I wiggled underneath the pews, which had been lovingly made in the pastor’s garage.

First, I was struck by how different the pew looked from underneath.. I even got up to look at the pew from the top again. Yes, it was the same object.

Then I started trying to understand why it looked the way it did. I saw the bare wood and the edge of the fabrics tacked down by staples. I saw edges of nail on the sides where the legs were.

I began to see how this pew was constructed! It was very thrilling to me. I could see in my mind, how they very carefully tucked the fabric around underneath and stapled it in place, and then took the backs and sides and nailed them in place after the upholstery was there and not before.

I could tell how the whole thing was put together. I ran it like a movie in my head, all the steps along the way to make this familiar thing.

All the steps that must be done carefully and in their right time—any other way and it wouldn’t work.

I think of these sorts of things all the time. What step? What’s needed? When? Anything else? How will it get there? How will people know they need it and find it when it’s needed?

Not everyone thinks this way. Perhaps some people just can’t. I can see the far goal and the immediate steps that start the motion towards that goal.

I try to have patience with those who don’t see that near/far view. The little and the big make the world go round.

Of course, my credenz is an unchanging object. It will stay still until I get around to it. Other projects are actually processes.

Processes are things that you do repeatedly. Every morning I must wake, shower, dress myself and drive to work.

Can I improve that? What would happen if I set my clothes out the night before? What about the shoes? Shower the night before? These are all ways to work on and improve a process.

It takes thought. It takes FORE thought. It takes AFTER thought. It takes awareness and willingness to notice and try.

It takes faith. You have to believe that what you are doing is important and worth doing better. You have to believe that your time and your life’s quality deserves attention and thought. You have to believe that you CAN improve the processes.

I saw a representative from Wal-Mart discuss this principle on TV. Wal-Mart is known for squeezing their suppliers to get the best price.

There is a bottom to how low the prices can go. Even Wal-Mart can’t get all their stuff for nothing.

But they have a commitment to getting more and better ‘deals’. If they can’t get a cheaper pair of shorts, then let it be a better-sewn pair. And once it’s quality workmanship, there is still a way to go one better.

Let it have cute little flowers sewn on the pockets—‘fashion.’

Never never rest. Always look for a way to do better.

Is it any wonder Wal-Mart has the staggering success it has?

I want that. I want to be with a bunch of people that want the bar of ‘better’ to be raised on a regular basis.

Good enough should never be good enough. Good enough is boring.

I want to be like the kids playing outside. ‘Can you reach that tree branch if you jump? Jump as high as you can. Yay! Made it. What about the next one?’

Jump high! Be better. Because it feels good to be good. And it feels good to be better.

That’s what I want for my credenz. I want to remake it beautiful, and I want to do a good job at this difficult task. I know that I can do it all by myself and I don’t have to rely on anyone else. No worries, I can make it perfect. It makes me happy just to think about it.

The dentist is finally done. He tells me that my new crown is “temporary” and I have to come back for a permanent one in two weeks.

Bad process. Why didn’t they tell me this when I made the appointment? Come to think of it, they didn’t even tell me what work they were doing before I arrived.

Bad process.

I think about telling them about my chapstick idea, to help with patients’ lips.

But I do not have faith in them. I do not think they will hear me.