Jhananda's Blog

[Jhanananda]

The Kingdom of God is at Hand,
The Apocalypse is Now.
(for my landlord)

My rent is due,
and I still have six
hundred dollars to go.

I'm a local boy,
and I've never owned
a house in this town.

I rent from Californians
who buy up our land
because it is cheap.
They expect the rent
to be paid on time.

They have come here to retire
when the property values
reach California standards.

We are clinging to a rock
protected by a tiny envelope
of air, and a thin film of water.

I tell myself, its OK
if we blow ourselves to hell,
or annihilate each other
in the slower death
of environmental suicide,

because we are billions
of years old, and when the pearls
of this planet are exhausted
we'll just incarnate on another
to continue our journey
to one simple love.

It seems so silly
to claw our way
onto a heap
trying to see over
a few more ripples
on an otherwise
uniform plane.

I dream I'm a dark horse
leaping over new-wire fences
that waffle the wilderness
into an exclusionary prison.

Anger burns in my joints.
I want to cut myself free.
I feel fences falling
like flesh parting
before a sharp knife.

While I pumped my last buck
into my tank, the Universe
sent me a message.

I watched a prairie dog
sit on the curb
at a mid-town light,
waiting.

When the light changed,
it ran across, and disappeared
into the bushes at the car wash
where Lance-A-Lot limos rest

on tar covering
what used to be
greasewood covered talus
on the bank of a wash
eroded into caliche.

It's now a main street
that floods every monsoon,
and leaves new arrivals
stranded and frustrated
with Tucson's idea
of flood control.

The rent is still due.
I do what I can,
and think of what I can sell.

[Jhanananda]

Yesterday I had my telephone interview with the Social Security Administration for my disability application.  Apparently I have been disabled for so long that I have not paid enough into the system to qualify for Social Security Disability.  However, the interviewer did help me file an SSI application.

During the interview she kept asking me about learning disabilities, which led to me providing her with information about the schools I went to from K-12 grades, and university.  It was in the US educational system that they found I have some "learning disabilities."  To me I just live in a culture that does not value my gifts, because I am not like everyone else.

The interviewer's questions reminded me of my childhood.  My family thought I was retarded because I took so long to learn to speak, read and write.  Funny thing is, I have an English degree now.

The recollection of my childhood and family always leads to thoughts of suicide and uncontrolled weeping, so I prefer not to dwell upon my childhood or my family.  I spent 9 years in weekly psychotherapy, which did nothing but perpetuate my depression.  It was meditating every day to the depth of the 4th jhana that lifted me out of depression, suicide and uncontrolled tears.

I could not stop the crying, so at lunch time I put on sunglasses and drove to the homeless feed.  I left the sunglasses on the whole time I was there to do what I could to conceal the uncontrolled tears. 

Normally I tell the intake person my name, but this time I just gave her my ID.  I still had to say: "hot meal, sandwich, mail."  They gave me a cup, and I walked on through the intake section to the window, where I was given another choice that I did not want to have to speak.  I said, "Hot pork, no bun, on potatoes."  I then scooped a large portion of tossed salad onto my plate and on top of that I put two scoops of carrot salad as salad dressing.

As I left the food window Temmy, my hero there, gave me a box of something that I had ordered to further my alternative fuels experiments.  I took it in my free hand, and just nodded my head to her in thanks, then I found an open chair in the cafeteria next to friends.  I just sat next to them and did not say anything. 

Tears were running down my face and collecting in large drops on my chin and dripping off my face the whole time I ate.  When this beast's hands shook too violently to eat, then I used my napkin to wipe the beast's face and blow its nose.  The lunch tasted like wet sawdust in the beast's mouth.

I ate quickly and left as soon as I could without saying any more.  I drove to Chino Valley, where I have moved into a warehouse space to work on my alternative fuels projects.  I regained control of the beast after an hour of meditation in the solitude there. I took refuge and consolation in the bliss, joy and ecstasy of the charisms.

After 40 years of deep meditation I am convinced that we are all spirit beings encapsulated in a creature's body.  The creature has needs that the spirit does not have.  When we meditate we feed the needs of the spirit.  The disciplined life of a rigorous, self-aware contemplative is all about disciplining the beast, but disciplining any beast requires meeting its reasonable needs.

When I meditate deeply, groans come from this beast.  I think it must be in a great deal of pain, which I am not aware of because my awareness is saturated in the bliss, joy and ecstasy of the charisms. 

Memories of this beast's childhood and family cause it to become wild.  It has thoughts of suicide and it weeps uncontrollably.  Its hands shake, and it wants to howl, but I will not let it, nor will I let it rip its vanes out with its finger nails.  This beast of burden will just have to last as long as I can goad it along.

Saint Francis of Assisi called his beast "donkey."  He was harsh upon his beast until one cold winter morning in its 35 year, he laid it down, naked, upon cold stones, until the stones sucked all of the heat out of his beast.  I imagine the beast convulsed a few times, before it finally died.

In his 80th year Siddhartha Gautama ate something he knew was poisonous, then he went on a three day journey and drank nothing, until he lay his beast down under a tree, then it expired.

The journey of the mystic is hard upon the beast, so friends be not too harsh upon the beast, but discipline it nonetheless.

[Alexander]

I believe that when a strong personality (as all mystics have) is confronted with difficult circumstances, it refuses to rationalize them like ordinary people do. Instead, it tries to internalize its experiences and even chooses to recall its difficulties in an effort to reconcile what's happened with its larger sense of identity.

When this contradiction between events and one's idea of oneself becomes very strong, it becomes literally impossible to maintain the humdrum, materialistic sense of oneself that most people have. Your chemistry starts to change; and then, when you go through the dark night of the soul, you effectively renounce your citizenship in this world, and instead become a citizen of the Other world.

I assume that the 3 hard injunctions of Jesus (chastity, poverty, humility), the virtues of being humiliated, virginal, etc are all there to encourage this swap. And, having experienced it for myself, I can say that it does indeed destroy the material self absolutely. But what alternative is there to finding the Other world? I do not think one exists.

And definitely, this is why so few people become saints and mystics, and why priesthoods and meditation teachers and all these professions are full of charlatans. Because it is a superhuman activity.

[stugandolf]

Jeffrey,  Your post hits me like a ton of bricks...  Groans... groans... groans issuing forth... I talk outloud to my self sentences or args or groans... yesterday I let out a loud groan while getting into my truck and a woman I do not know waved to me.  Generally I do what I do rather fully.  I apparently operate mostly intuitively.  I find myself doing... Then go back into doing.  I have developed a pragmatic ego, I, knowing I am.  To me the  ego,I, is a story.  I have long thought what I do is similar to borderline personality.  One of my ex's was diagnosed borderline personality -she did not know she changed personalities - she could change 180 degrees instantly.  I intuitively change knowingly. So this is where I am now.

Growing up I was different from other people and I tried to fit in/not fit in.  If there had been special ed then I would have been in it.  I started school and could not relate... I was there because I had to be there.  So I tried not to learn to read - the school told my parents I might not learn to read.  Then once I learned to read they could not stop me.  I had a teacher who allowed me to do what I chose.  But then I had to stay after school to learn how to do long division - oh, so tedious.  As a natural athelete I related to peers well.  I was good at just about any sport without trying.  Early on I decided that working for a living was not living.  Parents made me go to church - I am a natural singer - the choir would have paid me to sing.  I felt nothing sitting in the pew - I looked at my skull ring while sitting there.  I failed spelling tests and had to write words mispelled 10 x's each.  In those days we had ink wells and a steel pointed pen - I detested penmanship - the little girls did it  with ease.  I decided not to write mispelled words by getting 100% every time.  Then I deliberately failed tests when I knew all the answers.  Not surprisingly I repeated a grade.  I could never tell what my parents wanted - they told me what not to do, but not what to do.  Consequently I became compulsive/obsessive.  I figured how to get along in school just barely so I did not have to repeat anything.  Then at 13 I started playing tennis.  Last man on the tennis team 1 st year; number 2 second year.  Almost undefeated third year at 2.  Started yoga by the book, that was all we had then, about 1956. Yoga relaxation led to out of body experiences.  I looked down to see my body on the bed - in those days I did not go out of the room.  People did not understand why I wanted to do yoga. College scholarship for tennis - academically deficient.  At this point my bio, see bio section, continues.  Except I almost flunked out of college.  I went to Air Force Candidates School eventually rose to rank of captain - did not fit in at all - it was the Viet Nahm era.  Graduate School on the GI Bill- first history, then philosophy.  Started meditation, see bio section, in 1974.  Son born GI bill runs out; I ran a year round campground in the California Sierras for  7 years.  Throughout my life increasingly agoraphobic - that is another topic.  Meditation deeper and to states I wanted to remain in.  Back to get a teaching credential - taught elementary school for about 10 years - I did not relate to parents or administrators, but most of the children were great.  Will have to allow spirit beings or the idea of to become intuitive if they will.  This has taken several  gut  groaning hours to write I think I lost all track of time.  So Jeffrey I must have needed a catharsis, thanks. Must meditate now...

[Jhanananda]

Thank-you friends for posting your comments to my recent blog.  Yesterday, I reflected upon my experience of trauma on the previous day, and the return to ecstasy a few hours later through meditation that produces jhana.  I was reminded of the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path. 

The first Noble truth is suffering (dhukka) exists.  The second is that there is a cause to our suffering, which is craving.  Now, I did not have any craving, but having to recall my family and childhood definitely produces trauma (dhukka).  The formula of the Four Noble Truths states in the 4th truth that if we follow the Noble Eightfold Path, then we are relieved of suffering (dhukka).

When I practice meditation, which is the 6th fold of the  Noble Eightfold Path, then I am brought back to the religious experience, which is the 8th fold of the Noble Eightfold Path, doing so reestablishes bliss, joy and ecstasy, which is the Buddha's definition of jhana, which is the Buddha's definition of the eighth fold of his Noble Eightfold Path (DN-22).

Now, when we examine my life and how I have been marginalized by my family, academia, employment and the institutions of religion; and we see how Stu, and others here have also been marginalized, then we can see how mystics, like many of us here, are consistently marginalized by social systems, and we become outcasts, while the social structures of society become havens for frauds.  Essentially, people do not understand or value mystics, and they are even frightened of us, but they are attracted to frauds, and support them.

I do not think there is anything we can do about being marginalized because the "deck" is stacked against us.  So, we must just develop a our own community of support.  If we develop such a community, then that community can exist as an example of the benefits of the contemplative life, which is becoming a mystic.  We can show that becoming a mystic is not becoming a Marvel Comic book character of leaping over tall buildings in a single bound, or parting the seas, or walking on water.  But, it is saturating and suffusing ourselves with bliss, joy and ecstasy.

Strive on friends, and become a community of support for each other, because no one else is going to support us, especially not if we do not support each other.

[Jhanananda]

Here are some recent photos of me using a walker, and two canes to get around.  I have been off the cane for about 3 days now.  My health is such that if I do almost no physically stressful activity, avoid any emotional stresses, and even avoid environmental stresses, then I will enjoy only moderate stiffness and pain.

[Jhanananda]

Since my health has been spiraling down I have been making enhancements to my equipment-set to handle the heavy lifting.  Most of that heavy lifting is lifting and pouring 5-gallon buckets of waste oil that I turn into fuel.  Here are some photos of such gear:

Mobile work bench and bucket transport.


bucket lift, transport and pouring

I also have to remove the front seats, to work on the engine; and lift waste oil buckets onto the roof of the van, so last November I made a hoist to do that.  I recently upgraded it, and installed sockets on the roof rack, so that I can move the hoist around to where it is needed.

[Jhanananda]

Here I am pouring a five-gallon fuel can of home-brew diesel fuel into my fuel tank using the hoist to hold the fuel can in place.  In the foreground you can see a role-around that I use to move the fuel cans around the workshop.

[Jhanananda]

About 1.5 years ago I had a blood test that came back showing I was diabetic, and had high cholesterol.  It was the first time I had ever had those results, and when I looked up the previous blood test results from only a year earlier, and I purchased at that time a blood sugar meter and tested my blood sugar two days in a row and found normal blood sugar levels, and diabetes does not run in my family, then I decided that the test results were most probably bogus.

Two weeks ago I had another blood test and the results were the same for high blood sugar and cholesterol.  After a week on a low carbohydrate diet my morning fasting blood sugar has dropped 100 points.  It is still high, but marginally so. So, it looks like I am going to be able to control my blood sugar with diet only.

Diet takes discipline, but I am 40 years into a disciplined life, so there is nothing new or disappointing about fine tuning my discipline.  The new low-carb diet means little-to-no sugars and starches.  As a vegetarian for 37 years my diet had been fairly high in fresh fruit and vegetables, but there was, arguably, more starches and nonrefined sugars in my diet than needed to be.  I have learned to put real cream, stevia and cinnamon in my morning cup of coffee.  It tastes good, so it is not a privation.

For the last 12 years I have been working on living a strictly foraged diet, because I find living in the wilderness a great aide in my contemplative life, and with little funding in support of my contemplative life, then I found I needed to figure out how to feed myself at no expense. However, I found I could not forage on a strictly vegetarian diet. So, about 5 years ago I decided that if I was going to forage, then I would have to hunt and fish.  The first step in that transformation was being OK with eating meat.  It took me 3 years to get accustomed to the idea of putting flesh in my mouth.  Now, I have to get used to the idea of killing fish, birds and animals to eat.

Anyway, I am now accustomed to eating meat, which is a good thing, because the low-carb diet has a lot of meat in it. My daily diet has been canned tuna fish, or salmon, rolled in nori, which is seaweed.  I like it, it is easy to make, and it has helped reduce my blood sugar considerably.  I expect another week on the diet and my blood sugar will be at normal levels.

How do I feel about chronic pain, over all weakness and decline of old age, diabetes, the numbing of the tips of my finger and toes and dramatic reduction of my eyesight due to diabetes, and the dependency upon pain-medication and blood sugar testing?  I had one day of deep depression and sadness, when I realized that I could no longer live in the wilderness like I used to, nor live the mendicant lifestyle that has sustained my spiritual life, and teaching.  Now, I accept that the beast that I inhabit is in decline, and will not last much longer. 

From my years of living close to wildlife I have learned that predators tend to keep a rout whereby they hunt in a wide circle.  They sniff and taste the urine and feces of their prey.  They look for the tell-tail signs of decline in their prey, because predators cannot afford to take risks, so they prey upon the weak.  In this way the predator gets to know every pray animal on its hunting rout.

One does not see wrinkles, loss of hair, lost teeth, stiffness, or any diminished capacity in the wilderness, because pray animals weed the weak out right away.  This beast I reside in has all of the above signs of diminished capacity, therefore, it is next to be fuel for the biomass of the ecological niche that it resides within.  This beast's declining health explains why that mountain lion took such an interest in it last fall.  Something in me says predation is not so bad.  It is relief from chronic stiffness, weakness and pain.

I often wondered why coyotes howl, mountain lions roar, and Harris and Red-tail hawks cry out.  I think they invite pray animals to come out to have their suffering (dukkha) relieved.  The predator does not draw out the fight for life, because it cannot afford the risk of injury.  So, it kills its pray quickly.

The mountain lion is my most likely predator.  It strikes silently from behind, which is like being tackled by a full-back at high speed.  The initial sock of the attack most likely knocks the pray animal unconscious even before the lion's bite to the neck, which is so powerful that it often severs the spinal cord immediately.  The mountain lion will hold its pray face down with all 20 of its claws dug into the pray animal's back; and the mountain lion will not let go of its death-grip until the pray animal stops struggling.

When the pray animal lies limp, the mountain lion will drag its carcass to a safe place to eat it.  That safe place might be up a tree, or a rock ledge, or under a bush or tree.  Then the mountain lion first eats the entrails of its pray animal for quick nutrition.  It also makes sure the animal is dead.  The mountain lion will revisit the carcass for sometime, until it is picked clean; and it will often remain near its kill to protect it from scavengers.  I like the idea of this creature becoming just a scatter of bones under a tree in some obscure location in the wilderness.

So, I have passed on leadership of the GWV to Michael Hawkins and his wife, Karen.  I hope others come forward who are equally accomplished as they are to help lead the west in the contemplative arts.  I doubt that I will be able to attend many more wilderness retreats, and will have to remain close to doctor's offices, pharmacies, health-food stores and grocery stores; or maybe I will be lucky to meet my predator soon.

[stugandolf]

Jeff,  I know you do what you need to do.  Looking forward to meeting Michael/Karen and others.  There are plenty of trees at Rocky Canyon and Lower Gallinas... Stu

[Jhanananda]

Thanks, Stu, sounds like you have found a good spot for this retreat.  I look forward to meditating with you and the others.

[Jhanananda]

Allergies at this time of year tend to send me to higher elevations where I am likely to find relief from the ploom of dust, spores and pollens that tend to hang in the valleys at lower elevation.  So, last night I drove up Thumb Butte Rd, out of Prescott to a familiar campsite.  Along the way I saw a small thistle with a brilliant fluorescence, so after parking the van at the campsite where I had been tracked by an adolescent mountain lion the previous fall, I then walked down the forest service road to where I had seen this small plant growing from the berm along the road.  It does not look like much.

But, closer up it has an unusually bright, colorful flower that does not seem to open more than this.

Here is another image of the flower and leaf

Foraging has been a necessity for survival for me off and on over the last 12 years where I have found little support from the Buddhist and contemplative community for being a full-time contemplative and mystic.  Thistles are edible and it is the immature flower that is edible, like an artichoke, but much more artichoke-like than artichokes.  But, these little thistle flowers would be slim pickings.

I find foraging to be an excellent metaphor for the cognitive skills one must develop to be a mystic. A mystic must learn to distinguish the charismatic phenomena between the mass of sensory input that emerges as one learns to meditate deeply and skillfully. 

Like foraging, at first there is a mass of vegetation presented to one in the wilderness, which we have trouble sorting out, but as we develop the skills of a forager, we learn to filter out the mass of useless information in the forest, and we learn discrimination skills to sort out that useless information and search only for the salient items.  In foraging it would be the edibles in season. 

In meditation the mystic must sort through the mass of sensory data for the charisms.  At first we do not know where to look, nor do we know even what to look for.  And, our friends, the meditation teachers and priests of our religion rarely are of any help.  So, we often go into a quiet place and some times spend years meditating until we finally come across the flower of the charisms. 

When we finally find the charisms after a great deal of solo meditation, then we spend a considerable time with them in deep meditation in solitude and silence.  Once we have spent this time savoring the blissful charisms, then we find we can return to the noise and distraction of the city and find the charisms loudly resonating within us, even in the roar and whine of the city.

We go to our meditation teachers, priests and friends, to tell them of our find, like a vein of gold buried in rock.  Our meditation teachers tell us we have become bliss bunnies and jhana junkies.  Our priests tell us we are possessed and we need to be depossessed.  Our friends and family shake their heads and say we have gone insane.  So, we return the wilderness to enjoy our charims in solitude.

[Jhanananda]

I returned to Prescott yesterday to check on my mail.  In my PO box I found 2 packages from a friend in China.  She contacted me a few months ago regarding the manifestation of charisms.  At first she was very thankful for my help, but then she went to the priests of her church, which was Catholic, and they convinced her that she was possessed and it was my fault. This is typical of mainstream religion, because it is bad for the business of religion for the followers to have more spiritual attainment than the priests.  So, then she demonized me.

The packages contained several things.  The smaller package held a new NIV bible and a crucifix, and a note.

"Please do not contact me until you become a proper Christian..."

I thought, a "proper Christian" in this context, is one who byes into the lies of the church.  I am not at all interested in lies, Jesus was a mystic, like Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross.  He was not the "Only begotten son of god" who was raised in a town called "Nazareth," nor did he "die for our sins," so I will not be a "proper Christian" in her, or her priests, eyes.  I put the crucifix on as a reminder that the mystics of all religions are marginalized.  I put the bible into my reference library if I want to document the gross translation errors in that book of propaganda.

The larger of the two boxes contained food, most of which I can no longer eat as a diabetic, so I gave away to the homeless anything that mentioned carbohydrates and sugar in excess of 5%.  It left me with some Edo crackers made of almonds, etc. with remarkably low carbs and sugar.  I had missed crackers, and I have quite a few containers of peanut butter, so I smeared the peanut butter on the delicious Edo crackers at the campsite while I watched the afternoon monsoon clouds pass by.  The US market needs a low carb cracker, and the world needs to unpack their religions.  I am sure we will see a low carb cracker long before the world unpacks its religions.

At the homeless feed I found another package from an Asian friend.  Sam Lim sent me medicine for my diabetes.  Thanks, Sam.

[Jhanananda]

A rigorous contemplative life that leads to mysticism often leads to wandering, homelessness.  The term for the wandering, homelessness contemplative life is mendicant.  Mendicants through history have led simple lives while wandering from place to place.  Along the way they spend most of their time in the wilderness, and occasionally the come into town.  And, even more infrequently they meet someone along the way, who may be inspired to lead a rigorous contemplative life.

The biblical term for a mendicant was Nazarite.  Jesus, his father and John the Baptist were Nazarites, as well as several of the Old Testament Patriarchs.

The Sanskrit term for a mendicant is 'sramana.'  The Pali equivalent of the term is 'samana.' Siddhartha Gautama referred to himself and his followers a samana.

The Sanskrit term 'sramana,' and its Pali equivalent samana are the origins of the term 'Shaman.'  So, the concept of a wandering, homeless contemplative predates civilization.

A mendicant must learn to live simply, and often on alms, or foraging.  The can of stew, above, was free from the local Food Bank, and I heated it on the engine, while I drove out of town into the mountains to meditate and sleep in the quiet wilderness near Thumb Butte.

[Jhanananda]

A personal contemplative journal

By Jhananda (Jeffrey S. Brooks)
September 16 to 19, 2012
(Copyright 2010, all rights reserved)

Culagosinga Sutta, MN 31
10-17.  "Good, good Anuruddha.  But while you abide thus diligent, ardent, and resolute, have you attained any superhuman state, a distinction in knowledge and vision worthy of the noble ones, a pleasant abiding?"

"Why yes, venerable sir.  Here, venerable sir, whenever we want, secluded from sensory stimuli, secluded from unwholesome states, we enter upon and abide in the first meditative absorption (jhana)"...(through 8th samadhi)
Based upon a translation of the Majjhima Nikaya trans. Bhikkhus Nanamoli & Bodhi, Wisdom, 1995, Edited by Jhananda
http://www.greatwesternvehicle.org/pali/tipitaka/2Sutta-Pitaka/2Majjhima-Nikaya/Majjhima1/025-nivapa-sutta-e1.htm

Sunday 09-16-2012
After dropping off a load of 90 gallons of waste oil and three crates of hardware at the Sedona research lab I then drove back along the Perkinsville Rd back to Chino Valley.  However, this time I decided to explore the Forest Road 318A route.  Immediately I found the road much rougher, as it is not maintained at all.

Shortly after entering the road I stopped at a pullout near a stock pond to camp for the night.  It was not quite sunset when I arrived so I took a walk along the road to see what was ahead, and found a point of a low ridge that jutted out from the road, so I walked along the point to see the view.

As I walked toward the commanding view afforded by that prominence, being the archaeologist that I am I could not help but look down as I walked, and I noticed a quarts flake on the dried, red mud.  I then noticed several more flakes and a few scrapers, which qualified the area as an archaerological site, most probably a campsite for hunting.  There are several cliff dwellings and ancient Indian ruins in the area.  I did not; however, bring my camera along to photograph the lithic scatter.

Monday 09-17-2012
I have been packing and moving from the warehouse in Chino Valley to another warehouse in Sedona since last Saturday.  My method has been to spend the day sorting, packing, loading and waiting for deliveries until 4:30PM, then I take a shower, then I drive the Perkinsville road from Chino Valley to the old mining town of Jerome. 

The Jerome-Perkinsville road is a 30-mile long backcountry road that is well graded and passes through some beautiful countryside.  I typically stop to camp halfway for the night.  I find it cool and quiet and ideal for camping.  This night I camped off the road in a new campsite to me.  It was just east of the local Tibetan Buddhist monastery.

At dusk that evening I walked along the jeep trail and found an excellent chert scraper sitting in the mud in the middle of the road.  I photographed it.
Top

Bottom

Tuesday 09-18-2012
After a night of silent meditation and interactions in the immaterial domains I rose well before dawn and meditated until 6 AM, when there was enough dawn light to see the road well.  I drove the remaining 20 miles of scenic by-way at about 10-20miles per hour.  Along the way there are some steep grades on the one-lane road with no guardrail and drop-offs of hundreds of feet.  I had been using engine breaking extensively to slow the vehicle on the steep down grades, because the breaks had become mooshie.

I arrived at the Sedona warehouse by 8AM, and unloaded 60 gallons of waste oil, and three crates of hardware; then I washed my hands and face and arrived at a nearby Internet café in time for the morning conference call via Skype with my fellow colleges in research at 10AM. I spent an hour after the conference call doing my morning Internet maintenance, email responses and forum dialogs.

By 11AM I set out for the return trip to Chino Valley via the 30-mile long Jerome-Perkinsville backcountry road.  The van had a blow-out just 4 miles short of Chino Valley on the widest and flattest part of the Perkinsville Rd.  Right away I pulled over to the side of the road as far as I could get, and ate lunch, because I knew changing the tire was going to be hot, and exhausting work.

After lunch I got out the tools to do the job, making sure I had everything, because if I did not, then I would call AAA to tow me back to the warehouse, but I did not want to use up one of the 3 tows per year on a road maintenance issue that I could resolve myself.

The large spare truck tire is mounted on the roof rack, and about 10 months earlier I had built a hoist for the roof specifically to make putting the tire back on to the roof easier.  I had been using it to hoist full 5-gallon fuel waste oils buckets and crates of hardware onto the roof.  But, to get the tire down, I just unscrewed it from the roof rack and rolled it off the roof making sure there was no traffic passing at that moment.

The tire bounced a few times on the dirt road, then over the birm and rolled into the pasture where cows were cautiously grazing, while keeping one eye upon me.  When the tire went bouncing off my roof and into their pasture they were sure I was up to no good for them, so they started lopping single file back to the ranch.

I got off the roof and retrieved the spare tire, which I found was in good shaped and still held air from a year ago, when I had to use it for another blow out.

Fortunately I had a floor jack stashed under my bed in the van, and I had not buried it deeply under the bed.  And, I noticed that I had not stored my star wheel wrench, but, even better, I had a ¾” drive breaker bar and set of ¾” drive sockets that fit the wheel lugs.  I made sure I could break loose each of the wheel lugs before I bothered to jack up the tire.  In the past I have gone to all of the work to replace a tire, and found one or more of the wheel lugs was on so tight from an impact wrench that I could not break it loose.

It took me about an hour to replace the wheel and I used the hoist to set the flat tire on top of the toolbox, which is mounted on my rear pumper.  I then set off to Prescott, where I could get the tire repaired or replaced for a reasonable price, and deal with the worsening breaks, which were making the drive a white-knuckle experience.

In Prescott the tire shop owner showed me that the tire had a large rough hole in the center of its tread from running over a sharp rock.  A year ago the tire had developed a slow leak, which I had repaired then, but it had begun to leak again; so I did not mind having to replace it.  At the time I ordered 2 tires to match the front tires, so that I had more flexibility the next time I had to have a tire repaired. 

He said, “They will be in by 10AM on the delivery truck.”

So, I called my born-again mechanic friend and told him I was in town for the night, and asked him if he could help me evaluate my break problem.

He said, “I am at the grocery store shopping with my wife, but we are about finished, so I can meet you somewhere after I drop her and the groceries off.”

I said, “I can meet you in the parking lot of the abandoned furniture store down town, where there is shade.”

I hung up with him and drove there.  He arrived about 30 minutes later, and he looked at the front calipers of my van, and said, “Those big groves in your front discs is the reason why your breaks have gotten week.  If you do not have the money to have your drums turned, then I suggest that you put on new lifetime warrantied pads, which are harder, and could work out those groves, then, when you have more money, you can have the disks turned or replaced and replace the pads for free.”

It seemed like a good idea, but it was getting toward sunset, so I arranged to meet him there under the shade trees to do the work the next morning, after I had the tires replaced.

I drove to a familiar place to park along the creek to city camp until the auto repairs could be completed.  I sat enjoying the evening cool air, and was visited by my Ananda Marga yogi friend, Martin.  It was dark when he arrived and darker still when he left; and I retreated to the van for the night.

Most of the night my immaterial domains were occupied with a Catholic congregation.  Most of my interactions were with young men who were inspired for deeper conversation and some spiritual attainment, so I trained them in contemplative prayer.  Even some of the priests engaged me in such conversations.

I said, “the thing to understand is the spiritual life is about more than just prayer, but prayer that leads to contemplation.  The way Saint John of the Cross used the term ‘contemplation’ was as a synonym for the religious experience.  Prayer is a one-way monolog toward god.  Meditation is learning to listen to god, and contemplation is what happens when god starts to make his presence known to you.”

In dialog with the priests, I said, “Political influence in any social system is bought, whether that influence is in politics or religion.  So, even a protestant convert to your religion could buy sufficient influence to be priest, or bishop or cardinal or even pope.” 

I smiled, the priests looked unhappy with my comment, but understood its truth nonetheless.