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Life as We Made It by Beth Shapiro

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This book is a fascinating dive into some of the major changes that people have caused to happen to many organisms (plant, animal and tiny) on the earth. It is interesting to consider how impactful we have been – both positively and negatively – to such a large part of the world’s flora, fauna and micro-organisms.

Shapiro describes many things that were surprising to me, such as the fact that “we” almost made the American Buffalo (Bison bison) go extinct twice – first the early Native Americans almost wiped them out starting about 15,000 years ago. The environment was taking a toll on the Bison, but so were the people who had found very imaginative (and effective) means of hunting them in very large numbers. The decline in the bison population was turned around when Conquistadors brought various plagues to the new world. The plagues in the form of smallpox, whooping cough, typhoid, scarlet fever and others quickly destroyed the long established human population – taking the pressure off of the buffalo. The buffalo quickly increased in numbers to something around 60 million by the middle of the eighteenth century. However, the early Europeans not only brought disease, they brought horses! That was the beginning of the second massive die-off of the buffalo. First the Native Americans got horses, vastly increasing their hunting efficiency – followed by Europeans that added guns to the mix. By the turn of the century (1905), the known buffalo population had been reduced to 125 animals, 25 in Yellowstone and around 100 on private property. Since that time, conservation efforts have brought them back from extinction, with around 500,000 alive today. Many (perhaps more than 50%) buffalo today have some cattle DNA so are actually hybrids.

Part I of the book discusses purposeful, and accidental, changes made by man for various reasons such as the creation of corn, dogs from wolves, etc., etc. These changes were almost all done using the techniques of selective breeding over long periods of time. And then there were all of the species that went extinct because of over hunting, changes we made to the environment, and other actions that directly or indirectly resulted in the inability of a species to maintain a breeding population.

The second part of the book, “The Way it Could Be” in the most troublesome to me. It discusses the things that we can change by either traditional means of selective breeding, or more recently gene editing techniques. I am rather appalled by Shapiro’s seemingly over-confidence that we can change species by editing genes within a species, or by introducing genes from other species, without causing unexpected, unintentional catastrophes. She points out many of the marvelous things that gene editing can accomplish. We now do things like add parts of jelly fish DNA into other fish that makes the fish glow in various colors when exposed to pollutants in the water. If you catch a yellow day-glow fish perhaps you might want to avoid adding it to you dinner.

There are thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of “experiments” and “scientific studies” going on right now to find ways to “improve” upon the hand that “we” (the total community of organisms on the earth) have been given. Shapiro talks confidently that we always make sure that the changes are “safe” before introducing them into the wild (while also discussing instances where that has NOT be done), how we can always stop and backup our changes (also while discussing instances where that cannot be done), and that we know all about what we are actually doing when we change the DNA of an organization (when it is obvious that we often find “surprises” much later).

Shapiro is willing, and apparently anxious, to make small and potentially large, often unknown, changes in the name of solving some specific problem. I understand the value, importance, and how enticing it can be to have the power to solve so many problems with such a simple approach. It is so simple in fact that there are essentially no controls on what is allowed and allowable. There is nothing that prevents a scientist from introducing lasting changes to the gene pool of any species (including humans) with little or no oversight, testing or safety protocols. They can just “do it”, as was the case when He Jiankui, a biophysicist at Shenzhen’s Southern University of Science and Technology modified human embryos resulting in a pair of twin girls with “new” DNA. Assuming that these girls go on to be mothers, then these changes will become a part of “humanity” in the future. Not only did he make changes in the hopes of making the girls immune to HIV, but it turned out that he had inadvertently made additional changes that have unknown impacts. He could tweak those girl’s genetics, so he did. “Experimentation” is happening all around the world by perhaps tens of thousands of individuals, tweaking organisms because they can, hoping for find something good (and valuable) in the process.

It appears that we are too far into this brave new world of gene editing to change it at this point. CRISPR has been invented and it will be used for anything and everything that people can dream up, including all of the “accidents” that happen because they didn’t actually know what they were doing. I obviously have no idea where this might be leading – but from the risk point of view, it appears that it could lead to one or more of those “existential” events whereby humans go extinct, or perhaps a wide swatch of other species do so. We are already releasing animals into the wild that have their genes changed in ways that prevent all of the females to be sterile after a few generations. The changed genes get transmitted from generation to generation until it accumulates to a tipping point where sterility kicks in- quickly leading to extinction of that species. That certainly gets rid of pests, but at what cost?

Shapiro ends with a nice sounding prediction of the future that we will always be careful and will never intentionally, or accidentally, cause a global disaster. She points out that we are smart, ethical, and bound by our desire to only do what is good for all. She scoffs at those of us that see very dark clouds on the horizon of such unlimited power in the hands of “everyman.” Perhaps. Obviously the point of no-return has been passed decades ago – perhaps it is just a continuation from the last 40,000 or so years as suggested by Shapiro. This is once again a situation where I am inwardly pleased that at 75 years old I will be spared many of the obvious problems that are just over the horizon. I am sorry for what we have left for our children, grandchildren and the seven generations in the future that the Native Americans understand to be our immediate responsibility.

What does it mean to “be a man”?

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A few years ago I went to a Toltec “Summer Celebration” weekend retreat.  I have attended these kinds of events several times in the past few years, and always come home with a new understanding of something that I didn’t realize I didn’t understand.  This was to be the case again.

I managed to get tied up in traffic on the way to the retreat center, so showed up a bit late – and was told that I should join the ongoing “men’s group” taking place on the grass near the dry creek near the meeting rooms.  I usually avoid “men’s group” activities because I find that they are often too exclusionary and unbalanced in their approach and discussions.  However, in the spirit of participating in whatever came my way for the weekend, I joined and participated as much as I could without dominating the conversations (one of my personal faults). 

The main points being discussed were how we came to our personal understanding of what it means to be a man.  There were a lot of interesting stories of growing up with stern fathers, absent fathers, weak fathers, and fathers like mine who participated, but with a very clear separation of male-female roles.  I explained that I learned a lot about how to be a “man” from my mother.  She would take the time to discuss the topic and to point out examples of what she meant.  I found this quite helpful since my father was not one for talking about anything personal.  He would talk freely about all sorts of “man things” such as fishing or boat building, but not about how he felt unless it was when he was in a rage, and all that came across then was that he was angry.

I found the stories to be interesting, but not particularly captivating, so I just sat back and let my mind wander.  It wandered to a place of new insight.  As I sat on the grassy hill in the shade of an oak tree, I slowly came to understand that I was taught that there is a clear-cut, and strict, demarcation between men’s and women’s responsibilities with regard to family life and relationships.  Men work and bring home the money.  Men do the “manly chores” involving tools and heavy labor.  They are also the ultimate disciplinarians. Mom would say things like, “if you don’t do so and so I will tell your father when he gets home.”  The threat of stern action and possible violence was obvious.  This rarely occurred because the threat worked for me.  Women tend the yard, fix the meals, take care and play with the kids, socialize the kids, deal with kids and school issues, keep track of household budgets, and bring whatever beauty there is into the house.  The list of male and female tasks is quite long, but had very little overlap in my family.

As I sat there thinking about this and my relationship with my wife and children I realized that I had agreed with it implicitly.  What I had been taught was so obviously true that it didn’t even rise to the point of requiring consideration or discussion.  How else could it be?  Listening to the other men in the group describe their upbringing made it clear that there are an infinite number of ways that it could be, my way was just one in a sea of possibilities. 

I have always felt that I had somehow transcended my strict male-female role upbringing.  I do many things that my father categorized as “women’s work.”  This includes things like changing diapers (although I avoid this with my grandsons), washing dishes, ironing clothes, food shopping, cleaning toilets, etc.  I also do the manly tasks of making the bulk of the family income, working on cars, cutting firewood, mowing lawns and building fences.  Because I find myself doing these “cross-gender” tasks, I felt that I was somehow a “liberated” man – and my wife is a liberated woman because she also shares by doing many of the “manly” tasks.  We were a balanced family, each sharing the tasks as they came up.

However, as I sat and looked more closely at my life, I came to understand that while I did these womanly tasks, I did them to “help” my wife with her work.  I did them, but I didn’t “own” them.  They weren’t my jobs; they were her jobs.  I was generous enough to assist, but expected a “thank you” in return and maybe even a little bonus such as a special meal, back rub, or some personal time off.  When she helps by doing the male tasks, I felt the same – she was doing me a favor and needed a special “thanks” or something in return – often in the form of an exchange of tasks.

How odd I thought; all of these years I had been thinking that I was sharing the tasks with my wife, only to find out that I was just helping out. In reality I was still following and agreeing with the divisions that my parents had taught me in the early 50’s based upon what they had been taught when they were young during the ‘20s. 

It became clear to me that the tasks to be done are both of ours, not hers and mine unless we have specifically decided to divide some for our own personal reasons.  I feel like I have shifted my understanding of the male-female roles in our family, but will have to wait and see how much has actually changed and how much remains the same.  I don’t know if I will be able to shift my point of view and fully take on the jobs as truly shared responsibilities, but I do know that I will now recognize them as old agreements when they come up.  At least I am now in a position to better see and understand what I am doing when I am doing it.

These revelations brought an understanding of my intent for the weekend into clear focus.  I realized now that for me the purpose of the weekend retreat was to explore the relationship between my wife and myself, to get a better understanding of how we interact and what expectations I bring to our marriage.  I got a vague understanding of this purpose as I said goodbye to her on Friday morning.  It seemed that her attitude was one of resentment and feeling that I was doing something very selfish to leave her at home for the weekend while I went off to play with my Toltec friends.  There was of course some truth to this judgment, but there is also the truth that I am trying to find my path in my life, and share what I find with her.  While I am being selfish with my studies, I also see that what I am learning is helping our relationship in many ways – hopefully, there is also a mutually beneficial aspect to my studies. 

When “breakout sessions” were announced on the following day, I elected to join a group that was discussing relationships, including marriages.  The group was composed of couples, and myself.  I was a “couple” in my mind that weekend since I was specifically focused on that issue. 

The group started off a little slowly with everyone wondering what to say and how to start.  I decided to bring up my concern of the weekend, which was that I was being confused about how to follow my spiritual path while maintaining a solid relationship with my wife, considering that her preference is to not join me in my “fun and games” in group work.  I honor her desire to not join me (maybe in large part because she doesn’t want to interfere with what I am doing), knowing that she is progressing along her path side-by-side with me in her own way.  However, I have problems with feeling guilty about leaving her behind, and that she lets me know that it is her opinion that I am being selfish in doing so.

The first response to my concern was from a guy who I had judged to be a silent watcher, rather than a talker.  He told me that it sounded to him like we didn’t communicate enough.  He described a process that he and his wife do once a week.  He called it their “sacred hour.”  The crux of it is that once a week they set aside an hour to be with each other. One person talks for 20 minutes, uninterrupted by the other; then they switch; then they dialogue about whatever comes up for the final 20 minutes.  He said it was a powerful tool for allowing each to think of what they want to say to the other, and the other to just sit back and listen without having to think of a response.

The leader of the group then made the recommendation that when I get home to ask my wife what she did while I was gone.  My immediate reaction is that of course I would do that, I always ask her about what she did while I was gone.  However, in this instance I just accepted that recommendation and waited to see what else would unfold during the weekend.  There were a lot of other events of interest, but no more that seemed to specifically address my concerns.

On the way home I continued to think about communicating and letting my wife tell me what she had done, rather than trying to have a discussion with her.  I remembered all of those times when people have exclaimed how important it is to “listen,” “listen actively,” “pay attention” and other phrases indicating that there was some way to listen “harder” than I normally do.  I have never been able to figure out how to do that because I already listen as hard as I can.  I try to hear what is being said, try to line it up with my experiences so I can maybe “feel” what it feels like to be saying what they are saying and try to figure out how to respond in a meaningful and compassionate way.  I don’t know how to do this any harder, or with more intent.

Then it dawned on me.  I realized that I was listening so “hard” that I wasn’t listening at all!  My normal listening style is that I let the speaker talk a little bit until I think I understand where they are headed (which is often correct, but also often incorrect). Then I start thinking about myself in an attempt to find something in my life that is similar so that when I respond it is with empathy and understanding.  At that point I kind of stop listening carefully, rather I begin thinking (about myself).  My wife often tells me how rude this is, but I don’t get it because I am trying my hardest to be the total opposite of rude, I am trying to be attentive, empathetic and compassionate. It seemed what is missing is honor and respect, honoring the other by allowing them to fully express themselves before I once again start thinking of myself.

I decided to try an experiment when I got home.  I decided to hold the image of honoring my wife while letting her explain to me what she had done and how her weekend went.  I decided not to try to do anything, just honor her.  When I got home, she spent a couple of hours telling me about her weekend; I spent a couple of hours just letting her talk about all that had gone on.  When she seemed satisfied that she had said what she wanted to say, I asked if she would be interested in hearing about my weekend – which she was.  I told her about the important things that had transpired and then we just talked for a bit.  It felt like all of the anger, jealousy and disrespect had melted away from her, and the guilt had gone from me.

I then got one of the shocks of my life. She said that I had just done one of the most romantic things that I had ever done for her!!!  Romantic? Wow, that was the last thing that I thought I was doing.  I thought I was just honoring her as an equal, a partner and a friend.  In fact, it immediately turned my entire understanding of the term “romantic” on its head.  I have always thought that being romantic was something I had to work at, but never had a clue about how to do it.  I would buy flowers, candy, take my lady friends to dinner and a show, all in the hopes of being “romantic.”  I was confused because none of these things seem to end up being “romantic.”  Fun – maybe.  Flattering – possibly.  Expensive – usually.  Romantic – never.  The romantic thing seems to be to honor a woman by letting her express herself, and then to respond to her, rather than to myself.  This seems simple enough, but I apparently missed the point for the past sixty or so years.

Since then I have been remembering to keep my mind in a place of honoring those that I am talking to, and find that it feels so much better.  It takes the work out of listening, letting me just enjoy them and respond in ways that are guided by them.   Of course, I still slip up now and then, finding myself back in my old habits – but I notice them and try to just relax and let it be.   

Should it be legal to plead guilty?

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This morning I find myself mulling over the question of whether or not it should be legal for the judicial system to accept a plead of guilty as proof positive of guilt. Television “cop” programs often include a segment showing someone pleading guilty to a lessor charge to the original one as the path of least risk for the suspect, and least cost for the District Attorney (DA). The suspect “wins” because they don’t face the risk of losing their defense case with a much harsher punishment. They are faced with questions such as “is 5 years in prison better than the rest of my life?” – they have to make a decision about how likely it is to get convicted even though they are innocent. The State wins because they don’t have to spend the time and money associated with “proving” guilt. This is an apparent “win-win” for all involved – but is it? Is this actually a common event in “real life?” My understanding is that it is common, especially for people that do not have the resources to effectively mount a defense. Currently, about 95% of convictions are based upon guilty pleas, and almost 15% of the people who are exonerated pleaded guilty. What we don’t know is how many of the 95% that pleaded guilty were actually innocent, but the research indicates it is probably around 10% of those that pleaded guilty were actually innocent, and since almost all convictions are obtained by confessions, perhaps 10% of those in prisons are innocent. However, since very few are exonerated the actual percentages are unknown. What is known is that at least 10,000 innocent people are in prison at any given time.

Assuming that falsely pleading guilty in order to minimize the risk of a much more severe punishment happens, does this help, or harm, society? It seems pretty clear that when this happens justice has been knocked out of alignment in major ways. Obviously the original offense was either not true, or the reduced one after the plea bargain was false. The person either did the bad thing and “deserves” the punishment (assuming the punishments actually align with “justice”), or they didn’t. If they actually did the lessor thing, then the original charge was false. It appears that the introduction of the more severe charge was more along the lines of a threat, rather than an understanding that the charge was valid. My most generous interpretation of this is that the police (and DA) believe the suspect is guilty of the lessor charge, but want to avoid the high cost of actually “proving” it with objective evidence. Therefore, they make up a more severe change in the hopes that the suspect will confess to the crime that they actually committed – saving a great deal of time and money. However, it also has the obvious potential for incarcerating innocent people based upon their desire to reduce risks of a severe punishment rather than upon solid, objective evidence. This is clearly a problem based upon the numbers of people that get exonerated by organizations such as the Innocent Project that has helped about 400 innocent people get released from prison, many after spending decades in prison. These are usually high profile cases that were cleared because of DNA test results. How many “less important” cases exist that are based upon false confessions but no refutable exonerating evidence because the case never came to trial with no evidence to refute?

I wonder if we shouldn’t always require criminal cases be competently and completely tried. Maybe we should consider a person innocent until proven guilty. Perhaps confessions should be inadmissible as evidence – not only should everyone have a fifth amendment right to not be required to “be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself”, but no allowed to be a witness against himself. Every case should require evidence as “proof” of innocence under the assumption that everyone is innocent until proven guilty – and history shows that confessions are not necessarily proof, or true.

I don’t have good data concerning how prevalent this problem is in our justice system, but it is very clear that it isn’t unknown, or particularly rare. It seems to me that this is an important area to research to find out how big of a problem it actually is, and then find solutions (perhaps along the lines of my recommendation). It is unconscionable for innocent people to be convicted of a crime just because they are terrified by the possibility of being convicted of a much worse crime (that they also didn’t do) because of a lack in trust of the judicial system.

Beside myself at Puno

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Out of body experiences are a popular subject these days.  Normally they seem to occur following near-death traumas, but can happen at other times. I have read that it might be common during hypoxia.  Given the high altitude of Lake Titicaca, mild hypoxia seems like a possible explanation for the following experience. I wasn’taware of the other symptoms of hypoxia while this experience of being beside myself was occurring, but it seems possible.  Knowing that there might be a medical “cause” for this does nothing to lessen the feelings involved.  I think the medical community would very much like to find rational explanations for these types of “spiritual” events that happen from time-to-time.  They are clearly not happy with the idea that there might be more to life, and death, than they can account for.  In any case, the experience happened and it was oddly comforting – even if it was caused, or allowed to happen, because of the high elevation.

I was on an adventure/spiritual trip with some Toltec friends to the high mountains of Peru.  We were visiting the regions around Cusco, Machu Picchu, and Lake Titicaca. The Toltec tour leaders had worked with don Miguel Ruiz for many years.  The tour “guide” was a gentleman from the Lake Titicaca area who was a very spiritual man (shaman), author, and hotel owner.  His personal teacher is a very old “shaman” from the area.  We stayed at his hotels in Cusco and Lake Titicaca.  On most days, the very old shaman squatted on the floor in the lobby of the hotel keeping a watchful eye on our group. He wore a traditional brightly colored shawl, hat and other clothing of the Incas.

The high elevation seemed to be having an effect upon me, especially once we got much above about 12,000 feet.  It obviously impacted my stamina and ability to breathe; just a small exertion and I would be huffing and puffing, forcing me to stop often to catch my breath.  Luckily, I didn’t get altitude sickness or anything like that; I just found that I was out of breath much of the time. 

On the flight to Peru I met a nice lady who grew up in Lima.  She had a lot of advice for me concerning what to do, where to go, and what to eat.  Her last, and most adamant, advice was to avoid Lake Titicaca.  She said it was far too high; almost everyone gets sick from the altitude.  She said that the weather was awful, it was too hard to get around, and there was nothing to see or do.  Her aunt had made the trip and warned her not to go.  This prepared my mind for a difficult and unpleasant adventure.  Of course, toward the end of our trip to Peru we went to experience Lake Titicaca.

We flew into the Puno airport located on the northwest side of the lake.  Since I didn’t have any maps, or see any maps, I really had no clear idea of where we were.  From the airport to the town where our hotel was located was a fairly long bus trip across a beautiful high plateau. The plateau was almost flat; ringed by high snow-covered mountains.  There were a few trees scattered about here and there, but mostly it was just gently rolling grassland set under a light blue sky.  Puffy clouds cast dark shadows as they drifted across the landscape.

We traveled across this plateau as evening approached.  The sun was low in the sky and there were many beautiful clouds overhead.  I thought we were headed south (which means we were probably going north since we were on the “other” side of the equator).  The light was totally transfixing to me.  There was something new about the color and feel of the light.  The difference was nothing that I can describe in simple terms such as “bluer” or “redder” than usual.  Rather, it was more of a “feel” of clarity or purity.  It felt like the air and the sky were not as “dense” as I am used to (which in fact was the case since we were above 13,000 feet elevation).  We traveled past scattered homes and saw round Peruvian ladies in many petticoatted skirts and Bowler hats along with their children tending their fields with their oxen. 

I was sitting next to the window by myself, just enjoying the scenery as it passed by the window.  The others on the bus were excited and chatting away.  I was in a quiet mood, happy to just sit and take in the view and feel of the place. 

After a half hour or so of traveling we were past the city and then the little villages.  Finally we were crossing open country.  It was at about this time that I first noticed that something had happened to me.  I realized that I felt strangely “empty” – it felt like it was just me, without my body.  I felt somehow clearer and fresher – a little like the countryside that we were traveling through.  Then I realized with surprise that I was not only clearer and fresher, but the “center” of “me” was no longer aligned with the center of my body.  It felt like I was sitting next to myself, rather than within myself.  There was a distinct separation in space between my body that feels and touches things and the center of my consciousness that thinks and feels emotions.  At first this was a bit disconcerting.  I wondered if I was having some weird reaction to the altitude, or that I might actually be ill.  I gently tried to realign myself with my body, but to no avail.  I guessed that if I were to do something dramatic, such as standing up, the two would have coalesced immediately.  However, since the feeling was so pleasant I really didn’t want to do that.  I was quite comfortable just drifting next to myself, enjoying the trip and the beauty of the place.  This feeling of calm separateness went on for many miles.  I just sat there next to myself, enjoying the feeling, with no desire to interrupt the feeling, or change it.  It was as if I was suspended in the quiet of space, immersed in a sea of sound and motion and sights.  I was there, but not really there.  It is difficult to describe the state of totally quiet observance, not even interrupted by being within my body.  It felt like I could drift like that forever without becoming anxious or bored – I was just in peace.

All good things come to an end.  We finally got across the plateau and started down a bluff to the shore just as dark came upon us.  By the time that we got to the next bit of civilization it was so dark that all that I could see were the lights of houses, outlining a dark void which I assumed was a bay on the lake.  My attention was then drawn more forcefully to the surroundings, the talking of others about our destination – I was back in my body and lost the feeling of floating in peace.  My feeling was one of thanks to this beautiful place for being so open and gentle to me.  I felt as if I had been welcomed to the place and was at home with the mountains, clouds and lake.

Lead Ammunition

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This weekend I found myself in an interesting discussion concerning hunting. One of the topics that came up had to do with the new laws in California outlawing the use of lead in hunting ammunition.  The use of lead for hunting within the State of California was banned on July 1, 2019.   Recalling the great uproar over the law prior to its implementation, I was curious about the actual impacts of that change to the sport of hunting.  It is my understanding that many hunters stocked up on lead bullets and shells ahead of the new law to make sure they would have sufficient reserves to allow them to ignore the law. There was a great hullaballoo about ammunition no longer being available in California, rants about the laws impinging upon their second amendment rights, government taking away freedoms, and more. 

Being the curious type, I asked how the switch to non-toxic ammunition had impacted my friend’s hunting experiences.  His answers surprised me.  According to him, it is all good.  The ammunition is available, about the same price as lead ammunition, shots as well (or better) than lead with regard to distance, accuracy and “killing power.”  Not only that, but when it hits the target it is much less likely to splinter into pieces in the meat, and does much less damage to the meat so less is lost.  He was also much happier to know that he wasn’t poisoning his family or wildlife. 

So after the uproar about loss of ammunition, loss of 2nd amendment rights, loss of “freedom” – it appears to be a non-issue.  However, I also found out that the ban on lead ammunition does not extend to Colorado where he had gone hunting.  Because lead was not illegal there, he switched back to using lead ammunition – even though he had the non-toxic variety with him.  I didn’t get a reason why he did that, other than the vague idea that since it was legal to use he did.  Perhaps he was just trying to use up some of his stocks of lead ammunition.  I wonder, but didn’t ask, how many rounds he uses on a hunting trip to Colorado.   He didn’t get a deer, I assume meaning he didn’t shoot at one.  So maybe he didn’t use any.  Perhaps he missed a lot and shot a few rounds (perhaps up to 10?).  In any case, it doesn’t seem like the financial “savings” amounted to much. 

My guess is that something besides saving money, or a desire to negatively impact the environment, is in action here.  I am not sure what it is – but am curious.

During the same discussion the topic of camo gear came up as a topic.  I brought it up because I had just read a book that discussed the effectiveness of camo clothing to “hide” from deer.  The book said that because a deer’s eyes work in a slightly different part of the visual spectrum than human’s eyes, the “brightness” (and hence obviousness) of various colors is different from ours.  Apparently washing clothes in laundry detergent that has “whiteners” (whiter-than-white) does just that for deer.  To a deer, the clothes because “florescent” and appear to glow bright white even though they appear to be camouflaged to us.  Perhaps it doesn’t have exactly the intended function of “hiding” from the deer.  The book went on to point out that “safety orange” as in used in high visibility vests is almost invisible to deer.  They just see something close to dull black; it is far from the florescent orange that we perceive. 

The result is that safety orange is a much better choice because it is safer, and it is far less obvious to deer.  My friend said that he had heard about this previously, but still wears camo clothing because it is a “fashion” statement.  I wonder about that.  Is it simply a fashion statement, or is it more important than that?  Perhaps it is something closer to a “tribal” identification.  Maybe it is something closer to gang colors with the Bloods being red and the Crips being blue.  It feels like that to me.  When I am around a bunch of guys (or gals) wearing camo clothing it seems clear that they are “in the same group” and I am not because I don’t have that “code” on my clothes.  The use of clothing and accessories to self-identify as belong to a group (or tribe) is extremely common throughout human history.  It seems to be “wired” into how we interact with each other. 

If it is true that camo clothing is used as a marker/code identifier as belonging to a group or “tribe”, then it isn’t just a “fashion statement” – and it isn’t meaningless or insignificant.  I mentioned this to another hunter friend of mine and he chuckled about my thoughts on the topic.  He said he had been hunting, shooting, practicing and partying with a local group of hunters for several years when one day he decided to perform a little “experiment” concerning the importance of his clothing choice.  His experiment was to join the group at a local bar and grill that they frequented, but this time wearing “civilian” clothing (meaning no camo).  Almost immediately people in the group started to tease him about no longer being one of them.  That teasing continued and increased in intensity as the evening went along, verging upon hostile bullying (he felt like he was being attacked) – even though he normally considered them good friends and part of his “group”.  He finally became uncomfortable enough without wearing the “code” that he left. 

This sounds like a lot more than “a fashion statement,” it sounds more like a means to self-identify far more than merely being a “hunter” – it sounds like it shows alignment with an entire way of life and a view of the world.  I don’t consider this kind of self-identification to be good or bad, it just is – and I find that interesting.  It means that if I need to interact with someone wearing camo (perhaps pants, or maybe just a hat), I should be prepared for a specific point of view and a specific attitude about many topics ranging far beyond merely being a person that hunts to obtain meat for their family.  They are doing more than “shopping” – perhaps they are playing a much larger role. 

Lucid Dreams

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A week in December of 2006 was a week of vivid lucid dreams for me.  Two of these dreams stand out enough to get included in my dream journal.

The first dream started as a normal enough, although a rather odd, dream.  Since it was just a normal dream at this point, I don’t recall where we were going, or why.  About all that I can recall is that she was driving, the road was dirt and rough we were high on the side of a steep mountain, and the vehicle was a four-wheeled rig of some sort. 

We stopped at a service station in a small mountain town, pulling up in front of an old fashioned general store. Carrie went into the store to get something, I stayed in the car.  While I was waiting, I decided to get out and stretch my legs.  As I walked around the car I noticed that the wheels had been removed.  The car was sitting up on blocks, and there were just brake drums and disk brakes where there should have been wheels. At first I started to get worked up to find out who had “stolen” our wheels, but then it dawned on me that it was so bizarre that I had to be dreaming.  At that point I “woke” up in the dream.

While I was standing there contemplating what to do now that I was in a lucid dream, Carrie came out of the store.  I called to her to come have a look at the car and wheel problem.  She started to fuss about in normal dream mode, but I suggested to her that she settle down and take advantage of the opportunity to practice with me in my dream.  Her response was that it couldn’t be a dream, because if it were she would be aware of it.  I stuck out my hands and asked her to do the same as a test.  We both could plainly see that I had too many fingers, the extra fingers on my hands being a sure indication that we were in a dream.  Her hands looked normal, so I suggested to her that she might need to find another means of determining when she is dreaming.

We talked about the odd state of affairs for awhile, and I then pointed out that during our waking time she had expressed interest in learning about lucid dreaming.  I said that this was a great time to do some practices, which we then proceeded to do.  We decided to do a few dreaming exercises.  One of the first was to move about using intent.  We settled on a place just outside of town as our target and “intended” ourselves to the new place.  (This practice is a way to move without moving.)  We focused our intent on moving to this new place, and then we were there.  We practiced a bit with more moving around, with observing the details of some of the things that were there, and other mundane activities.  Mainly, it was just a practice of learning to more fully observe our surroundings while in a dream.  We then decided it was enough for our first time practicing together, gave each other a nice hug, and said goodbye.  I then woke up. 

The second lucid dream of the week was with my older (dead) brother.  I hadn’t dreamt of him for several years, so was surprised to run into him again.  In this dream he appeared to me while I was working in the back yard of my place.  We shook hands and made a little small talk.  It was nice to see him and talk a bit, but I finally got curious and asked why he was visiting me this time.  I told him that I thought he had gone when our mother had died.  He said that he did, but that he was missing working on things.  He said that he came by to ask if I would fix up my barn/shop a bit so that he could come by and work with me now and then.  He said that he wouldn’t be a bother to me, but that he would enjoy just working along with me now and then.  I told him that I planned on improving the shop anyway, and that he was more than welcome to come by and play if he would like to do that.

Then I woke up from this dream into yet another dream.  The location of the new dream was the same as the first one in my back yard, but in the new dream I was talking to a friend/neighbor Mark telling him that I had been talking to my brother and that I was looking forward to working with him.  We chatted a bit about that for awhile until I said, “Oops, that is going to be a problem, I had forgotten that my brother is dead.”  Mark said that sounded like a problem all right, but maybe something would come of it anyway.  I then woke up in my bed.

These are just a couple of odd little dreams. I don’t know if they were just goofy dreams, or if there is something about reality tied to them.  At the time I believed that these two people (Carrie and my brother) were actually with me in my dreams.  Of course dreams do that, so there is probably no special significance to either of them other than that these folks and activities were on my mind. 

To Succeed – Stop Trying

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In 2006 I received notification of a “power journey” with the Toltec nagual don Miguel.  The trip was to include several Yucatan peninsula pyramids, especially Chichén Itzá.  I had wanted to visit these pyramids for a long time, so I signed up for the trip.  I tried to convince my wife to go along with me on this tour, but she wasn’t interested.  I ended up going by myself.

As the day of the trip grew closer, I started to worry that I had signed up for a “tourist trip” rather that a power trip. However, I finally decided that any trip was going to be interesting, and if it is just a tourist thing, so be it.

I was very pleased to discover that my fears were unfounded; it was indeed a “power journey” with don Miguel, his son, daughter-in-law and several Toltec teachers.It turned out to be a marvelous time with a whole new group of strangers from all over the world. I found that I was blessed with joining a group of very spiritual and fun loving people. Once again, I had worked myself up into a worry that was totally unfounded – I was glad that I had decided to stop worrying and just go with the flow.

While it was a great trip, not a lot of overt “magic” took place as is sometimes the case with don Migual.  We had fun touring the sites, thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company and had great discussions with Miguel and the others – but I didn’t have visions or experience other interesting spiritual events.  I enjoyed visiting the ball courts, various pyramids, and the peninsula, but it wasn’t really a life changing experience.  However, I did have one very important epiphany on that trip that has changed the way that I think about much of what I do.

Chichén Itzá is a restored pyramid ceremonial complex that was built more than a thousand years ago by the joint efforts of the Mayans and the Toltecs.  It has been cleared out from the lush green, jungle-like surroundings. The days of our visit were warm and comfortable, with clear blue skies. 

Our tour of about thirty people broke up into two groups, a men’s group and a women’s group to do some spiritual “work.”  The men’s group was led by a teacher who instructed us in meditation, becoming centered and similar activities.  He did a good job and was interesting, but since I had been working on these kinds of things for the past forty years I really didn’t find anything particularly new.  While there wasn’t anything “new” in his teachings, the location certainly was new to me.  It was beautiful sitting under the big shade tree next to the base of Chichén Itzá, listening to the lessons and watching the people in the large grassy area around the pyramid.  The day was a beautiful warm day in a magical location, enjoyed with loving people.  I just settled in to enjoy the experience.

After resting for awhile in the shade the tree, we were asked to walk by ourselves around the pyramid, stopping at each side to contemplate whatever came up.  I walked around the first two sides, mainly in awe of the work and workmanship evidenced by the structure.  I found it amazing that the builders had gone to so much effort, at such as huge expense, to build – what?  Is it more than just a big pile of stones?  Obviously this thing had a great utility in their lives, but what could it have been?

As I walked along I started to wonder if there was something that I needed to know that I might learn in this place.  I recalled a problem that I keep running into about my “creative side.”  I have always wanted, yearned, and desired to be “creative” in an artistic sense.  I believe that I am fairly creative technically (I am a creative builder, designer, engineer and craftsman) but don’t feel competent when it comes to artistic endeavors such as drawing, writing, painting or doing any other “creative” activities.  I realized that I want to do these things, and was trying to do them, but was not feeling successful in my attempts.  My entire relationship with “art” was as a person trying to do something.  For example, when I talked to people about my movie making efforts, I explained that I was in the process of learning how to make videos – rather than that I was making videos.  The same thing applied to my drawing efforts.  I claimed to be doodling to learn how to draw, not that I was drawing.

Over the years I have been told that I am a terrible writer, and that I had no chance of ever getting better at it.  I was told by an art teacher that I had no talent and shouldn’t even bother with it.  I have been told many of these things, and agreed with the tellers.

With these thoughts drifting through my head, I sat under a big old shade tree and fell into a meditation while contemplating the pyramid.

All of a sudden it dawned on me, the problem that I have with my relationship with art isn’t that I can’t do art, it is that I am always trying to do it, rather than just doing it. I realized that of course I can be artistic, I can do art.Maybe nobody but me will appreciate it, but so what?  All I need to do is do things for myself, nobody needs to know, and I don’t have to judge it based upon what I think their opinions will be.  I don’t need to try to do anything, I just need to do it the best that I can at the moment.  That is all that I can do and it is just right.

Maybe it won’t be as good as I would like, maybe others will think that it is childish or amateurish, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t art or that it isn’t important to me.  It all seemed so obvious and silly all of a sudden.  All that I had to do was stop trying.  It isn’t even that I had to start doing, I was already doing art with my videos, writing, doodling, woodwork, and many other things that I do in my life.  Rather than stop trying and start doing, it became more like “stop trying, and let it be.”  Nothing has to change except for the story in my head.

This little awakening made me feel like my feet had been loosened from the ground, I felt lighter and freer. It was as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.   The outcomes of my efforts no longer mattered so much, I could stop “trying” and start just being.  I could move from the future when I might learn to do these things to the present where I do them.

When we got back to the hotel that day I went to my room, got out my sketch pad and went back to the pyramids to see what would happen if I just started to draw and not worry about learning how to do it, or trying to do it right.  I decided to just let it come without forcing or really worrying about it.  I could always tear it out and throw it away if I didn’t like what I did.

I went back and sat under a big sprawling tree and started to sketch one of the pyramids.  What to my wondering eyes should appear but a reasonable sketch of what I was looking at.  It didn’t look at all bad, and in fact was a pretty good rendition of what I was seeing and feeling.  A couple of kids noticed what I was doing, and came over to watch. A small boy stood behind my shoulder watching the drawing appear with me, while his little sister sat on a large limb not far away.  All of us watched in fascination as the images formed on the paper.  I think I was probably more fascinated than they because they didn’t understand the mystery of it – to them I was probably just a tourist who came to draw the pyramids. 

As I drew the sketch, I noticed a very unusual thing about it – the vantage point was all wrong.  The drawing was from a point very close to the height of the pyramid while in actual fact I was sitting on the ground at the level of the base of the pyramid.  I could not see the view that I was drawing, that view came from someplace in my mind’s eye, but not from what I was actually seeing.  I realized that part of the “art” of this drawing was in creating an interpretation of what I was seeing, rather than just making a crude photographic like image of it.  I was unconsciously selecting objects and vantage points to render something other than just a rendition of what was entering my eye. 

During the rest of this trip I purposefully took the time to sit and make sketches of things in my surroundings, such as the ancient “observatory” almost hidden in the dense foliage across the road from the front door of our hotel.  I found that making these sketches had a way of slowing time for me, it seemed to open a space for me to more closely observe and feel the place where I was sitting.  Instead of rushing from place to place, thinking whatever thoughts were rushing around in my mind, stopping to sketch allowed me time to stop and just enjoy where I was. 

Looking back at those sketches brings back the feelings, smells, temperature and experiences in ways that photographs or post cards cannot approach.  Somehow the simple act of sketching the scenes formed memories that go much deeper and are more lasting than I normally form while moving through life.

Shaman and Modern Equipment

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During a trip to China in  2006, my wife and I were visiting some “indigenous” villages in the southern part of the country.  I am not sure which peoples these were, but they were probably Miao people, or possibly it was a Dong village in the province of Guizhou.  It is my understanding that the Miao, and possible the Dong, people came to China from southeast Asia, and are related to the Hmong people in Vietnam and Laos.  They make up a couple of the 55 or so recognized minority groups in China. 

The village where we were staying was ancient looking, with the winding trails through town being just wide enough to let a water buffalo though on the way from its stall in the farmers’ homes to the fields.  The houses in town were all hand hewn, hand made, two-story buildings that tend to lean in various directions – sometimes in several directions within one building.  There were no automobiles, stores or other attributes of a modern town.  These are deeply religious peoples, but mostly believing in “shaman” style religions, based upon ancient knowledges and practices.

One morning we were taking a walk through town with our wonderful guide, Xiao (pronounced like the first four letters in “shower”).  We turned a corner and came upon a very old, hunched over shaman standing in the front of the doorway to a house, performing a healing ceremony for the lady of the house who was apparently quite sick.  Since there is no access to modern medical attention in these remote villages, the shaman is the doctor of choice.  My guess is that even if modern doctors are available, the shaman is still the doctor of choice.

He had some items in his hands that he was waving in prayer, and was chanting/singing a long prayer song.  When he saw us, especially my video camera, he made it clear that we were welcome to watch, and to take videos of his service – so of course I did take footage of that interesting event.  He stood in the doorway for a few minutes longer, until he apparently finished his work – and then rather abruptly packed up his things and left.  It seemed a little odd to me that there was really no tapering off of the ceremony, one minute he was deep in prayer and the next he just stopped and walked away.  Obviously he was finished with that healing

This was interesting at the time, but I discovered that something odd had happened when I was finally at home and editing my “travel video.”  I had taken about 30 hours of video while on this trip.  My practice is to take more video than I think I need and then edit it down to a manageable length video, in the case an hour “feature” of our trip through Asia.  I copied all of that footage into my computer and began to work my way through it, selecting scenes that I felt were important, and adjusting their duration so that they create a better pace for the viewer. 

I was anxious to include the shaman footage because it was so unusual and striking.  I easily found the footage, but discovered to my dismay that while the visual part was perfect, it had no audio!  Out of the 30 hours or so of raw footage, there was one two minute segment that had no audio – this segment.  Not just no sound, but no sound track at all – just blank tape that hadn’t been recorded on, not even with a silent signal. 

All the rest of the tape was perfect, just as I had expected.   I was so perplexed that I got my camera out to see if there was a chance that I had accidentally turned off the audio recording feature.  However, that camera is a “point and shoot” model that doesn’t have a way to turn off the audio – you get sound no matter what you want.  You can’t adjust the volume, and can’t turn it off.  So, as far as I am concerned it remains a mystery.

November 2021 – Journal of the System Safety Society

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This morning I was sitting in the pre-dawn morning enjoying a cup of coffee and reading a little book about some of the Buddha’s teachings called the Abhidharma.  (The Abihdarma is an ancient philosophy concerning the nature of mind.)  I am not a “scholar” of Buddhism (or any other “ism” for that matter), but now and then I enjoy contemplating things along these lines, or perhaps modern physics – they are both just about as difficult to grasp.

The house had a bit of chill, so I decided to make a fire in the wood stove instead of just turning on the heater.  I went out to the wood stack to get a firewood, gathered some kindling and preceded to make a fire – I thought.  I laid the fire with care; positioned a bit of crumpled newspaper as an ignition source, carefully positioned the logs and kindling.  I lit the fire, which flared up nicely and settled back down to read my book. 

After a few minutes I noticed that my nice cheery fire was out!  I got up and found that my newspaper had burned up nicely, but that was about all that happened.  So I preceded to put more paper in, rearranged my kindling, and tried again.  This time it got the point where I could hear the satisfying crackle of wood burning.  I was sure of being successful – only to shortly discover that while the logs had ignited, that quickly died down to just being glowing embers.  I had failed once again.

Not wanting to give up at this point I went back to the stove to see if I could find a better solution.  While looking at my layout I recalled a lesson that my older brother had given me decades ago, “The logs need to be close to a partner log so the air flows briskly between them and the heat of the fire radiates to their partner log.”  I realized that I positioned the logs too far from their “buddy” logs for this to occur.  I moved one of the logs about a half inch closer to the other and went back to my chair to see what would happen.  Within a very short amount of time I had a really pleasant fire – meeting my intention perfectly.  About that time my wife came into room and complemented me on building such a “romantic” fire!  I killed two birds with one stone that time around.

You might wonder what this has to do with System Safety, or my normal TBD offering. 

I realized that the fire building exercise might be an almost perfect analogy to what I have been hoping to foster within the International System Safety Society (ISSS), the System Safety profession or anything else applicable to this journal.  Let me try to explain the connection.

For the past few decades I have been hoping to do something to assist the ISSS grow to be an organization that is as important and influential as I know it should be.  I am convinced that the SS process is highly effective and efficient at reducing risks while adding important fiscal and social value to products and systems of all kinds.  I believe that it is the duty/role of the ISSS to foster that process and help expand it into all industries and processes, worldwide.  The dual approach of integrating engineering and management practices into the process of designing, implementing and “fielding” products and systems holds the promise of a better, safer, more environmentally appropriate future.  In short, I think it is BIG deal. 

However, over the years I have noticed a rather disappointing trend whereby we (the ISSS) continually go through waves of enthusiasm and discouragement.  Our history seems to be littered with groups of people, and individuals, who take up the task of “reinvigorating” (or perhaps vigorating) the ISSS, of expanding the scope into many industries, or otherwise promoting and providing training that matches the potential importance of the process.  Things get started, excitement builds to “do something”, meetings are met, papers are written – and then it dies down once again.  Our membership grows to over a thousand individuals, and then decreases back to a few hundred.  (It is my firm opinion that to properly reflect the importance of the approach the membership should be in the tens of thousands, rather than a few hundred.)

This brings me back to my experience with my wood stove.  Like the stove, we work at gathering the fuel, laying the fire, putting in the starter and kindling that we think is necessary, light the process and watch it blossom for a little while – and then die out again.  I have watched this happen three or four times in the past thirty years, it is a frustrating and disappointing cycle.  We keep looking for better logs, better fire starting materials, better kindling – we get out the bellows in an attempt to blow fire into the society – but with little on-going success.

Perhaps we have gathered the correct materials, perhaps we have them ready to go, perhaps we haven’t been wrong in our overall approach – perhaps we just need to make a small adjustment so that we create a chimney between the forces of supply and demand.  There is an obvious demand for the kinds of things that we do, hence the plethora of standards and guidelines based loosely upon the “system safety approach”.  These are created in many industries around the world – but they keep getting it wrong because while they like the ideas – they don’t see the entire picture of what it is we do.  They take pieces and parts of the process, but not the whole thing.  There is a supply of people (our members and those in the profession who are no longer members of the Society) with the skills and knowledge to make it happen – but they are unable to find effective ways to work with the demand.  We (the ISSS) are perfectly situated to provide training, expertise, mentoring leading to the skills and knowledge required to meet the demand.  However, we have been unable to get past the “hump” of making that happen.  Perhaps we just need to find the right thing(s) to shift a very small amount to get the fire burning vigorously – finally giving off the light and heat that we are offering to the world community.

I don’t know what that might be, it is not clear to me what “logs” need to be rearranged to bring this about – but that might be much more effective than our cycle of gathering the wood, laying the fire, and watching it dwindle.  Maybe we have the fire already lit – we just need to find a way to let the air get to the fire, and for the fire to bridge the gap.

The Nature of Reality

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The other morning I found myself in a conversation concerning the nature of reality – a nice tidy topic over a morning cup of coffee!

I took the position that we have no way of understanding the nature of reality because we have no direct access to it.  My thoughts on this are that our only contacts with “what is” are through our senses of sight, touch, smell, hearing and perhaps some others such as acceleration, detection of motion, etc.  Basically all of these begin with the activation of a nerve sensor of some sort.  Once the nerve has been activated it sends a signal along one or more nerves to the brain.  Once these electo-chemical signals reach our brain, they are “decoded” into something that we interpret as “realty”.  We don’t actually “perceive” an image of a tree; we “perceive” our brain’s creation of an experience.  Perhaps our reconstruction is accurate, perhaps it is not – we have no way of knowing. I am color blind, therefore I am pretty sure that I perceive the colors differently than others. 

I think of this process as providing the input for our brain to construct a “dream” of the world, and that dream is what we interpret as “reality.”  We literally dream the universe into existence.  Of course that doesn’t imply that there isn’t a “real” reality – it just means that we don’t have a way to access it directly. 

One of my friends in this conversation took a bit of offense at my point of view, apparently it didn’t sit so well that I perhaps think that I am not only the center of the universe, but that I somehow “create” it.  He insisted that he was positive that I was not “creating” him because he knew who he was and he is real and separate from me.  He is himself and not a creation of my imagination.

His assertion made me chuckle because it reminded me of a number of “lucid” dreams that I have had over the years.  There was a period of time a few years ago where I had extremely “real” lucid dreams on a regular basis.  These dreams were always located in the same house, with the same group of people, being taught by a lady that professed to be a shaman.  I knew the people in the group in my waking life, but have no idea who the leader might have been – she was just a dream to me.  These dreams were indistinguishable from real “reality” – almost.  I found early on that if I looked at my hands I could easily determine that they were dreams, not a real “reality.”  The distinguishing features of my hands in dreams are that I have five fingers, and a thumb!  If I get confused, I can always look at my hands and determine if I am dreaming or awake.  Other than that, the room was full of normal things, normal colors, normal smells and normal sounds.  Things were solid, stable, and didn’t change into weird things that would give it away. The meetings would go on for hours.

One of the common points of discussion during these dreams was exactly the same as my friend made the other morning.  The people in my dream would argue that I must be mistaken, it couldn’t be a dream because they were feeling things, they had their own point of view.  They insisted that they had their own “personal reality.”  Of course, from my point of view they did not have a separate existence.  I had no means of experiencing what they were experiencing from their point of view, just as I can’t experience my friend’s experiences except from my point of view as an outsider.   So yes, he was certain that he was real and I wasn’t creating him, but that actually didn’t explain much – my dream friends expressed the exact same arguments.

My understanding of how we come to know reality leaves a bit to be desired.  What makes it much worse is that not only is this a rather untenable point of view, but I (and all of us) have many experiences indicating that it isn’t just a philosophical point of view, it is how things work.  One humorous example that I recall was one day driving over some nearby mountains to visit my parents.  I was driving in a stretch of highway that allowed me to just kind of sit back and enjoy the ride.  At one point I was driving past a large billboard that had some kind of bold message (I don’t recall the words) that were big, bold and clear.  I didn’t pay much attention, but quickly realized that the words made absolutely no sense in the context of the graphics – so I looked again, but upon a second look the words had changed to different words that did make sense.  I didn’t misread the words, I SAW different words the first time.  Another example of a similar, and frustrating, experience was when I accompanied a good friend on a bird census expedition into the depths of the Australian “outback.”  We spent weeks traveling around the center of Australia while he identified and counted birds.  We would often be in a wooded area where he would see and count hundreds of birds.  I never was able to see any of them – I just didn’t know how to spot them, or perhaps the internal filters in my brain weren’t tuned to picking out what were clearly obvious parts of reality to him, but were missing from my observations.  I usually couldn’t find them even when he attempted to point them out to me. 

We all have experiences of “seeing” things that aren’t there, or not seeing things that are.  So which is it?  Are those things actually there or not?  Is there any way of knowing for certain one way or the other?  I think not.

However, that doesn’t mean that I discount the reality of reality – I think it is there, I think things are there, I think the universe exists – I just am not certain about what I think I know.  Obviously other animals experience things that I can’t experience, and I am pretty sure that we experience things that they can’t experience (such as the meaning of words). 

Because of the existence of “brain filters” I am pretty sure that my experience of reality is not the same as your experience of it, even if we are standing side-by-side apparently exposed to the same things.  Not only do we “notice” different things, we actually see different things.  More importantly we assign different meanings and emotions to them.  We imbue the things within our experience with meanings and emotions that were created long ago in our upbringing, or possibly without our genetics.  I cannot know your world, and you can’t know mine in more fundamental and important ways than we usually accept.  It is not only difficult to walk in another person’s shoes – it is impossible to do so.   We all experience a different and unique existence.  In many ways we are fundamentally alone.

The understanding of the aloneness that we live in can be rather spooky and distressing, or it can be liberating.  We no longer have to worry that we are different (of course we are, there is no other possibility), or don’t have to judge others and ourselves nearly so harshly.  After all, how can we really judge something that we can’t know or understand?  We can observe, we can try to give them (and ourselves) some slack, we can even know that some behaviors just plain don’t work in Society, but we might be a little more lenient about judging others based upon what we would do if we were in their shoes.  We have no idea about the shoes they are wearing, and it is very likely that we would do the same.  Our realities are just different, that is all.

The bottom line is that it doesn’t seem like we have a way to know what the “real” reality is, we just have to work with what we get and make the most of it.  I personally like to assume that what I experience is “real”, that I am not missing anything too important, and go on about my business as if I know better. I don’t know what else to do, but I do know that maybe I shouldn’t be quite so certain that I know all that is important to know and do not be so quite to come to judgement, either for myself or others.  It is all an assumption, and assumptions can be wrong – they are just tentative working hypotheses that all me to move along.  

And this inability to know what is real extends beyond merely our inability to match our vision with what it in front of us.  My education is in physics.  Talk about a fundamental mismatch between what is seemingly possible and what IS – and not just at the teeny tiny realm of fundamental particles.  The inability to know what is “real” extends to all levels of the universe, from the worlds of zero dimensions and zero mass to the entire universe (and beyond, if there is a beyond) and everything in between. We just don’t know, but we have to make working assumptions.  I think it is important to realize that they are just assumptions, not anything real.