The Dark Knight

This is not a review of a movie.

The idea of “insight” has been revisiting my mind lately. I read an article about it somewhere, about a month ago, and I’ve been thinking about it since. The word has made me pause wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, and has forced me to pay attention to exactly what it is that I am currently committing myself to. The word reminds me that no matter how trivial I think my current actions are, no matter how little repercussions I think they might have, they are still, after all, commitments.

Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight is two and half hours long. I think it needs that much time for the cement to cure and harden. If the movie were shorter, there would be an imbalance of too much action versus too little thought. There would not be enough time to examine the repercussions.

The movie’s storytelling style isn’t typical of a superhero movie, where the beginning and middle serve to build up pressure for the big battle in the end. Instead, the movie introduces a purpose, acts according to the needs of that purpose, and then takes time to reflect on what action was taken. Just as in real life, each action has consequences. Just as in real life, most of them are not heroic.

Last night, while listening to a presentation on the Internet, I heard someone boldly say, “America lives in a state of anesthesia.” Most blockbuster movies are just that way, relentless and consuming, building a momentum that doesn’t yield to any moment of pause or reflection. The momentum is the drug, the ignorance the anesthesia.

The Dark Knight did not give me the drug I was looking for. It did not give me the mindless action or the prescribed storyline. It did not tell me whom to root for, and whom to boo against. It did not force feed me the meal that I too often expect.

And so I hungered during the movie. I hungered for sameness. I hungered for an easily digestable understanding of the characters’ motives. I hungered for the Batman to be the hero, for the Joker to be the villain. I hungered for an easy way out.

The movie kept reminding me that when there is insight, there is no easy way out. It is much harder work to think, act, and then reflect, than it is to simply act. It is much harder work to not follow. It is much harder work to be alone in your convictions.

Throughout the movie, the Batman is trying to undo his own importance. A week ago, my spiritual big brother said a similar thing about his job. “The more easily replaceable I am, the better,” he said.

Many ideas have been running through my mind lately. Sometimes it takes time for the cement to cure and harden.

Dancing

No movie I have ever seen has made me as happy as this four and a half minute video.

Here's the YouTube link with a link to the high quality version:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY&feature=user

About Matt Harding and the video:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/08/arts/
television/08dancer.html?_r=1&8dpc&oref=slogin

The lyrics to the song were written by Rabindranath Tagore, from his poem, "Stream of Life":

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

Tagore, the first Asian to win the Nobel prize, is also quoted as saying, "Every child comes with the message that God is not yet tired of the man."

Right Happy Elbow

From what I know, there are dozens of things to pay attention to when trying to hit a golf ball properly, from keeping your lead forearm straight through the back swing, to connecting with the turf just a smidge below the ball in such a manner as to make that perfect sounding “thump” at the moment of impact. Over the years, I’ve tried to figure out what exactly to think about when taking a swing, or if I should not think at all.

I went to the driving range today, after not having hit a golf ball for a year. I expected nothing from myself. I expected nothing from the visit, except for a bit of space and quiet. Luckily, it was 2pm on a Thursday, so hardly anyone was around. The day was just warm enough to sweat a little, with a light breeze to cool the sweat.

In the past, I would get at least a medium bucket of 60 balls, and more often a large bucket of 80 balls, or more. I would force myself to hit every single ball, until my aim and composure was gone from exhaustion. I would force myself to keep hitting with the same club until I got the swing memorized, near perfect. I would force myself to keep hitting until my hands hurt. Only when I perfected the swing using the same club would I go to the next.

Today, I got a small bucket, 40 balls. I took my time stretching. I watched two young brothers with matching junior golf bags and same-colored shoes follow their father to the first tee. I heard children walking home from school on the sidewalk next to the street. I didn’t hear birds. I didn’t hear cars. I noticed that some tree branches were partly obscuring the California flag on the right pole, and that all three flagpoles were at full mast. I realized that a significant American figure hadn't died recently.

After fifteen minutes, I decided to hit the first ball. It felt good. The ball went straight. The ball went far enough to be good enough.

During that first swing, I noticed that my right elbow was happy. It was happy because it was in the right place at the right time, doing the right thing, and so was the rest of my body. My right elbow was happy because I didn’t go too fast, or too slow, didn’t swing too hard or too soft. My right elbow was happy because I enjoyed the scenery. And I had turned my cell phone off.

And so before each of the next 37 swings, I focused on my right elbow. As I was swinging, I would ask it, “How are you feeling during this swing?” When I paid attention to my right elbow, a good swing happened. When I didn’t, a bad swing happened.

Out of 38 swings, I listened to my right elbow 30 times.

With two balls left in the bucket, my right elbow told me that it wanted to go home. And so I did. On the walk back to my car, I again noticed the tree branches partly obscuring the flag. A white truck with four golfers backed into a parking spot. I didn’t hear the birds singing not because I wasn’t listening, but simply because there were no birds singing. A light breeze blew past the left side of the back of my head, and cooled me.

Artisan

I took the Keirsey Temperament Sorter test at www.keirsey.com. Here's my report:

Custom Keirsey Temperament Report for: Gerardo

Your Keirsey Temperament Sorter Results indicates that your personality type is that of the ARTISAN.

All Artisans (SPs) share the following core characteristics:

* Artisans pride themselves on being unconventional, bold, and spontaneous.

* Artisans are excitable, trust their impulses, want to make a splash, seek stimulation, prize freedom, and dream of mastering action skills.

* Artisans tend to be fun-loving, optimistic, realistic, and focused on the here and now.

* Artisans make playful mates, creative parents, and troubleshooting leaders.

Artisans are the temperament with a natural ability to excel in any of the arts, not only the fine arts such as painting and sculpting, or the performing arts such as music, theater, and dance, but also the athletic, military, political, mechanical, and industrial arts, as well as the "art of the deal" in business.

Artisans are most at home in the real world of solid objects that can be made and manipulated, and of real-life events that can be experienced in the here and now. Artisans have exceptionally keen senses, and love working with their hands. They seem right at home with tools, instruments, and vehicles of all kinds, and their actions are usually aimed at getting them where they want to go, and as quickly as possible. Thus Artisans will strike off boldly down roads that others might consider risky or impossible, doing whatever it takes, rules or no rules, to accomplish their goals. This devil-may-care attitude also gives the Artisans a winning way with people, and they are often irresistibly charming with family, friends, and co-workers.

Artisans want to be where the action is; they seek out adventure and show a constant hunger for pleasure and stimulation. They believe that variety is the spice of life, and that doing things that aren't fun or exciting is a waste of time. Artisans are impulsive, adaptable, competitive, and believe the next throw of the dice will be the lucky one. They can also be generous to a fault, always ready to share with their friends from the bounty of life. Above all, Artisans need to be free to do what they wish, when they wish. They resist being tied or bound or confined or obligated; they would rather not wait, or save, or store, or live for tomorrow. In the Artisan view, today must be enjoyed, for tomorrow never comes.

There are many Artisans, perhaps 30 to 35 percent of the population, which is good, because they create much of the beauty, grace, fun, and excitement the rest of us enjoy in life.


While reading my results, I kept focusing on the word freedom.

State of Grace

My friend once told me that when I wake from a dream, and I try to remember what the dream was about, that I should pay less attention to what happened in the dream, and more attention to how I felt during the dream, and how I felt as soon as I woke up.

Every day, we deal with things—the alarm clock, the morning coffee, our clothes, our hair, the cellphone, the radio, what we ate for lunch. Most of the information on the Internet are about things, and I think most of the blogs have to do with things. Things are evaluated, discussed, and purchased according to their ratings on Amazon.com and Epinions. After they are purchased, they are discussed some more, compared, further rated after a certain time of use.

The other aspect we very often talk about are occurrences, what happened during which we were able to use the things that we acquired. Where did one go, what did one do over there, who did one socialize with, what kind of drama happened, did anyone meet anyone special, did anyone fall in love, did anyone get angry at someone, did anyone break up with whom, and how all of this changes the social structure of any given system.

During the acquisition and consumption of these things, and during these occurrences, our attitudes change, our feelings change, our regard for others as well as ourselves change. During any given day, any given moment, our states of mind are the results of things and occurrences. During any moment, our states of mind are at the whim of that moment. Are they?

My dream was in a chapel, and in the dream I am at the age I am now. We sat in the front row on the right side facing the altar. I sat next to my mother and father. I am an only child, and when I was young, whenever we went to mass, my father would sit on one side of my mother and I would sit on the other side. In a sense, the men protected the woman. We sat like this in the dream.

The chapel was bright, with the sunlight streaming in from the lightly stained glass windows. Near the front of the altar sat the church keeper. I don’t know what else to call him, but he reminded me of Hagrid from the Harry Potter movies. This church keeper, I’ll call him Hagrid from now on, also dressed in rags, but was skinnier and closer to the height of a normal human being.

In his hands and arms, Hagrid cradled a bouquet of gray, flat pasta. During the mass, he would take small handfuls of the pasta and eat it like chewing tobacco. The way Hagrid ate the pasta, it looked like it was delicious.

Halfway through the mass, during the time when offerings are made, Hagrid stood up and walked to my mother. Shifting the pasta so that he cradled it in his right arm, Hagrid reached into his left jacket pocket with his left hand and took out a large handful of cut pasta, which looked like communion bread, but square in shape. He placed the communion bread into my mother’s hands and told her, “Give this to the people.”

He then turned to me, and with his left hand, now empty, reached into the bouquet of cradled pasta, and took out a small handful, and gave it to me. His small handful of the gray, flat pasta became a huge handful as he placed it in my hands. He then told me, “This is for when you need it.”

As he walked away, I took a small bite of the pasta. Instead of a taste, I felt a feeling. The feeling was calm and full, overwhelming but controlled. After taking the smallest bite of it, I felt like I would never need to eat anything again. I felt fulfilled.

One of my dogs, Dixie, a black pomeranian, died recently from complications from old age. Within two weeks, and numerous doctor visits, her internal organs finally failed her. While she was alive, my family and I spoiled her with attention and treats, and never hesitated to spend whatever time and money were needed for proper medical care. We were hoping that at her death, she remembered us as doing our best to care for her while she was alive.

In the same dream, Dixie appeared to me. This time, she was blonde, like her younger brother Jazz, who is still with us. In the dream, she was a little younger and lot more active, barking and jumping like a wind-up toy, with a big smile on her face.

Maybe it’s not true, but I’d like to think she visited me in the dream, and told me that she’s okay now, and wanted to thank me and my family for taking care of her.

Although I do my best to be pragmatic, practical, I woke up from the dream one step closer to knowing that God exists. I woke up from the dream feeling invincible. As if all the things and occurrences and drama of every day life are just what they truly are, temporary. I woke up knowing that the only real constant worth striving for is a state of grace.