More about the first time I "went over".

The first time I had a "near death" experience, I mentioned things going black inside my head. I left out some of the sensations, because I was tired of rehashing them but I guess some people might feel they were important.

One- I felt like I was falling up when I first started through that darkness. It was truly not what most people experience when they are in the dark- the silence and darkness were absolute.

Two- When I made my choices at the end, I realized that everything there was just window dressing for my own benefit. What lay behind it was what counted, but I had made my choice by then.

Three- It could have been any number of things, like hallucinations from the bites, etc. But the layer of greasy gray dead skin that was all over me said death. It has only happened one more time to me.

Four- I am not absolutely sure I died. I mean, you kind of need someone else standing there to make that kind of verification. But I think some half dozen black widow bites kind of qualifies as pushing that envelope.

Five- I do have my own beliefs about what happened, in detail. But I am holding back on that until I write more about my second time. The second time gives me more of a reference for explanation.

Online App Roundup

I've been trying out some apps online. Some are new, some have been around for a while but I just didn't believe the hype, and tried them later:

Pandora - How did I listen to music before this?! I hadn't heard of Regina Spektor prior to today... DAMN, after a 6 year hiatus, I am buying music again!

Zoho - Actually, this online office suite pre-dates Google's purchase of Writely to start their office apps line. They were a pay only for the personal version, but have since migrated their pricing to a business line of online apps that are pretty freakin' incredible. I am only halfway through my evaluation of them, but I am already recommending people who use Google to consider moving over. The personal version is free, and there are several features that kick ass over Google:

• Their senior management actually reads and responds to their forum posts.
• They actually have support email addresses for all of their products, and you get a real person responding to you even for the free products.
• You can share some or all of your contacts with individuals and groups with three clicks of a mouse. This was a major sticking point I had with Google's "business" apps.
• A notes application that is functionally an online version of Microsoft's OneNote. Having OneNote tied to a single system was always a sticking point with me, but it is an incredibly productive app. Nice to have it online :).
• An app dashboard that is fully configurable.
• Chat that you can embed into web pages. This is a very nice feature.
• Zoho's wiki is better.
• Highly configurable interface, and better security features.
  
• I could go on, but I think you get the idea now.

gOS- "Good" OS tries to bill itself as the premier web connected OS, but it is just Ubuntu Linux, with some laptop optimizations predone and desktop space saving features pre-configured. I like using it on my itty bitty laptop that tries, and I feel it is probably the most user friendly of the Ubuntu derivitaves. But I just don't see the web hype they attach to the few things they modify on the base system. Prizm is nice, but I can just open firefox with tabs and hit F11 and get better overall functionality (Prizm is not tabs aware, so you get a new window EVERY time you hit a link). Really nice for older laptops and systems with small screens, though.

Undeath, the first time

Back in The Wifes Alright, The Kids Alright... I alluded to the notion that I had been through not one, but two near death experiences.

I'll be honest and come clean. I was wrong.

It was more like three, but the first two, I really went over. At least, as far as I am concerned or care to believe.

The first time I died, I hadn't even realized my death had occurred until about 12 hours or more after the event. I was 14, and woke up with my arm feeling numb. Figuring I had slept on it all night the "wrong way", I ignored the 5 or 6 pimples on it and went to school. Later that evening, I was admitted to the emergency room with uncontrollable shaking, aches, and papules raising up all over my body. Those had apparently been black widow bites and the emergency room doc was close to freaking out. I think he was wondering how I was still standing, much less alive. Normally, these things usually happen within a short time of the bites, not hours later.

So, let's take a step back to when the bites happened, and what occurred for the few hours after that. This is something important to consider when thinking about how things happen and why.

While I was sleeping, my dreams stopped. I remembered this very very clearly, because it is pretty unusual for my brain just to go black for no reason while I am sleeping, and then for a bunch of other weird shit to start up. The weird shit in question was my walking through a thicker and thicker forest in winter, and I wasn't dressed for the cold. I was still shivering, but as I went through the deepest parts, almost falling through, it became more temperate and the worst of the cold stopped. It was weird because I felt totally awake and aware, when I knew I had just been asleep and lying in my bed. I also knew I wasn't in my body doing this either. As I said, for a fourteen year old, weird.

I came to a wooded glade, and found this kind of middle earth style encampment. Everything seemed almost hyper-real as I looked at it, as if every single thing in the camp had its own purpose, its own reason. I met with the people in that camp after I had explored around a bit. Well, people might be a bit off- they were centaurs.

Ok, ok, I know, a 14 year old kid gets bit by black widows and dreams of centaurs. Don't worry, it gets more strange.

While were were there, I and the centaurs conversed, but not in any language. We didn't really speak, per se. They made their intentions and notions felt to me, and vice versa. Essentially, they broke it down for me- the camp was only what I wanted or needed to see, as with their appearance. They were waiting for me, and if I wanted to, I could go now and experience existence much like this. I only had to go through a cave, and I would never worry about having to come back.

The idea of living in a world where intentions were clear, and everything had its meaning and purpose clear to me, that was too much to pass up. Of course I made my way to the cave!

That is when the problems started. First, I had my own doubts. My own way to and through the cave was paved with them, in the form of books with them printed on the front as titles. They grew and crowded around me as I struggle my way further into the cave. I even began to doubt myself. From that moment, I heard the worst fighting behind me that you could imagine. The camp folk were being attacked, and were suffering. A group of people wanting to take me back had come, and were laying waste to the camp and the centaurs, and were being harmed as well. Unlike the fantasy camp folk, these were people with guns and technology, and the small group of them were just beating the crap out of the middle earth types.

I felt guilty. That is why I stopped, and turned around. I did not want anyone to suffer for my loss if I went ahead to the next world, so I stopped, and turned my back on heaven. The centaurs, it was hard to tell because of my own emotions, but they felt a mixture of resignation and disappointment. They did not protest my stopping and going back. The people who came for me had only praise and bravado, but I was going back because I wanted peace between the two worlds more than I wanted to transition them myself. I didn't know how I would get that, but I couldn't go yet.

Back through the woods. Back to the darkness. When I fell into my body, it felt like I had just dropped from the ceiling into myself. I woke up, and my arm was hurting, and I was gray and ashen. It took a long time to wash whatever I had sweated up over the night.

Later on, after more time and reflection, I realized that the skin stuff was likely from having died. I only experienced it once again, and that time was by choice.

I still miss heaven. Staying here makes me miss it more. Growing up, I heard all of these stories about how people died and came back after seeing hell, and became better people because they did not want to go back there. So, try and imagine what it was like to taste heaven, and come back here.

We all have reasons for choosing not to die. Mine will become more clear after a couple of more stories. The next time I died, I was ready for it, and wanted it.

Semi silent New Year's meditation

I have failed this year. Failed spectacularly, as I am wont to do when I do fail. Here are some meditations on failure:

• I failed to meet obscure reporting requirements.
• I failed at being a better provider by finding a better job, and instead have enjoyed the last year focusing on my health and my family.
• I failed in keeping to my promise NOT to start a non-profit.
• I failed at being a good authoritative figure for my daughter. She realizes at 4 that I am fallible and can make mistakes, and that I can be convinced to build a marble run for her just before bedtime if it seems in any way educational for her.
• I failed to give a laptop away to my neighbor's kid. This is why I am starting a non-profit.
• I failed to lose the weight I wanted to this year due to having discovered gluten & dairy free alternatives to brownies and ice cream.
• Even with the extra eating, I failed to make my diabetes worse. Maybe because I don't even show up as diabetic if I am not exposed to gluten or casein.
• I failed to go even three months without some kind of exposure to gluten or casein.
• I failed to have more than one bad exposure for the year involving a doctor's care.
• I failed at being the best husband my wife deserves. She doesn't seem to notice.
• I failed to remember most birthdays and anniversaries this year. If I don't see you most of the year, I probably forgot. If I saw you often, then you know that I don't treat you any less special on the other 365 days I do often see you.
• I failed to come up with better excuses when I don't care about making excuses.
• I failed to go blind, and my vision loss is reversing.
• I failed to learn how to ride a recumbent bike. I will probably end up like Sherlock Holmes did with his violin- owning one and using it poorly out of the sight of polite company.
• I failed to be stoic toward the end of the year, and wept for my dead daughter when nobody was looking.
• I failed to notice the wife was around. She's good at that when I need her.
• I failed miserably at making other peoples' demands more important than my time with my family and friends.
• I failed to completely reundiscombobulate the household network over the course of the year. I must be slipping... no, its the legos and trains. I love playing with them when Sophia is feeling creative and just has to build.
• I failed at not parking my kid in front of the tube. Well, at least its YouTube and its all educational stuff.
• I failed at not caring about the opinions of others when their opinions don't really matter much. Its one of the few vices I have left over from being Catholic and living with my guilt as if it were a security blanket.
• I failed at making enough personal time alone with my wife, but I would have to clone both of us for that to happen, and that would mean half of us would still be fretful.
• I failed to hold my temper, and scared the new cat. Actually, it was probably my biggest regret of the year because she doesn't really understand English yet, so it makes it hard to explain myself and apologize.
• I failed at being orderly and sensical, as this list clearly illustrates.
• I failed to understand all the reasons why my wife cries when she is embarrassed, but I did try to make her feel better.
• I failed to continue being kind to people who are mean to me. My energy is better spent on nicer people.
• I failed to have my family expend more carbon emissions than a comparable family in Europe. Or one in the Philippines, for that matter.
• I failed to pay my parking ticket on time.
• I failed at not making Swedish chef imitations while cooking. The last time I did that with gusto, I burnt off my eyebrows at the barbecue. I now do it under my breath.
• I failed to answer all of the email in my inbox.
• I failed to send gifts on time to people I care about.
• I failed to stop worrying that maybe I should be doing something heroic somewhere else in the world.
• I failed to ignore the fact that right here is someone's somewhere else, too.
• I failed at not feeling guilty over eating the last brownie.
• I failed at feeling very guilty at all over eating the last brownie because I can't eat the ice cream, or crackers and cream cheese, or the cheesy noodles, or the mint chocolate.
• I failed at not feeling vaguely responsible when my wife can't sleep.

So, now I am going to stop all the little clicking sound and go make sure the wife sleeps. But, remember, if you feel like a failure this year, you could always try to fail more than I have.

Commodity trading in the value of a human life

I was recently reminded of what it was like for me in the 80's looking for work, knowing that I had to be employed when I got old enough to graduate high school or I would be out on the street. I walked over 10 miles in 105 degree heat and knocked on every place that might hire a kid off the street. I applied at shoe stores, I applied as a floor sweeper at a fast food joint, and I applied everywhere that they did not tell me to get out because they had no work.

Aside from a Flock of Seagulls and some Twins not even related to each other, the 80's kinda sucked. Especially the job market.

There was no internet. You found work by going and talking to people, lots of people. By the time I reached Freeport Boulevard, I had walked from Florin-Perkins Road in the noon sun, after having canvassed from my street and neighborhood south of there. I wasn't having much luck, and really it was even worse because I was limited by not having a car or a bike at the time.

It wasn't until I reached an office complex at the end of my trip until someone treated me civilly and offered me some water and a chance to sit down and talk. They also offered me a job if I got my high school degree by next June.

There wasn't much thinking to do about taking the job. My other options were to go into selling speed and pot with some of my friends, or joining a gang and planning crimes. Really, that was about it, unless I wanted to steal a bike and widen my search space to, say, Oak Park where job prospects were bleaker.

Well, I wasn't into stealing or selling drugs. At least, I figured, that made me a moral person.

The irony, of course, is that I took the job to join a group who excel at one thing, and that is killing and brutalizing other people. I was able to rationalize the whole thing, and tell myself that I would only be participating in the deaths of people who we had a legitimate reason to fight with, and that we had learned our lessons from Vietnam and weren't going to go down that road again any time soon. Well, really, I told myself these things to rationalize that getting job training, life experience outside of the ghetto, and money that I would otherwise never get for college were worth possibly killing people over, if they were bad people.

Now that I am older I can look back and reflect on the irony that becoming a paid killer was a much better choice than simply selling people substances that they choose to take in order to have some fun and escape from their lives for a little while. Or, that creatively redistributing the wealth of others somehow was worse than being ordered to choose who dies in some foreign land. It is easy to make almost anything more palatable, even killing folks, if you state it the right way. You can even make it part of the culture, complete with rituals, exercises, prayers, and devotionals to ideals that few will ever really have a shot at living.

So I am now at a point in my life where my friends' kids are having to make similar choices. I get to watch them agonize over which direction their very limited lives should go, in an economy that is agonizingly worse and with much fewer job prospects in spite of having an internet and better public transportation. What kind of advice can I really give to a kid who has been held up at gunpoint twice in one year? What can I say when he has been looking for work for a year and a half with no bites? How can I convince him that staying in a 3 bedroom apartment shared between seven people is going to get better when his dad is treading water with what most people would call a "good job"?

All of his friends are in worse situations, with the lucky exclusion of none of them having been shot yet.

For all of my own experiences, and my vaunted values of non-violence as a Quaker, I cannot tell him to just buck it up and that things will work themselves out. That would be a lie. So, instead, I will accept that the world is imperfect, and that his situation is untenable, and I will give his family advice on how to do the minimum in support of murder while maximizing the benefits of the returns for his service.

I would not do this if I thought there was a better way. I am not going to ask him to stick it out for my principles, ones that he may not even hold. But what really grabs me is when my fellow humanitarians bemoan how everyone has a choice to kill, about how angry it makes them when people so cavalierly take the lives of others. I just shake my head in silence, as those in the peace movement so clearly value human life less than those who advocate for war.

There is a disconnect among those who practice peace in the United States, one that is crippling their cause and their purpose. On the one hand, the military offers people with a high school diploma and no skills an opportunity to gain experience, some marketable job skills, four years of work history, tens of thousands of dollars for college, progress toward a two or four year degree while being enlisted, housing benefits, room and board, clothing, and a stipend. On the other hand, there is not ONE peace related cause that will have ANY need for a high school graduate with no experience or skills, which will turn out a better person at the end of four years with a new start and the life knowledge to see new possibilities. Not one. The disconnect, if you cannot see it spelled out, is that people in the peace world will willingly support prisoners, refugees, the mentally ill homeless, abused mothers, etc- but they will not nurture anyone. How can one say they value life so much more than the military, when the value of the lives they hold dear is consistently held at a level of bare subsistence?

The peace community falls prey to the same idea that the value of human life is a commodity, something that can be traded upon, the suffering mitigated, but never much more than a minimum value that can be attained. What is truly sad, what makes my head slowly shake from side to side, is that people who believe that war can solve many of our issues are the ones raising the bar of human commodity higher, banding together over generations to make fighting wars a profession, giving those who submit to joining the military an extra boost to acheive a more stable standard of living. Not the peace people, the war people, are doing this.

There is no Peace Academy, teaching civil engineering and community building, that any high school graduate may apply to and strive for success with merely the clothes on their back and the head on their shoulders. There are no Reconstruction Societies where those with fewer opportunities are able to give service in peace to their communities and communities around the world, where they come out with more options than when they went in. But there are soup kitchens everywhere...

Consider the value of the market in human life, and think of how much peace values it.