Ego

Humans get into troubles for two reasons: ignorance and ego. Ignorance can be easily remedied while ego is a tougher problem since it is far more complex than ignorance. While ego is useful up to a point for a human to function, it often is the cause for destruction and self-destruction. I should know what I am talking about since I possess an ego which is quite wily and intractable. My recent run-ins with pitiful humans all involved ego, mine and theirs. While I was far more honest and upfront in acting and showing the world who I was, the other assholes hid behind the exterior and image and persona of being "nice" and "sensitive" and even "Buddha-like", but the assholes turned out exactly who they were: assholes when they were tested. They were mean, small, petty, and devoted to low blows in their attacks. What a bunch of nauseating hypocrites. That is what happens in the real world. A bastard puts on a mask of an angel and a dog masquerades as an lion. Fucking cheap, don't you think? As for me, I only said I was an incomplete man, a creature of contradictions, a man in the making, a man trying to integrate warring, conflicting personalities.

I am sick and tired of assholes who are into power trips. A strong person is a person of few words, of understanding, of love, and of forgiveness. I have forgiven many, how many have forgiven me, have apologized to me for their transgressions against me?

Lessons for survival

Thoughts at large and by no means original:

1. Life is an endless struggle for survival of the group. To do so, individuals in the group must band together. Altruism must override selfishness. Individual selfishness, if carried to extreme, will end in the destruction of the group. The selfish individuals will die first, but he is too stupid to realize that. He thinks he can live to ripe all age. Vietnamese selfish individuals must realize this fact in the current strugge by the Vietnamese people against the threat from the Chinese who have already taken the islands and the land at the northern border, threatened the rice bowl in the Mekong Delta by building damns in the upper reaches of the Meking River, occupied the mines in the strategic Central Highlands, absconded with the Vietnamese women who are put up for sale, and flooded Vietnam with cheap and sometimes poisonous goods.

2. To survive as individuals, some humans have learned to do away with any sense of fairness and justice. They will lie, cheat, steal, kill, and do anything to give themselves an edge in the game of survival. They have regressed back to being animals. They have forgotten the human qualities: honor, responsibility, altruism, and love. Their faces have taken a look of animal cunning and shameless brazenness.
(cont.)

Anger and Change

Roberto, you are busy to instigate changes. What you need to to bring change to yourself.

But without acting on causes and interacting with others in the process, I would not really know who I am and what aspects of my personality that need to change for the better.

Good point. But please watch your anger and your words very carefully. All your life you have been hurt because of them. You have been lucky and you have been wise in not acting on your stupid thoughts. Meditate more. Be more loving and gentle. Breathe deeply. Contain your ego. Work on yourself. There are always people smaller and bigger than you. You cannot change them. The only person you can change is yourself. Go placidly in this world of noise and treachery. I know you have been naive about love and despite your adopting an indifferent exterior to it, you secretly hope and think and fancy that you are loveable. The trick is to cultivate peace inside you and it will manifest in the way you interact with others. Slowly, as time passes by, you will see a difference on how others perceive you and act towards you.

Power in Human Relationships

It looks like I am reminded of power in human relationships today. The guy with a dog acted tough and brusque although he was overweight. His weight didn't befit his duty at all. Anyway, the whole thing was built on an edifice of lies. Once again, I was a victim due to my outspokenness. People twisted my words around to their benefit. I must learn to be taciturn. I was so upset that my mouth was dry instantly and I needed water to flush out bad chemicals in my system.

I must remember when there is a action, there will be reaction. I would need to calmly accept the consequences and move on. Agitation would make me look stupid and self-righteous. Excessiveness stems from self-righteousness. The bottom line is there are very few understanding, caring, forgiving, generous, broad-minded humans. Most humans would revert to animals when provoked. They would be willing to inflict damage, to lie, to do anything to get even, to get over their own feelings of hurt. Loud-mouthed people are the worst. They have no self-control; they are ever ready to play dirty to win. Very few humans really gives a damn about justice. Be careful out there. Look at their actions or lack thereof. Take their their sweet words with a grain of salt. How do I know that they don't lie? what guarantee do I have that they speak the truth?

I woke up this morning and experienced a surge of suppressed anger against the froggie asshole. Let that be a lesson for me not to be like him.

Academics, scholars, and thinkers.

Further thoughts on "Academics" on a beautiful sunlit Friday in late March 2010.

I can't help myself. Thoughts arrive like a cascade over a chasm and I have to let them fall. Disjointed thoughts. This is not an essay. You have to participate and connect the dots.

The term "academic" usually has a negative, pejorative connotation. It is often used to describe a person associated with an undistinguished teaching position at a university. A scholar has a somewhat better reputation than an academic. It means the dude knows in depth a subject in which he specializes. A thinker does not usually carry with him the baggage of a possibility of having an undistinguished teaching career as an academic does. He does not have to be a scholar or university-trained, though that doesn't hurt. All he needs to demonstrate is the ability to think critically and with originality and flair and attracts a following. In other words, he must create a splash, gets noticed, and is taken seriously by other thinkers. If you stay with me thus far, I think you get my drift that none of the so-called Vietnamese "academics" associated with the sideshow of NGS has achieved a status of "thinker". I don't even think they merit the appellation "scholar" since they are not well known or widely respected by their peers. Any Dick, Tom, and Harry with a PH.D., with some due diligence, can obtain a teaching position at a college. But that does not mean he is a Norm Chomsky nor does he attain the stature of the cosmologist whose family name is Trinh and who recently won some prestigious award, if memory serves.

Only thinkers command my respect. Academics get involved in sideshows and crave for recognition through the under-handed efforts of underlings get nothing from me but contempt.

Somebody did make me feel better about myself. Just when I thought I had him figured out, he stumped me and reminded me that I am a green horn in the real world. All my life I have taken refuge in books and fantasies. I don't interact much with humans and I am indeed naive. I am curious about a person's academic training because I believe schooling has some bearing (not much) on one's views of the world.

I have no inferiority complex toward Ivy League academics or any academic since I have travelled in the world of thoughts all my life. A person, academic or not, would have to be original and contributive to the annals of human thought for him to impress me. Academics expect to be respected and admired simply because they are academics even if they possess no real talent or originality of thought. A really
good academic is the one who puts the field in which they specialize on fire, revolutionizes the way it is practiced, and gets widespread respect from their peers. Some are so good they even become known by the public.

France, despite its relatively small population has produced a lot of thinkers whose thoughts have influenced those who really want to know the human reality, and jot just the physical reality. Recently somebody posted a disparaging remark about the paucity of France's contribution to the annals of human thought in the 20th Century. I almost laughed out loud when I read that stupid "opinion". Apparently the person didn't hear about Sartre, Camus, Derrida, Foucault, Ricoeur, Lacan, Lévi-Strauss, and Barthes. And those are the only ones that are on the top of my head. I am sure there are others I can't think off hand and others I have not heard of. Educated people in the hard sciences who don't bother to enrich themselves with knowledge in the humanities tend to become just mere technicians and robots and are easily duped and misled by those whose passions are into understanding what drive men to act the way they do.

I like thinkers because I fancy I am a thinker myself. I know I am not a deep one or anything like that. But I enjoy thinking, especially after I came across a saying from Buddha who uttered these immortal words: " All of what we are is the result of what we think". I only have one original thought and it is so banal that almost everybody else can think of it. Thus, it is not really original at all, but it helps me to navigate through the maze of human diversity.

I want to know what I live for, who I am, if I am smart, if there is a God and life after death (reincarnation) and what love really is. I also think of the nature of human relationships. Is it based on power or on love or the combination of the two or just a naked competition for food, sex, and power and status (maybe the efforts of Ho Tue Linh to undermine me and others in a public way had something to do with a drive for power and status)? I want to know if all of us carry a tension between a public persona and a private self or if there are some individuals who are so comfortable with themselves that what we see is what they are.

People with clichés and platitudes bore me. Those who are into poses and posturings make me laugh. I like real, authentic people and especially those with a heart.

Moral Courage

Moral courage is the bridge between talking ethics and doing ethics. It is a readiness ro endure danger for the sake of principle. The courage to act is found at the intersection of three elements: action based on core values, awareness of the risks, and a willingness to endure necessary hardship.

Based on the above analysis, definitely Le Thi Cong Nhan has moral courage, much more than I do while I have much more moral courage than the assholes and motherfuckers around me, who love to pontificate and yet do nothing when action is needed. Thus explains my feelings of utter and complete contempt for them. A man who is too much into saving his own skin is not much of a man. Cowardice is contemptible because it makes a person look small and it robs him of dignity.

Anger

We all know it is stupid to arouse anger and provoke enmity in others, but we usually don't care because we think what the fuck the other guy can do to us. Then one day calamity strikes, then we know, but it is too late then. Prevention is better than cure.

Discipline

A man amounts to nobody when he has no discipline, especially if he wants to lord over others.
(cont.)

Magic of Words

Only the educated and the brave are free; the rest live in the bondage of superstition and the servitude of fear.

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! I came up with the above. Advertisement for myself. I woke up feeling good and carefree. But now I am not in the liberation of forgiveness, but in the grip of hatred. I am consumed by a desire for vengeance. I thirst for blood and I hunger for a release of my pent-up frustrations by deeds of violence visited upon those assholes and motherfuckers who dared to insult me by acting uppity and insolent. They had better pray tthat I am still in full control of my faculties and that I don't flip out.

What about poetry? I thought you told me poetry was your savior, your succor, your soothing balm to your pain.

Yes and No. I flip flop, you see. The pain doesn't go away. The memory is too strong. The outrage is too overwhelming.

Be careful now. Don't talk yourself into a mood and then you have to act upon it. Calm down. Think of those who are dear to your heart. In hurting those you hate, you might end up hurting those you love also. Capisce? Get rid of those tenebrous thoughts. Find refuge in pleasant memories, in the recollections of good times and good people. Assholes and motherfuckers are everywhere. They are dogshit. If you are out looking for them, you'll find them. Avoid dogshit. Step around it. You can't get rid of dogshit in this world. Likewise, you can't kill all the assholes and motherfuckers in this world. You should be glad they exist, otherwise you wouldn't know how good and rare and beautiful you are. Right?

I'm Coming Out

I'm coming out to let you know who I am
And how you have made me no longer the same
Person I used to be.
How I wish you would see
(cont.)

Doing the Right Thing

You woke up and the first thought that came up to you was why the motherfuckers didn't do the right thing. The answers could be one or all of the following: cowardice, laziness, lack of love. You looked at the motherfuckers and a wave of nausea and contempt came over you. They were animals all right, and yet they pathetically and self-righteously reacted with a visceral vehemence of outrage and denial if you said so to their faces.To your way of thinking, they were worse than garbage. They were toxic waste which needed to be got rid of. Now you know what disgust really means. As you explained to a dunce last night, life only has meaning if it is lived with a purpose of upgrading and bettering the lives of others. Selfishness and self-absorption lead to no discovery of true joys and contentment. We live for others, not for ourselves. If we really care about ourselves, we must work on ourselves to a point we can be of use to others. A person who does not help his community, his tribe, his people in the hour of need does not deserve to live because deep down his life has no purpose, no meaning, no significance than that of a rock or a fly in a cesspool. Whether he dies now or twenty years from now, it makes no difference to his tribe, his people because he just occupies space and consumes resources.

Hidden Recesses of One's Mind, My Mind

In humans, disappointments, pain, feelings of betrayal and inadequacy and humiliation are often pushed aside, hidden, buried, and suppressed from surfacing. Yet they're resilient; they want to be dealt with. That's when psychotherapy is useful. Life is a process of adjustment, of meeting these sources of sorrows and solving them, not pushing them aside, out of sight. Life is not a sigh. It must be a celebration, a conquest of what bothers us.

Like today, memories of BF, MF, AX, and even 4Y surfaced and demanded an audience with me. I welcomed them to the inner sanctum of my soul. And I first acknowledged that I couldn't win all battles. I was not smart, nor cynical nor cruel nor practical enough. And I failed occasionally, sometimes even dramatically. Now I've learned who I am, I have a clear vision of what I want to do with my life. I promise to myself to be unsentimental and untrusting because every human I meet can be potentially a dog, a pig, and a coward. Recent encounters with many assholes have confirmed that hypothesis. The more an asshole appears to be kind, sensitive, and talkative, the more potentially he is cruel, insensitive, and merely trying to cover up his true self. A kind and strong man has self-control and is a person of few words. When he expresses his disappointments, he couches his terms in a controlled manner. He does not want to hurt and wound others because he is kind. He speaks because the other person leaves him no choice. Yet he never crosses the line of civility and kindness. So, I must imitate him. I must learn to leave my opponent an escape route. There is no need for me to put my foot on my opponent's head and press his face hard into the ground while raising my arms high and uttering a primal scream of triumph.

I'm very much into Neuro-Linguistic Programming (NLP) now. I use words to change my mind from negative and critical to positive and loving. All the shit and aggression you have seen in this blog of mine is a way for me to discharge and shed my persona and let my true caring tender emerge and take flight. Fuck, you know and I know not too many Vietnamese possess the linguistic talent as I do. Yet I have
been using that talent to my detriment, not advantage. I talk like a philosopher and act like a fool. What has been bothering me is that so
much the lack of awareness as the curbing of the instinct for revenge when faced with acts of insolence

Just to change the atmosphere, a woman recently flirted with me and said she wanted to play footsies with me. I said no because I didn't want to be tormented by memories. Love, a true kind, is mysterious. And it hurts like hell, even after 40 years. Tonight I shut myself in myroom and just do Yoga until I am exhausted and pass out. Then I would reach out for a novel by Lee Child and lull myself to sleep.

A Reliable Wife

I am reading a novel with an ironic title " A Reliable Wife". It was popular. It even had a paperback edition. The language was beautiful, but the plot was too Gothic and far-fetched. The author---this is his first novel---seems to be preaching instead of evoking, but the novel is holding my interest. The author is forecasting the plot. He is hooking the reader's interest with a clever device. A scheming woman answered a lonely rich man's advertisement for a wife. She plans to poison him with a slow death and gets his money.
(cont.)

Farting

Some assholes treat their farts as if they were exotic fragrances. They fart at every time they get, releasing the most stinking, absurd, nonsensical garbage masqueraded as "opinions". I always maintain that it's good to cultivate an image of mystery so that one can benefit from an illusion of having an aura of depth and profundity. Excessive mouthing off of nonsense and incoherence only invites contempt. In fact, thanks to their gratuitous expressions, I have come to realize that they are not as good or even smart as I thought they were before they open their mouths and dispense their farting "opinions".

Fact or Fiction?

Yesterday a young man came to my office. Actualy, he is not quite a young man. He wass 40 years old. But he looked young and his feelings were definitely juvenile, much worse than mine. To him, I appeared to be a wise old man. After all, most of my hair is gray. I am twenty one years his senior. And I talked wisely. All talk only, you'll see. And I have my titles and degrees on the wall. He was convinced he came to a right place. A friend of his told him to see me. The friend once utilized my services and his life got straightened out. I can be of use to humanity when I wants to be.

He was polite, good-looking, soft-spoken and quite pleasant. He was in deep shit, to put it mildly.
(cont.)

Quiet Confidence and Feelings of Superiority

There's no need for compensation, otherwise you will overshoot and end up in overcompensation. Just do what you have to do. Learn from your mistakes and those of others. Watch your temper. Mind your words. Choose them carefully because they linger and fester in people's minds. Be sweet and pleasant at all times. Don't try to be clever. Be real and true to yourself. Don't be like those you have contempt for. Be careful out there. Make friends, not enemies. Show people respect, not contempt, even to those who don't deserve it since humans all hunger for it. Disrespect is intolerable for most, if not all of them. Remember humans are irrational and emotional at heart.

Be at peace. Don't be agitated like others. It's not a pretty sight. You are more honest than most and prettier than all. Don't show off your superiority, even to scums and assholes. Some woman commented that you were into peace and healing. No, nostalgia was more like it when you sent her the photos of Saigon in 1961 , the time the war just got started and the capital didn't yet take on a look of a city of rampant sins and the people didn't have a look of harried anxiety.

You have desire and ambition. You know you can express yourself, but you have not made a breakthrough. But you are not worried or in a deep funk. You just keep on with your reading and taking care of your body and ignoring the assholes and motherfuckers who are rude to you while waiting for the right time to exact vengeance.

You have a high regard for yourself because your imagination is boundless and your understanding is singular of the urgency of physical passion as well as the barriers imposed by emotional pain. When you write, you want to explore love with all its incarnations, to look at all the assholes and motherfuckers whose damages, deceptions, and obsessions have driven you very close to the abyss of destruction and self-destruction, and to lay bare your own life with its points of light and ruinous truths. Run through your words, there is a thread of throbbing, disquieting memoir of an effort to stay sane in a world of cheap treachery and easy cowardice and little, too little, heroism.

Power and Humans

Humans are not the only organisms that know about power, but they are the ones most consumed with it. Ironically enough, the more stupid, cowardly, and powerless they are, the more they are hungry for any scrap and morsel of power they can get their hand on. Ever since the advent of email, many normally weak, powerless, inept, incompetent start acting as if they were important and needed. They would tell so and so that to stop sending or forwarding emails about certain people or certain subjects. Fuck, all they need to do is to ignore and delete the emails. There's no reason to act high and mighty. How fucking stupid of them! What they did to was to create enemies of people to whom they employed a power play. Like today, some asshole ordered me to do something, as if I were a hired hand or underling or something. I just deleted the email and ignored the asshole. There was no need for me to write back utilizing some similar self-righetous and preaching tone of voice. Animals are full of unintended ironies. They commit the same mistakes and errors that they accuse of others.

Soothing Presence

In moments of agitation, others reach for a bottle, grab some pills, grope some body, go to a bar, or just jack off, I use my mind to seek solace. And I find you there, by the bubbling brook, by my side. We don't talk. We just spend time sitting on the bench, taking in the sunshine, listening to the birds and seeing the leaves fluttering in the air before settling down on the floor of the park reserve. And I would look at you and marvel at your beauty and the intelligence shown in your eyes and the sweetness in your smile.

Ego and Self-Control

Most humans practice Schadenfreude and would laugh at others when the latter lose self-control in public because of ego. They would make gratuitous comments of how foolish the contestants look in tearing each other apart in public with words. Look at what happened when Rick Santelli and Steve Lesman tore at each other on national TV. Their colleagues mouthed off some stupid comments about the incident, instead of being quiet. What they need to do is to be silent and remember that they should be vigilant in not losing self-control themselves.

You must know where the priorities lie: health, wealth, and self-actualization. Public opinion of you must not mean shit. Stay away from humans as much as you can. Stop associating with assholes that perturb you with their hurting comments, comments that are designed to hurt and wound you in public. You bid your time, work on yourself, on your body, mind, and money. You must have self-control and patience. You also must learn from their mistakes.

A wise man always speaks a few words and when he does, he speaks with calmness, understanding, and love, not hurtful, heated words to assert his ego or to bring down the ego of others.Most animals are weak and hypocritical. Look at the fake Zen master. He is full of ego and vanity. Note the words he chose in talking to you. He was condescending and egotistical though he spoke calmly. He was a fake.

Be calm. Don't be agitated. Be cool. Be happy. Don't worry about what others think of you. Those who attack you in a mean manner are scum, shit, and piss to begin anyway. You should be glad they are stupid to attack you like that, so now you know who they are. If they remained silent, you would still think they are "nice" and "decent" people. The reality is most humans are animals when they are tested. Remember that. There are very few true humans in this jungle we live in. Remember that. Try to be one. And above all, go placidly amidst noise and dust if you can't avoid them. Find a peaceful spot to rest.

Childish?

Many moons ago, somebody kindly gave me an advice that I should never say, write, or do anything if I am in the grip of anger. The more angry I feel, the more passive and withdrawn I must be because at that moment I am highly vulnerable. Anything I say, do, or write, I will regret later on. Guess what? As much as I recognize the validity and soundness of the advice, I did not follow it until yersterday when a youngster superciliously called me childish. The youngster added that if I didn't understand what that meant, I had better reflect on it! I did reflect on the audacity of the the youngster that made that stupid and untempered statement. And I did nothing. All day long, I just had a big sardonic smile on my face while all kinds of advice from all the books I had read about religion and philosophy zipped in and out of my mind. I sat in my room, cross-legged, breathed deeply till I perspired heavily. Then I lay down flat on the Yoga mat and passed out. I woke up about an hour later, feeling cold but much calmer. I staggered to the bathroom, took a leak, and then crawled into the bathtub. I turned on the water and set it as hot as I could bear. The sound of water tumbling out the faucet and hit the tub and my body, the warm sensation my skin registered and then transmitted to my flesh soothed me. I closed my eyes and dreamingly thought of nice people who inspired me to overreach myself. I even dreamed of the library where I spent many peaceful hours in the presence of 4Y. I felt peace because I felt love, even thought it was a far-out, impossible dream.

Wow, pretty good, Roberto, and so far you have not even cursed, not once. You really have changed. Maybe you need to be called "childish" more often, say, like twice a day?

Cut the crap, will you, Silvio.

Oh oh, there went your enlightenment. Roberto, be cool, mi amigo. You'll live longer and happier, too. Trust me. Look at me. I never get mad. I don't feel sorry for myself. I just get even. Any motherfucker calls me childish, he will die, sooner or later. I just come up to the bastard when he least expects it, and I will blow his motherfucking head off. Just like that. You understand? Just smile and be cool, next time some asshole calls you childish. Watch your blood pressure, your breathing. Control yourself. Don't show you are mad. Act like he or she is right. Even apologize and then wait. Wait, Roberto. Wait for the right moment.

So, you're telling me that I should be a hypocrite. I'm not gonna be like that. The world has too many hypocrites already.

Precisely, one more does not make any difference.

Silvio, you're a sick motherfucker.

No, Roberto. A realist. And a smart one, too. Think about that. Go home and think about what I said. Your idealism is hurting you, and nobody else. In fact, every motherfucker out there is laughing at you, thinking you are a real dumb ass. Don't you see that? You really think that they're impressed by your idealism, your principles? Fuck no, they think you are a fucking child. A stupid child. A child-man, that's what you are, Roberto. Grow up, my friend. Otherwise you will suffer till the day you die.

(cont.)

Grammar and the magic of language

I am fascinated by my own mind, especially when I write. I write very fast, vaguely aware of the thought process. All I want to do us to jot down what intrigues and concerns and bothers me at a particular moment. I don't even pay attention to the finer points of grammar. I worry about It when I reread what I just wrote and sometimes I don't even do that. I just hit the "send" button. Then here comes the mystery. My mind begins to talk to me, telling me that I need to double on this and that, even a day a two later. A case in point, I wrote recently "the communication between she and me." Even as I wrote it, I felt uncomfortable. And I should have doubled checked it upon finishing, but I didn't. It appeared I wanted to humiate myself publicly for making a mistake in that sentence. At least, I didn't make two mistakes as most people would.

I am a student of languages. I force my mind, even at this late age, to remember words in eight languages, five of them I hardly have any need, except for vanity and the pleasure of struggling with my own mind. In learning a language, I pay close attention to words and their meanings and scant attention to rules of grammar. That's been the way I approach language. Grammar bores me. On the other hand, my mind is attracted to the formation of words. So when I write, I am thrill when words arrive sometimes out of the blue to meet my need of expressing a thought. I don't even know for sure how that thought comes about, in key words or by a certain idea.
(cont.)

Surprise! Rashomon is back!

I tell you, Rashomon is back. You thought he was gone, but he is not. He is always here because subjectivity is always here. Humans see what they want to see. Dumb asses lack the empathy to understand others. All they see in other's actions are the reflections of themselves. The more coarse and self-righteous an asshole, the more likely he will see his own reflection.

Explanation and Justification

The more the assholes explain and complain and justify themselves, the more they reveal that they are assholes, yet they think they can pull wool over people's. The contempt is so deep that you understand why a certain dude on a bright, sun-drenched day, just took out a gun and started shooting. The disgust is so intense that it becomes pathological. Speech becomes unnecessary because communication and understanding are viewed beyond reach. That was why those dudes just loaded up their guns and shot at random without saying a word. The gun did the talking for them. The killings were random because the shooter had an unfocused anger. People humilated and hurt him. One day he flipped and talked back with his gun.

(cont.)

Drivel, Spit, and Nonsense

I just couldn't stand the kind of drivel and nonsense some assholes say when they open their mouths. Just absolutely incredible. Obvously the info they wanted to share with us must mean something to them, otherwise they would not have said it. Still, I wonder what lurks behind those little minds of theirs. Their areas of interest are so pedestrian and different from mine.

I can't give you specific examples of the drivel and nonsense that concern the assholes but are of no concern to me because frankly I don't want to get into some asinine libel lawsuit. You just have to take my word on this matter, on my "exquisite" tastes and agree with me otherwise I would lump you in the same category with those assholes I denounced. But you probably wonder why I am so fond of denouncing and whether I ever have a moment of peace. The answer is that denouncing others gives me a sense of order, of differentiation, of great use to my search for truth and knowledge. Understand what I try to say? If not, come to see me after class, dumb ass! But at least, you get the assonance, don't you?

Having got here this far, I suddenly remember so many moons ago, I came across Laura's diary pages inadvertently left in her lecture notes. I was struck by the loneliness, of her need to spill out her thoughts on paper. Now it's my turn. How ironic life is. Agnes was no different from her. Last night, I achieved peace by invoking memories of the long gone library where I spent my innocent hours to forget about the war and to struggle with the English language, the library where I met 4Y.

Where am I? Ah, denuciation, thunderous denunciation is a substitute for outright violence. Not very pleasant, but therapeutic as hell. The perfect way not to have a conversation with assholes. They thought that I needed their ears. Well, the fuckers were wrong. I may be profane, uncouth, rude, and crude, but unlike them, I have never been a hypocrite and a poseur full of posturings while the whole world knows they
are shameless cowards who are just plainly animals, trying to hang on life at all costs, without realizing whether a man dies now or twenty years from now means no difference in the overall scheme of things. It is not how long a man lives, but how he lives it. I just don't really
know how those motherfuckers can live with themselves, how they put up with the staggering weight of cognitive dissonance, how to reconcile with the awareness that they are living a life not of humans, but of animals, animals, animals. My contempt for them simmers and lingers till the end of my time and a source for my "eloquence" and my drive for honesty and excellence because I don't be like them at all.
No, sir, not one bit. Like four years ago, one asshole tried to appear to be profound. I didn't understand a fucking thing what he tried to
impress me with. Whether the theory the fucker tried to show off was actually his or he borrowed it without acknowledgement, he didn't say.
He didn't convince nor impress me with his "knowledge". I just don't believe the bastard knows that many languages as he alludes to. It's
humanly impossible. Give me a break. He probably has access to many dictionaries. A true polyglot speaks and writes differently. What a
poseur! That makes me more determined to be true to my words and keep working at what I've bragged that I have some knowledge. One
thing I've learned that in trying hard to impress others, we often degrade ourselves. Another asshole insisted on my giving him respect, but the way he communicated to me showed he was intentionally insolent. You see the irony of the situation? Actually, we should be cool at all times, even when we are angry. You would say, wait a minute, Roberto, you just contradicted yourself. How can a person be cool and angry at the same time? Yes, of course, we can. The next time you find yourself on the verge of getting angry, you just smile first, take a couple of deep breaths, drink a cup of hot aromatic tea, lie down, and close your eyes, and put yourself in the other's shoes and then if you still want to get the load off your chest, pull him aside and talk to him like he was your blood brother. You must talk to him calmly, avoid emotional
words, and listen carefully to his explanations. If you follow what I tell you, you gain respect and probably true friendship from the guy
because you showed to him you were full of understanding and respect for him. If you let your self-righteousness and your stupid sense of
outrage get the better of you, you would be in deep shit and you'd better watch over your shoulder the rest of your fucking life because you
don't really know the guy is a normal dude or just a fucking wacko. I know what I am talking about. I almost got killed by a guy. I was lucky
to escape with only a bullet in the ass. Now you know why I have Preparation H around the house all these years.
(cont.)

Criticism

Criticism usually reflects more of the mentality and mindset and prejudices and bias of the fucking critics than the person whose work is the object of criticism. There is a thing called "self-projections". Most criticism miss the mark because the critics don't fucking know what the creators meant and had what in mind when he produced his work, whether it is a work of art or even a straightforward piece of essay. Literary criticism is very slippery because words are merely tools and not the message itself. It takes a rare sensibility to understand fully what the other person thinks and thus what he means when he writes in such and such manner.

Also, usually the critics are not as good as the artists or "producers" of the work being criticized. In the final analysis, only a poet is equipped to criticize a poem. Only an essayist can give justice to the analysis of an essay by another essayist. Otherwise all criticisms are hogwash, bullshit, and farting exercises in public by stupid, uninformed, loud, noisy busybodies.

Letter to Obama

March 10, 2009

President Barack Obama
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW
Washington, DC 20500

Dear Mr. President:

I am writing to you as a citizen and a fan. I have followed your rise. I have read the story of your life. You are a product of two unusual parents (and if I may say so, so am I). You could have pursued an easy life with a law degree from Harvard and the distinction of being the editor of Harvard Law School Review. But you chose to be a community organizer upon graduation because you believed you could make a difference in people’s lives. Such was a vision of a leader.

Humans are social animals. Human history is replete with stories of individuals who, for better or worse, stood out and led others and made an impact on people’s lives, nations, and the world. I happen to believe strongly that at this juncture in American history, you are the right kind of leader, the one who can arrest the relative decline of America and restore its greatness with programs on your agenda. America, for all its faults, is still a liberal democracy and a shining beacon for other nations, especially in Southeast Asia where I originally came from. The world has looked for America for leadership ever since the end of World War II. That is another reason why I am writing to you.

China, in contrast to America, is not a liberal democracy. It is a rising power and is bent on resuming its territorial expansion which has been a cornerstone of its foreign policy since the Han people rose to prominence in East Asia about three thousands years ago. The annexation of Xinjiang and Tibet was part of China’s master plan of expansion in the modern era. Your decision to meet with the Dalai Lama spoke volumes about your character. China is not content with Xinjiang and Tibet being within its fold. It has been coveting Vietnam for thousands of years. The impetus for my audacity to write to you was the latest issuance of National Geographic Society of world maps in September 2009, showing the Paracel Islands as part of China, instead of the correct status as being disputed territories between Vietnam and China (http://www.natgeomaps.com/world decorator zoomify.html? zoomifyImagePath=assets/files/zoomify/re00622077/re00622077 1 img&zommifyNavigatorVisible=false) . My attached letter to the National Geographic Society would explain why.

Mr. President, if China is allowed to expand unchecked, in due time Vietnam and all of Southeast Asia would fall under its domination. Then China would be indeed a formidable opponent for America and pose a real threat to America’s own existence. I know you have been very busy with the domestic agenda and the war in the Afghanistan and problems with Iran, but the situation in Southeast Asia is the real powder keg which can explode at any time. China today is very much like Nazi Germany in the 1930’s. If unchecked and unrestrained, China will cause the world to plunge into chaos and horrific loss of lives.

I thank you for your attention.

Sincerely,

Ba Ngo
Email address: wissai@yahoo.com

March 10, 2010

National Geographic Society
1145 17th St, NW
Washington, D.C 20036-4688
pressroom@ngs.org
Attn: Mr. Chris Jones, Editor in Chief

Dear Mr. Jones:

The recent map of the East Sea, also known as South China Sea, put out by your society showed the Paracel Islands ( Hoàng Sa in Vietnamese) belonging to China.
http://www.natgeomaps.com/world_decorator_zoomify.html?zoomifyImagePath=assets/files/zoomify/re00622077/re00622077_1_img&zoomifyNavigatorVisible=false
We urge you to reclassify the islands and put them under the correct status as being disputed by Vietnam and China. In the interests of scholarship and fairness, we ask you to reconsider the classification based on the following points:

1. The Islands in question, as well as those of the Spratly archipelago (Trường Sa in Vietnamese), historically belonged to Vietnam. We have legal documents and human habitation to claim sovereignty. No other countries claimed ownership of these Islands until recent discoveries of rich oil and gas deposits around the Islands. In English, please see the website http://www.paracelspratly.com/home/index.php?option=com_news_portal&Itemid=39. In Vietnamese, please see an article by a Frenchman who became a naturalized Vietnamese and took a Vietnamese name http://www.bbc.co.uk/vietnamese/forum/2010/03/100302_menras_comment.shtml

2. In 1974, taking advantage of the withdrawal of the American troops from the war theater in Vietnam, China invaded the Paracel Islands and after a brief but bloody naval battle with the forces of the then Republic of Vietnam has occupied the Paracel Islands. The united Vietnam after 1975 has NEVER relinquished the ownership of the Paracel Islands as well as that of Spratly Islands. It has vigorously protested the illegal Chinese occupation of the Paracel Islands as well as some on the Spratly Islands not only directly to China, but also to the United Nations. In fact it sponsored an international conference about the matter in November 2009, held in Hanoi, Vietnam. Please see the papers filed with UNCLOS committee:
http://freelecongdinh.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/vnm2009n_executivesummary.pdf
http://freelecongdinh.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/mys_vnm2009excutivesummary.pdf
Your magazine recognized the fact that China took the Paracel Islands and some of the Spratly Islands from Vietnam by force, as well as China’s ambition to dominate Asia. Here is what you said on page 10 of the Dec 1998 issue: “In 1988 China sank Vietnamese ships, killing at least 70 sailors, before taking several of the Spratlys- the most serious clash since it seized the Paracel Islands from Vietnam in 1974. Tensions fuel a local arms race as well as fears that China aims to dominate all Asia by controlling the sea.”
3. In fact, the continued military build-up in Southeast Asia is the direct result of Chinese aggression in the area. Indonesia is increasing its military budget. The recent decision of Vietnam to purchase state-of-the-art submarines and jet fighters from Russia is a response to China's threat. So is Vietnam's recent mobilization of forces including calling its citizens to the military draft and strengthening of the forces on its coast facing Paracel Islands and Spratly Islands.

4. Your classification of the Paracel Islands as part of China is seen as putting a non-governmental seal of approval on a matter which is under dispute. This action could cloud legal international interpretations for many years to come. We are writing this letter because National Geographic Society is a respectable organization and its maps are widely consulted as reference.

Thank you for your prompt consideration.

On behalf of concerned Vietnamese,

Ba Ngo

Why do we have to resist the Chinese NOW?

If those who think you are a VC sympathizer because you are in communication with a VC official over the matter which transcends political affiliation, they are either not very bright or full of sophistry. Hoang Sa and Truong Sa belong to all Vietnamese, not just to the VC. In life, we do the right thing, and we don't care what gossip or mud evil-minded people throw at us. The dogs can bark, but the caravan moves on. Yes, please start with the old list and ask them if they care to join us in this fight.

Our backs are against the wall. What more evidence do we need to have to see that Vietnam is in acute danger of losing its sovereignty with each passing month: loss of islands, mining in the highlands, 50-year lease, loss of land at the border, loss of maritime rights in the Gulf of Tonkin, Chinese enclaves in Vietnam, 100,000 Chinese workers in Vietnam, selling of Vietnamese women to Chinese men (so that the children of such union are more likely to regard themselves as Chinese, or at least pro-Chinese), Mekong River issue, etc.... Every Vietnamese must ask himself a rhetorical question: Do we want to be like Tibet and Xinjiang? In 1949 the Red Chinese just marched in and took over the regions without encountering any resistance. But the population of those regions are small and they are isolated. Vietnam has 90 million people (including 3 million living in overseas) and it is not isolated. It occupies a strategic location and we will have friends and allies if we start resisting. We should not just roll over and play dead and let the Chinese walk into Vietnam and occupy our country just like that, especially after we spent years fighting the French and the Japanese. No, sir, we must fight and fight we must. We are Vietnamese, we are not a bunch of sissies and pushovers.

Now everybody should see that National Geographic Society is siding with the Chinese. It was not an inadvertent error, but an intentional declaration to the world on the part of NGS that HS Islands belong to China, especially now they use the Chinese name, instead of the standard Paracel Islands that have been around for centuries in international communication.

Why nausea, why Sartre, why Now?

Stupid and insensitive assholes wonder why at this late period of my life, I am still hung up on the themes of existentialism: alienation, authencity, freedom, feelings of nausea when interacting with people, etc...The answer is that maybe I am more alive and more honest than them. Unlike them, I am unwilling to live a life of a lie. Unlike them, I insist that my life must have meaning other than believing in a bullshit called God, going through life with a mere motion without zest nor conviction, and just living for myself only. Maybe I always compare myself with others who are better than me in terms of critical thinking and altruism and I want to emulate them. So, maybe I regard myself far better than the assholes and monkeys who just talk and pontificate and don't do a damn thing to help their country of birth.

One more thing before I forget: fairness. I absolutely adhere to the principle of fairness and justice. So when I see that somebody attacks me unfairly, using wild assumptions and unsubstantiated accusations, I absolutely write that person off my frame of reference. I mean to say, to me that person does not exist anymore. He becomes lower than dirt; he becomes a nonentity. At least dirt registers in my consciousness. The unfair asshole is just so despicable to me that he simply vanishes from this world. What lingers in my mind is the astonishment to see how low a person can degenerate. Now I fully understand the real meanings of disgust and abhorence. Maybe that is what Sartre means by "nausea".

As indicated in my remark to the BW, there is a reason and purpose in everything I wrote. I didn't just sit down and blurt words willy-nilly

(cont.)

Sex, Love, and Translation

Sex, Love, Music and Translation

I came across the below song’s lyrics yesterday. I read it once. I was moved. Then I moved on with my life, trying to survive. When evening came, sleep played hard to get, as usual. Finally, I passed out for a few hours. Morning light came through the windows and woke me up. As I was tossing and turning in trying to get back to sleep, my subconscious took over.

Sex is private and dark and full of secrets. Thus, it offends me when I see sex jokes and photos about nudity casually posted in the Internet. Sex is something we have in common with lower forms of life. It is nothing to glorify about or to make jokes of unless one has severe problems in this area. How one talks about sex speaks volumes about his psyche and his hang-ups, turn-ons and turn-offs. How one does sex tells us if he is only an animal or he does possess imagination and tenderness and uses sex as a vehicle for his expressions of love, a desire for unity. In fact, a man who enjoys having sex with prostitutes is not much of a man because he does not have much love inside him. All he has is animal lust.

Love is both private and public. We tend to unabashedly talk about love and that’s OK. We do this via songs and poetry. We talk about the joys it brings and the sorrows it causes. The lyrics below talk about the latter. Those who once have been madly and truly in love know what the lyrics are about. I fancy I am one of those, hence the translation. It came very fast. I didn’t fully understand all the nuances in the original, but I didn’t care. I took risks. I went on a limb

And now

What I am going to do
With the remaining time of my life
With all the people who mean nothing to me
Now that you are gone

All these nights, I ask myself, are for whom and what for
And this morning comes back for nothing
This heart beats for whom and what for
The heart that beats too strong and too loud

And now what I am going to do
About this nothing that my life is gliding to
You have left me this entire world
But this world is lonely without you

You, my friends, be gentle with me
You know well that nothing can be done
Even Paris bores me
All the streets kill me with memories

And now what I am going to do:
I am going to laugh so I will cry no more
I am going to stay up all night
So I will hate you in the morning

And then one evening in the mirror
I will see clearly the end of the road
At the moment of goodbye
Not a single flower and no more tears

I really don’t have anything else to do
I really don’t have anything else

Translated by wissai/bkn

Feb.12, 2010

Et maintenant
Gregory Lemarchal

Et maintenant que vais-je faire
De tout ce temps que sera ma vie
De tous ces gens qui m'indiffèrent
Maintenant que tu es partie

Toutes ces nuits, pourquoi pour qui
Et ce matin qui revient pour rien
Ce cœur qui bat, pour qui, pourquoi
Qui bat trop fort, trop fort

Et maintenant que vais-je faire
Vers quel néant glissera ma vie
Tu m'as laissé la terre entière
Mais la terre sans toi c'est petit

Vous, mes amis, soyez gentils
Vous savez bien que l'on n'y peut rien
Même Paris crève d'ennui
Toutes ses rues me tuent

Et maintenant que vais-je faire
Je vais en rire pour ne plus pleurer
Je vais brûler des nuits entières
Au matin je te haïrai

Et puis un soir dans mon miroir
Je verrai bien la fin du chemin
Pas une fleur et pas de pleurs
Au moment de l'adieu

Je n'ai vraiment plus rien à faire
Je n'ai vraiment plus rien

Why is Le Thi Cong Nhan a hero and why don't others measure up?

The following words are taken from JPS's famous essay, "Existentialism and Human Emotions", which is widely anthologized. If you don't hear further from me, either because I voluntarily withdraw into my shell or I am hit by a bus or felled by a terrible disease, I would like to leave these words with you to remember me by. I wish I had the talent to articulate them myself. In one of my emails, I cited JPS as one of those thinkers who left an imprint on my thought process. I am not a deep thinker. I learned and borrowed from those who were/are smarter than me. A man is a sum of his experiences. JPS's influence was seen clearly in the mottos I sign off: "You don't know who you are until you are tested. A man defines himself by his actions. To do is to be. Dobedo." and in my activism for Vietnam. The man was no ivory academic. He participated in WW II against German occupation of his country. He took part in demonstrations against the war in Vietnam. He refused to accept the Nobel Prize in Literature. He was no angel, however. He had some sexual relationship with his adopted daughter. That was sick. Anyway, I took from the man what he could offer. The following was what he said and I strongly believed it had a stronger bearing on understanding a person like Le Thi Cong Nhan than what has been written so far on the Internet about this remarkable young woman and hero.

"A man is involved in life, leaves his impress on it, and outside of that there is nothing. To be sure, this may seem a harsh thought to someone whose life hasn't been a success. But, on the other hand, it prompts people to understand that reality alone is what it counts, that dreams, expectations, and hopes warrant no more than to define a man as a disappointed dream, as miscarried hopes, as vain expectations In other words, to define him negatively and not positively. However, when we say, "You are nothing else than your life," that does not imply that the artist will be judged solely on the basis of his works of art; a thousand other things will contribute toward summing him up. What we mean is that a man is nothing else than a series of undertakings, that he is the sum, the organization, the ensemble of the relationships which make up these undertakings.

When all is said and done, what we are accused of, at bottom, is not our pessimism, but an optimistic toughness....But when the existentialist writes about a coward, he says that this coward is responsible for his cowardice. He's not like that because he has a cowardly heart or lung or brain; he's not like that on account of his physiological make-up; but he's like that because he has made himself a coward by his acts....The coward is defined on the basis of the acts he performs. People feel, in a vague sort of way, that this coward we're talking about is guilty of being a coward, and the thought frightens them. What people would like is that a coward or hero be born that way...."

Le Thi Cong Nhan was not born a hero. She chose to be a hero. She chose to act and get involved for the betterment of her people and thus her country, at great costs to herself. She does not just talk or mouth off pious sentiments. She does not pontificate. She acts.

Yours in truth and knowledge, not in sophistry.

Nausea

Sartre used the word "Nausea" as the title for a novel of his. Roquentin experienced too much banaltiy and a wave of nausea washed over him. I experience not only banality, but also hypocrisy, sophistry, and cowardice every fucking day. So, you should not get annoyed if you see me puking and retching all over myself. Sometimes I do make some noise that sounded like laughter, but it is a kind that reflects sardonicism, not mirth. The assholes and monkeys are so unwittingly funny that they sometimes make me puke and laugh at the same time. All the posings and falsehoods are so tiresome most of the time, however. The problem is the more I know about them, the more I am determined not to be like them and the more I feel good about myself. As Nietzsche said, most monkeys are so gung-ho on living that they would do anything to pay for it with any price, including the lives of other people, including honor and dignity and self-respect. Thus, they are very familiar with the concept of selfishness while sentiments like love and patriotism are merely words and mean nothing to them. Now I look at them and what I have inside is an overwheling feeling of disgust and nausea. Their facial expressions and their smiles are gestures of cunning animals, and not of caring, loving humans at all.

Tragedy of Attack

Tragedy of Attack

When you open your "dialogue" with emotional words of attack and insult, the other party stops listening to your arguments. All he wants is to get his own insults back to you or worse to plot killing you. That's as simple as that. Bad acts lead to bad responses. But you forget because you are fucking busy attacking or defending. You don't stop and think until things get overheated and out of control. You now have to spend the rest of your life watching over your shoulder because you fail to give the other guy respect due to the fact that deep down you think you are much cleverer and smarter than him. And he is tbe one who should show you respect, not the other way around. So because of ego, you let yourself get carried away.

Respect is always a two-away street, as is love. Those who think differently will be in for the world of hurt. They don't know an eye for an eye makes everybody blind.

A guy like Buddha was beyond attack. He didn't have to. He knew. And he simply was calm and unperturbed for he knew life was mostly a long tragedy with occasinal flashes of comedy.

Subconscious

Freud was right. There has always been a subconscious in human awareness, but people had only been dimly aware of it and probably not attuned to its workings until Freud came along. He gave it structure and "clarity". Now everybody freely throws the word around along with its cousins like unconscious and projection and displacement.

I had another meaningful dream earlier this morning. It woke me up. I wanted to get out of bed and rush to the computer and record the dream, knowing fully well that if I waited until I was fully awake, my recollection of it would be impaired. But I was dead tired and I needed to get back to sleep. My instinct for survival was stronger than the need to confront myself. Now I am wrecking my brain trying to remember what I was dreaming about.

I vaguely remember that I was in a class. The professor expressed annoyance that nobody had turned in the assignment. That was when I got up and delivered an exemporaneous speech. It is a damn shame I forgot most of the sppech. It had to do with evil, with how the religious conflict in Nigeria accounted for the massacre of the Nigerian Christians over the weekend in the mixed neighborhood near the demarcation line between the largely Muslim North and Christian South, in retaliation for similar slaughter of the Muslims in the same neigborhood in January, 2010. The news mentioned the killers didn't even spare infants. Imagine a human so consumed with hatred that he would raise a machete in his hand and struck it against a terrified crying infant while his mother would wail for mercy, if she was not already dead. How cruel and heartless humans could be when they were in a paroxysm of hate. Hate interests me because I find myself occasionally sucked into its vortex. I know I am capable of higher emotions and sentiments, but at times I wonder why there exists in me such terrifying thoughts of violence.

Words and Meanings

You got amused when you saw assholes get into word game, your domain. They hemmed and hawed, they stuttered and sputtered, they made an ass of themselves because they were lazy and might not be smart enough or both. Some knew their place in this world so after a few stumbling efforts of self-expression, they retreated and became spectators; others gallantly picked up the gauntlet and had their faces cut and their clothes reduced to shreds, but they didn't know any better. They grimly soldiered on and uttered the most damned drivel in this hemisphere. At first you were amused. Now you are annoyed. So you go home and hit the books and vow to yourself that you need to work on self-awareness because you are afraid you are just like one of them and don't even know that.

War, Love, and Emotions

Many people have expressed surprise at my confession that at this late period in my life (I'm in my early 60's), I am still searching for, still working on an integration of my warring, conflicting selves. The implication at their surprise was that they have moved on, have matured while I am still hampered by an arrested growth. They could be right about themselves and about me. But they could be lying, too. I don't know for sure because they surely don't act in a way that convince me they have achieved peace and understanding of themselves. They still convey sophistry and plain dishonesty.

The impetus for today's meditation was something I read earlier about war's psychic toll on soldiers, which says, just like skill and physical endurance, emotions need cultivation and expression. That insight jumped at me, grabbed me, and refused to let me go. It held me down and forced to deal with it. It said everything about me. It gave me a frame of reference for my struggle to bridle and master my emotions which had its roots in my dealing with war experiences and the painful experiences of love. I have survived the war and sort of survived the pains of love, but I am not whole. Something is missing inside me, makes me feel incomplete, out of place, defiant, antisocial, and prone to anger and thoughts of violence. Don't get me wrong, I don't lack female company. I have always having women around me all throughout my life, saying that they like me and even love me and acting as if they care, but I am still afraid, I am still not convinced.

Growing up in a civil war was not easy for me. I shut it out of my mind and tried to live, but the absurdity of a war between brothers and its ferocity weighed me down. I learned to adapt to physical hardships and to accept the fact that death could come at any moment. Now, safe and sound in a democratic society, I still act as if I live in a war zone. I am combative. I am belligerent. I don't back down. And I toy with thoughts of violence. I am a fool.

The road to love has always been tortuous and fraught with frauds and fraudulence and flatulence, not to menten fatuousness. Women lied to me, stole my money, and played me for a fool. Now at my age, I see it for what it is, a game. Yet I talk about it constantly and hunger for tall tales of far-out romance and undying love. I am a Heathcliff looking for my Catherine. And now the book says I have to work on mastering my emotions, on cultivating a proper expression of them. I seriously wonder if all the assholes out there act like they have marital bliss, they are for real or just shameless liars. I look at their faces and I really wonder.
(cont.)

Mass-Market Epiphany

The below is not my production. I lifted it from somewhere. It is so good that I want to read it again and again, thus it graced its presence here.

Mysticism is dying, and taking true religion with it. Monasteries have dwindled. Contemplative orders have declined. Our religious leaders no longer preach the renunciation of the world; our culture scoffs at the idea. The closest most Americans come to real asceticism is giving up chocolate, cappuccinos, or (in my own not-quite-Francis-of-Assisi case) meat for lunch for Lent.

This, at least, is the stern message of Luke Timothy Johnson, writing in the latest issue of the Catholic journal Commonweal. As society has become steadily more materialistic, Johnson declares, our churches have followed suit, giving up on the ascetic and ecstatic aspects of religion and emphasizing only the more worldly expressions of faith. Conservative believers fixate on the culture wars, religious liberals preach social justice, and neither leaves room for what should be a central focus of religion — the quest for the numinous, the pursuit of the unnamable, the tremor of bliss and the dark night of the soul.

Yet by some measures, mysticism’s place in contemporary religious life looks more secure than ever. Our opinion polls suggest that we’re encountering the divine all over the place. In 1962, after a decade-long boom in church attendance and public religiosity, Gallup found that just 22 percent of Americans reported having what they termed “a religious or mystical experience.” Flash forward to 2009, in a supposedly more secular United States, and that number had climbed to nearly 50 percent.

In a sense, Americans seem to have done with mysticism what we’ve done with every other kind of human experience: We’ve democratized it, diversified it, and taken it mass market. No previous society has offered seekers so many different ways to chase after nirvana, so many different paths to unity with God or Gaia or Whomever. A would-be mystic can attend a Pentecostal healing service one day and a class on Buddhism the next, dabble in Kabbalah in February and experiment with crystals in March, practice yoga every morning and spend weekends at an Eastern Orthodox retreat center. Sufi prayer techniques, Eucharistic adoration, peyote, tantric sex — name your preferred path to spiritual epiphany, and it’s probably on the table.

This democratization has been in many ways a blessing. Our horizons have been broadened, our religious resources have expanded, and we’ve even recovered spiritual practices that seemed to have died out long ago. The unexpected revival of glossolalia (speaking in tongues, that is), the oldest and strangest form of Christian worship, remains one of the more remarkable stories of 20th-century religion.

And yet Johnson may be right that something important is being lost as well. By making mysticism more democratic, we’ve also made it more bourgeois, more comfortable, and more dilettantish. It’s become something we pursue as a complement to an upwardly mobile existence, rather than a radical alternative to the ladder of success. Going to yoga classes isn’t the same thing as becoming a yogi; spending a week in a retreat center doesn’t make me Thomas Merton or Thérèse of Lisieux. Our kind of mysticism is more likely to be a pleasant hobby than a transformative vocation.

What’s more, it’s possible that our horizons have become too broad, and that real spiritual breakthroughs require a kind of narrowing — the decision to pick a path and stick with it, rather than hopscotching around in search of a synthesis that “works for me.” The great mystics of the past were often committed to a particular tradition and community, and bound by the rules (and often the physical confines) of a specific religious institution. Without these kind of strictures and commitments, Johnson argues, mysticism drifts easily into a kind of solipsism: “Kabbalism apart from Torah-observance is playacting; Sufism disconnected from Shariah is vague theosophy; and Christian mysticism that finds no center in the Eucharist or the Passion of Christ drifts into a form of self-grooming.”

Most religious believers will never be great mystics, of course, and the American way of faith is kinder than many earlier eras to those of us who won’t. But maybe it’s become too kind, and too accommodating. Even ordinary belief — the kind that seeks epiphanies between deadlines, and struggles even with the meager self-discipline required to get through Lent — depends on extraordinary examples, whether they’re embedded in our communities or cloistered in the great silence of a monastery. Without them, faith can become just another form of worldliness, therapeutic rather than transcendent, and shorn of any claim to stand in judgment over our everyday choices and concerns.

Without them, too, we give up on what’s supposed to be the deep promise of religious practice: that at any time, in any place, it’s possible to encounter the divine, the revolutionary and the impossible — and have your life completely shattered and remade.

Hurtful Words

I thought everybody knew enough about English after living in the U.S. for so many years (20 plus). But apparently, it ain't so! In a clear, direct--- devoid of jargons or big words or complex syntax--- short email, I outlined my thoughts. Yet it generated harsh, hurtful words from somebody. Once again, we read what we want to read, to see our own reflection in other people's writings, to accuse others of the same unpleasant traits that we ourselves possess.

I, of course, noticed the insolent language the person employed. I am not going to dignify the stupid comments with a reply. My latest email's language is direct and forceful, but polite. My revised letter to the National Geographic Society is polite also. I have more than enough words to fling back to the person's face, but I am not going to. That person is beneath my consideration. I posted my interior reactions to that person's words in this blog because I wanted to remind myself of a common phenomenon and that is we don't usually follow a close textual reading of what the writer wrote. Instead, we project our own feelings into the words we read and see our own reflection. In other words, when a monkey, especially an old and ugly one, looks into a mirror, it does not see the whole scenery the mirror reflects. All the monkey sees and focuses on is its own ugly face.

On Our Own Dark Little Self

Everybody has their own dark little self. Most manage to hide it from view until they die. Others struggle with it and in some moments of weakness, reveal it to the world and then hurriedly shut it off from view again. Still others fight with it in full view of the public as if by doing so, they would somehow come to terms with themselves and have peace. In the little community where I reside, I see several instances of public struggle. It is not a pretty sight. I don't know if those individuals know what they are doing.

I, of course, have my own dark little self. I talk about it all the time. I mine and plumb it for literary production. Recently I came across James Ellroy's account of the sad lives of his parents in the afterword of the first book of his L.A. Quartet novels. Both died young and violently. In a prose that is spare, fierce, and haunting, Ellroy talked about his obsessions and his sorrows.

I obsessively have talked about my sorrows, about what has happened to me when I discovered that love really hurt because it really didn't go away as it should.

Thoughts about the hero Le Thi Cong Nhan

I am not a parrot. I have my own opinions and I am not shy to articulate them. There are two types of people in this world. Those who only talk and mouth off pious sentiments. And those who act, even at great costs to themselves because of their sense of responsibility. Le Thi Cong Nhan is of the second category.

Humans are social animals. Human history is replete with stories of individuals who, for better or worse, stood out, set an example, and led others. They made a difference in people's lives, in a nation, and in the world. Le Thi Cong Nhan is such a person. Because of her courage and her love for Vietnam, she commands respect not only in Vietnam, but all over the world, not only by Vietnamese, but by people of various nationalities. She did not compromise her principles and beliefs while being in jail. And she said she was not going to compromise them now she is out of jail. She does not compromise her principles and beliefs because they are resonant and consistent with the truth. Truth knows no compromise. Truth just is.

I just couldn't stand seeing monkeys mouthing off nonsense even while they appeared to praise her, using LTCH as a platform to make them feel good about themselves. If they admire LTCN so much, why don't they follow her example and do something for Vietnam? That's my question. A person's words have to be consistent with his deeds otherwise he just invites contempt. The more I know about monkeys and there are fucking so many of them, I more I feel nauseous. They are full of absurd, illogical, incoherent, turgid, pontifications and analyses that yield no insights while the whole world know they are just plain noisy cowards trying to come to terms with their silent, hidden cowardice. I have no problems with cowardice per se. I understand monkeys need to live as long as they can. I understand they want to avoid risks. Silent cowards are OK to me. They know their place in this world. They accept their lot. Noisy cowards are the ones that get on my nerves because they are hypocrites and liars who think that they can pull the wool over people's eyes.

It's not easy to be brave. One has to really come to terms with suffering, death, and meanings of life.

Thus spake Wissai.

Creativity, Originality, and Stupidity masqueraded as Normality.

You know it's not fair to call normal folks stupid. It's not their fault. They, for the most part, have nothing to with their being normal and animalistic. That's what average means. Normal. Run of the mill. Ordinary. Undistinguished. Hypocritical. Slaves and sheep. And love life to the utmost and deadly scared of death. And yes, theistic and hopeful to go to heaven after they die. How boring and how predictable. Oops, you almost forgot. Cowardly, also. Yech! Banality can kill you. You just cannot be around banal folks with their cheap, unwitty humor, and tastes in clothes and music and literature and just about everything else. And yet, if you say that their lives are so similar to those of animals, they would instantly foam and froth at the mouth, and scream insults back at you. You have learned to stay from the animals and leave them alone. They think they are clever, however, because they lie. They try to deceive others. They say nice things about themselves. You hardly hear anything that comes close to honest self-assessment. They all think they are good and decent and caring. Yet, if you ask them to do something for their home country, a deadly and embarrassing silence ensues. Enough exposition about these monkeys. They make you sick. They make you throw up. You are making the company that makes PeptoBismol rich.

You know you are different and superior. You are the guy going around saying and repeating things like:

"One must have chaos within oneself to give birth to a dancing star."
"What you write is not engraved in stone monuments, but is stuck in people's hearts and glued on people's minds. You are a disturbed guy. And what you write is disturing."

You fancy that you have creativity and orginality, OK, sometimes stupiditiy, too, but not the usual cheap, cunning, crafty stupidity. Because even in stupiditty, you are special. You are naive and trusting and honest. That's why you are duped and fooled all the time. But you are wising up. Yes, you are. Ordinarily stupid assholes think you are stuck up on yourself. That is not really so. You just speak the truth. The truth makes those assholes uncomfortable becaue all the life they live a life of a lie and run away from the truth. The more you think about the cognitive dissonance these assholes have to bear, you cannot understand how they can live with themselves. They are so fucking cowardly that it is just pathetic. Everyday they mouth off pious platitudes yet they don't do a damn thing to live up to those platitudes. Absolute animals, no doubt about that, not at all. A man's true character is what he does, not what he says he is. To do is to be. To be is to do. Doing defines who we are. Who we are, is defined by what we do. A man whose words don't match his deeds or whose deeds don't match his words is not much a man. In fact, he is an animal.

What does a man think when he refuses to do a right thing when almost everybody around him answers to the call of his conscience? And yet that man everyday utters words of wisdom and respect and dignity and fucking civility and courtesy when he cannot answer to the call of decency, the call of conscience to do the right thing. What kind of a man is that person? He is a louse, an insect, a skunk, an animal. He may have an appearance of a human, but he has no human soul, no higher consciousness. All he cares for is to live with any costs and with any price. All he cares is himself and nobody else. He refuses to fight for his fellow men, his country. Oh yes, he would urge others to fight, but he himself will not lift a little fucking finger. Excuse me, I have to take a break. It's time to take another dose of PeptoBismol. I know, Buddha would not utter a single harsh word. Everything about the man was self-control and moderation. I am no Buddha. I am no coward, either. I do love my home country. Yes, I am switching to first person singular. No more rhetorical impersonal second person singular bullshit. Now everybody knows what I really think. I don't give a fuck. And I haven't even touched on Creativity and Originality yet.

It might look awfully self-serving for me to talk about creativity and originality. I now decide to let others judge if I possess them or not. Allow me to free-associate on whatever triggers my fancy and tickles my fanny.

Nudity: Before the advent of pornographic magazines, people had to pay good money to have access to pictures of nudity, especially of Causasians or had to content themselves with occasional issues of National Geographic Society magazines where nude photos of some natives in faraway lands. Now some photographers somehow entice Caucasians to come together in large number and pose nude to create some unsual shots which they call artistic expressions. Shit, I regard myself as an artistic person, but to call those photos as art is quite a stretch. Nude photos of some humans who cared to keep their body in beautiful conditions, on the other hand, can be artistic and aesthetically pleasing. Close-up photos of human genitalia are meant to excite sexual arousal. I am not usually that easily aroused either, unless I fall in love with the person who is in the nude.

Sophistry: A person who is routinely into this practice is not trustworthy. Period. End of discussion.

Flippancy: A person who has this seemingly harmless tendency loves to hear his own voice, and not to look for serious discussions. Stay away from him also.

(cont.)

Tough Guy?

"What you write is not engraved in stone monuments, but is stuck in people's hearts and glued on people's minds. You are a disturbed guy. And what you write is disturbing."
adapted from Pericles

-So, I heard you are a really tough guy. huh?
-You heard wrong. Look at me. A skinny guy in the 60's. With all kinds of ailments, even hemorrhoids on my ass and Alzheimer in my mind and plenty of nostalgia in my heart. I'm not tough at all. You got a wrong guy.
-No, my info was good. They said that you're not afraid of dying, that you're unpredictable.
-I'm telling you. You got the wrong guy. I'm a coward, scared of death, scared of suffering, scared of truth, scared of everything. I am a scared dude, not a scary guy. I've got to get going. I'm tired. I need to get back to my cell and rest.
-We're watching you.
-Watch all you want. I've nothing to hide.

That conversion was surreptitiously recorded in the exercise yard in McCarran State Penitentiary outside of Las Vegas about three years ago. It was played back to you yesterday in downtown Phoenix Police Department in the interrogation room. A woman detective by the name Maritza Diaz and her colleague Carlos Castaneda grilled you for almost an hour, but got nowhere and had to let you go. The following was an excerpt from the interrogation.

-I'd like to know what's the probable cause for asking me to come here?
-Mr. Determinado, we want you to help us.
-Just call me Roberto. Help you with what?
-The gruesome deaths of eight Americans and one Canadian.
-Why me? Am I a suspect?
-No, not at all. But we found the circumstances of the deaths were highly peculiar.
-Listen, at one time and one time only, in a moment of stupidity, I shot a guy, I pleaded guilty and I did time. A long time, if I may say so. I learned my lesson. I got "rehabilitated", so they said. And I have been straight ever since.
-Wait a minute. I want you, Senor "Determinado", listen to your own words. Carlos, play the tape back. What exactly did you mean "'rehabilitated', so they said.?"
-It means what it meant. I assume you guys know the English language.
-Watch what you say, Roberto.
-And watch what you say, Maritza. I know my rights. I don't know what you guys are talking about. Unless you spill your beans, I am going to call my beanie, excuse me, Mexican, lawyer. I don't have to talk to you guys.
-Wise guy. We have here a strange pattern. All the victims were hit at the head with a metal baseball bat in a frenzy and the perp left a calling card (At this moment they both watched you intently for reaction. You looked impassive but interested at the same time), a typewritten quote which says "What does not destroy me will make me stronger. Dobedo."
-So, what did that have to do with me?
-All of the victims at one time and another had some work relationship with you who were known to evince an admiration for Nietzsche. You also loved to show off your ideosyncrasies. As a sign-off in your email, you put a bunch of mottos, one which is Dobedo. And all the deaths occurred shortly after you were released from prison.
-Coincidence. Nietzsche's quote is very well-known. And so is Dobedo.
-We'll see.
-Yes, we'll see. Unless you have reasons to detain me in this absurd interrogation, I have better things to do with my time. Ciao. Hasta Luego, amigos.

Outside the sun was beating down hard on the sidewalk. Heat waves radiated and glimmered in the cloudless, windless afternoon. You walked briskly to your car in a garage two blocks away, feeling strong and amused and not the least disturbed. The years, 20 long ones, spent in the pen had made you strong both in body and mind. You exercised six days a week. Monday was your Sabbath. And you read and read. You also did a lot of thinking and brooding...

Before you got into the car, a showy old blood-red 'Vette of 1989 vintage, you looked around to see if anybody followed you. You reached for your cell phone and speed-dialed your alter ego, your brother Silvio Stallone. " It's me. We need to talk. Same place. Tonight. Seven." You turned the ignition and the lovely soothing ballad calmed you down instantly. The power of music. One of this day, must learn to play an instrument. How about tomorrow? Maybe. No, maybe. Get to a store tomorrow and get yourself one of those piano-like things you always want to have. No more procrastination.
(cont.)

Why is China a menace to world peace?

We, the Vietnamese, need to articulate fully the hegemonic ambitions of China to the whole world.

1. We would tell the world the expansionist policy of the Han people who originally settled only north of the Yangtze River and how they have relentlessly pursued a policy of expansion like the spread of an oil stain throughout the ages, of how they have conquered the peoples south of the Yangtze River, including the Vietnamse.
2. We would tell how the Vietnamese are the only people who have succeeded in escaping the assimilation while other peoples failed to do so.
3. We would tell China is comprised of many different peoples, many of them don't speak Mandarin Chinese at home. Most of the peoples in South China don't speak Mandarin. They speak their own languages. So do, of course, the peoples in Xinjiang and Tibet.
4. We would tell China is indeed an empire controlled and directed by the Han people
5. We would tell how the annexation of Tibet and Xinjiang and the incursion into India's territory in the Kashmir were part of the master plan of China's expansion in the modern era.
6. We would tell how China instigated the invasion of South Vietnam by the communist North Vietnam with the ulterior motive to take over Vietnam after the war. We would tell China has been coveting Vietnam for thousands of years. The occupation of the islands and land at Northern Vietnam's border with China and the ostensible "leasing" of hundreds of thousands of acres of land in the provinces adjacent to the Vietnam-China border under the pretext of effective land use management as well as the presence of estimated 100,000 Chinese workers in mining areas and factories in Vietnam are the results of a de facto invasion currently under way.
7. We would tell the Chinese will not be content with taking over Vietnam. They would occupy Laos and Cambodia where they already have a sizable presence of Chinese workers.
8. We would tell the Chinese are ambitious and greedy. They would proceed to conquer Thailand and Myanmar. They would also go to Malaysia and Indonesia where they have a sizable local Chinese population who dominate the commerce. The Philippines would have no where to go but to surrender.
9. We would tell the Chinese threat is real and Vietnam is the first testing ground in Southeast Asia, and the Paracel Islands and the Spratly Islands are where the battles for naval dominance in the area will take place.
10. Finally we would tell China is very much like Nazi Germany in the 1930's. It wants to expand its territory to feed its huge population and to befit its rising power. The conclusion is that the United States must work in concert with India, Australia, and Japan to check and restrain this menace to world peace from happening.

We would tell everybody who would listen that we are not painting a doomsday scenario but a realistic portrayal of what is happening and what is going to happen. Of all the peoples in the area, we know the Chinese the best because we were ruled by them for 1,000 years. We know their history, their language, and their culture. We know how they think because we have dealt intimately with them for thousands of years.

Wissai

Private Self and Public Image

For survival, many human animals maintain a respectable public image which is diametrically different from their private self. Most succeed in their role acting. Most have become accomplished thespians. Some, in moments of weakness, allowed themselves carried away by the passions of their ego and anger, dropped their masks and revealed who they are. That was when a tsunami of recognition washed over the onlookers and spectators.

You were one of such onlookers and spectators. You were washed and carried away by the tsunami but you weren't drowned. You emerged bruised but much wiser and hopefully more taciturn. With your age and the "intelligence" you possess, I should have not allowed myself to be swept by the tsunami, bur you did. That meant only one thing: you were naive and trusting. In other words, you should have cultivated the ability to discern and read the animals better.

Memories

Memories play trick with reality. You woke up early in the morning and you couldn't go back to sleep. Your mind wondered and of course you thought of her and how foolishly you thought highly of her in your heart for such a long time, of how you refused to wake up to a reality that you didn't mean Jack shit to her, of how she thought she was much superior to you and that explained the reason she just coldly walked away just like that. But this time you didn't feel pain, nor did you feel angry and hurt. Instead, a soft, slight, lingering feeling of acceptance of the reality that she perhaps never understood who you were and what your worth was. And then you told yourself you didn't need to find affirmation and confirmation of your worth by dashing out there in the wilderness of human loneliness and look for somebody whom you could feel whole with. No sir, you just smile to yourself and you understand why Buudha once said the biggest debt is that of the heart. You stilll can love. You still can cry. But you stop looking, not even at 9 pm on a Saturday night and you are all alone with your books. You don't have a longing for a body since you feel deep in your heart now true love and understanding are nothing but illusions. You finally achieve emotional independence. Your heart no longer constricts and you no longer wince with pain when you see a couple arm in arm, laughing and their faces radiating with happiness. No, you are above that, finally, and you don't even feel sad. That is when you know she is no longer in your heart.

Michael Jackson and Billie Jean song

I must say I was into highs from sex, alcohol, meditation, long distance running, falling in love, writing, reading, and music. For many times, I was tempted to try drugs, but I was afraid to get hooked. But from seeing Michael Jackson performed Billie Jean in concert on YouTube tonight I got an intense high that none of the other highs I had gone through would come close. The rhythm of the song, the lyrics, its length (I didn't want it to end. To me it could go for hours) and the choreography that Michael performed in turn drove the audience into a state of frenzy, which in turn induced an out-of-body, transcendental experience that for some sustained minutes, I got a communion with my fellow humans and I knew then for me this particular piece of music broke down all barriers and I had an ineffable prolonged, sustained feeling I was one with the universe, with everybody, with everything around me. All thoughts of violence and hate evaporated from me. All what remained in my heart was a blissful feeling of love and joy and a grateful acknowledgment that I was still alive and breathing.

Instinct and related topics

Ideas:

-Man suppresses instinct, ironically becomes an animal.
-Effective communication
-Moderation vs extremism
-why I viewed Hitler evil?
-What is evil? What causes it?
-What is Love? Why some persons don't have it?
-Emotional Growth vs stagnation

Some human behavior are based on instincts and geared for naked survival of the individuals and of the species. Some are learned which are said to make humans different and supposedly better than lower forms of life: the arts, the thirst for knowledge, morality, the beliefs in "higher" power. Not all humans exhibit the learned behavior; thus those who manifest a deficiency of learned behavior are looked down upon and assumed to be stupid, stolid, insensitive, or even animalistic. Of course to be called an animal is to suffer an indignity and usually makes the person on the receiving end very angry and wants to retaliate either by force or by returning the same insult to his accuser. That usually makes the scene of acrimony has an added dimension of hilarity due to presence of the elements of self-righteousness and lack of self-control of the parties involved. The first element is distinctly human while lack of self-control is definitely an impairment of the function of frontal lobes, thus rendering a person a slave of his emotions and an animal by implication. Are you with me, so far?

The reason for the above turgid prose is that, unlike most humans. I am more amused than antagonistic when accused of being animalistic ( you get the drift of alliteration? oh come on, don't make me do all the work now!) because I sometimes do behave like an animal, because sometimes I let emotions get the better of me. That's a fact and it's nothing for me to proud of. But unlike most human animals, I am very honest with myself and don't suffer from any self-deception. Let me tell you, I am quite fucking unique, one of the rarest creatures that ever walked down the turnpike. Besides acting like an animal due to my failure to have a tight rein over my emotions, I strangely can reason cogently, write poetry in four languages, appreciate the arts, and have boundless capacity for love for all living things. But enough talking about me. Let's talk about you. So, what do you think of me, so far?

(cont.)

Lessons

Moderation.
Take the views of a normal person into account. Look at yourself from his eyes.
Be humble. Don't brag about yourself.
Be pleasant, even with those you disagree. In fact, more pleasant and at your best behavior with those you disagree. Show them genuine respect.
Be conciliatory.
Don't be condescending. Never. Never. The quickest way to make enemies is to be condescending.
Don't feign affection. Don't feign anything.
Be yourself but pleasant. Learn from others. Copy Obama.
Above all. Be loving. Don't ever be cynical or evil. Keep love alive at all times. Love and love. Be like Christ. Yet never be naive for there's evil in this world. Evil comes from selfishness. Yes, selfishness is the root of all evils. It's putting oneself above everybody else in the pursuit of biological and emotional needs. Stay away from selfish people. Even Buddha said so.
Fight fair. Don't hit below the belt. Better to avoid fighting. Life of fighters is short.
Be peaceful.
Don't be presumptuous. Don't tell people that you know they feel and think. It's an insult to others when you act like you're a mind reader. Nobody is. The human animal is unpredictable and inconsistent.

Addendum

I had a lingering, nagging feeling that we had another Howie Haw in our midst. At any rate, he validated my sign-off motto. After sifting through the verbiage, one revealing statement stood out. That made me run to the phone and called the National Guard. They took the info I gave them over the phone and said they would get back to me and told me to sit tight, barricade the door and all other points of entry. They asked me if I have any means of protection other than my mind. I said, patience and a pocket knife. Don't you cook? Don't you play baseball? Don't you ever change a car tire?, they asked. Ah, I see what you mean, I sighed.

An hour later, they called and told me that they were sending four agents over. They would talke me to a safe house so I needed to pack quickly. I said, what's going on? We'll tell you, national security.

How interesting, I said to myself. Blood was racing through my body. My heart was on overdrive. As I was putting my stuff in a suitcase, the phone rang.

-Hello, Wissai, can we talk again? It was him! In his sweet, fake friendly voice.
-Hi, Michael. Sorry. You caught me at a very bad time. I was on my way out to get Pesto Bismol. I keep puking all over myself since we last talked. Sorry. I've got to go.

I hung up the phone. Tell him lies. Tell him sweet little lies to my heart's desire.

I resumed packing. After I was through, I took a dump. Just as I was about to take a quick shower, the bell rang. Damn, the agents were efficient, I thought. I quickly put on my pants and was pulling down a T-shirt over me while striding to the door. I stupidly didn't look through the peephole.

-Hi, Wissai. How's your stomach?

Who Am I Redux? What to give light must endure burning

Thank you for writing to me. I appreciate that. I wrote a very long reply, but I scrapped that because upon rereading it, it sounded like I was too much into self-justifications and arguments. So here is my response in bullet points which may not be as direct and to the point as I would like, but they served the purpose of thinking out loud and from there you would deduce what kind of a person I am. Like you, I have concluded that true communication is very difficult to achieve because of two concerns: words stand in the way and fear of rejection. As strong-minded and individualistic as we all would like to think we are, normal humans (psychopaths don't count) still have an instinct for acceptance and belonging. That's why we tend to marry those who are of the same race, religion, and political views. We vaguely understand that there are other humans who think and feel differently from us, but the reality is we can't help being surprised and shocked when that actually happens. We tend to think that others would think as we do because what we think are so logical and sensible or so it seems to us. That childlike disenchantment was at the root of my strong language. Anyway, here are the points:

1. Truth is very elusive. Fools like me noisily talk about it, but probably don't know what it is. What has been driven home to me is everybody has their own version of it. Some embrace it totally and reveal it openly. Others, much more wisely, touch upon it lightly since they know it's like a bomb. So, I declined to dispute with you whether the arguments in my "goodbye" letter had holes or not, and whether I was less than truthful in saying I had no rancor in my heart. Despite saying I would not apologize to a certain individual I went ahead and apologized because I was struggling with the idea and in the end my heart overcame my pride. I apologized because it was a right thing to do. I was not proud of the way I had talked to and about that person, no matter how justified it was to me. I could have been a bigger man, instead of being little and petty- minded. Please be mindful that for some humans like me, there exists a constant valuation and evaluation of ideas and feelings. So what you perceived as dishonesty was just one facet of a multi-faceted phenomenon

2. I appreciate deeply your helping me see my back, the dark side of my moon. While I never think for a moment that my actions may have base intentions, I understand others have a right to question my motives. All my life, I have struggled to be noble. And I have fallen short, over and over again, but whatever I do, I do with a noble, good intention. Upon reflection further, if I see that my action was mean-spirited or good-intentioned but causing hurt, I would apologize. I have an active conscience because deep down I don't wish to harm anybody or living things. That is why I am into vegetarianism. As I said, I know first hand what psychic pain is and I don't wish to inflict it on others. I thought other people would approach the issue of humans versus animals in the same philosophical and rhetorical way as I did. I supposed I was influenced by years of watching programs about animals on TV. I still maintain there is a very thin between humans and animals and we humans cross that line back and forth all our lives. Only very few humans stay definitely on the human side and never once go astray.

3. I am a very gentle and tender person inside, but coarse and unrefined outside.

4. I am vulnerable and delicate, not tough at all. Years of suffering have not hardened me into a cynical, selfish individual. Not yet. And I hope that will not happen.

5. I am learning to be truly humble and gentle on the outside.

6. Knowing oneself is hard, knowing others is even harder because others are not willing to share with us who they are. Even if they do, what they share may not be who they are, not because they lie, but because they fail to understand themselves. So you see, it's all back to illusions.

7. Another lesson is that others have pride and aggressiveness too, maybe much bigger pride and aggressiveness than mine. And that's all right. Seeing how proud and self-assured they are of themselves, I am learning to be more humble and self-effacing.

8. Please overlook/disregard what was written in my blog. Remember my blog serves as a tool of self-therapy, not a means to reach others. It's my way of satisfying my need of unburdening myself and of indulging in fantasy.

9. Words are both useful and useless in communication. What's more important is our heart. The bigger it is, the more it knows how to use words.

10. I repeat and I save this one for last. Over and over again, I belatedly realize I incurred the most hurt and damage to myself was when I failed to be gentle in my communication, even when I was right. Actually, the more in the right I was, the more gentle I had to be. But I was carried away by the "beauty" of my logic and my ability to render that logic into words other than those of my mother tongue, and I hurt myself and others, as a consequence. I tend to forget the wisdom in the dictum that it is not so much what one says, but how one says it. The medium is the message.

Thanks once again for sharing your thoughts. As I see none of what I said here had a direct reference to you and your identity or anybody else, I take the liberty to post it in my blog so that the readers would understand me better since there is so much profanity and seeming grandiosity and self-preoccupation in the blog.

Wissai