Party at #8 Olvido

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 19, 20

It would have been ok if we hadn’t invited our landlady, H__, to watch a movie with us.
Surrounded by intoxicated men, H__didn’t stand much of a chance. After I knocked over
a glass, I retreated to my casita, but the damage had been done. A case of irresistible
chaos meets fixed mind. Chaos always wins. The minds wonder what went wrong and
who to blame. A broken glass and the evening turned from the designated entertain-
ment to the evolving spectacle. It could have gone so smoothly, but it didn’t, so blame
is cast and the fixed minds can re-fix themselves with blame to feel better about
themselves and move forward into the illusion of certainty. Not much of a party, really.
Of course, civilization can’t happen without rules and a certain decency of behavior….but
whose rules? That’s bad logic. I’m a drunk and shit’s bound to happen. It happened…
I knocked over a glass.

It wasn’t the first glass, and it won’t be the last. The question is, if I knock over a
glass and no one sees it, am I still an asshole? The answer to that has to be no…..
and yes. Assholedom is in the eye of the beholder. It’s not an absolute.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea having a housemate. I was alone for three years
and there were no such problems. I even lived with a woman for a year and, even
though she hated my drinking, we worked it out. That my housemate is also an
alcoholic is no saving grace….the pot finds a way to call the kettle black.

We talked about waiting till H__ left for England till we had a party, then we went
against our best judgement. Is it any wonder shit happened? Well, she found out
something we didn’t want her to see. Good. Let the truth be exposed. Whatever
happens will be a positive outcome. It’s a nice house to live in, but not something
worth holding onto. Maybe it’s a lesson in too good to be true. No regrets for
this one. Just another turn on the cosmic dance floor.

I used to be a good boy, but the bloom went off the rose when I saw how crazy
the world was. I put my time in on Marpa’s farm and what happened to me
was a hard won miracle, I still break glasses, however…the cost of doing
business with the samsaric world that watches it’s documentaries and goes home
to a comfy bed. Welcome to the charnel ground, where death precludes entertainment.

The survival mechanism was powerful in my life. My father offered to pay for grad
school, but I knew if I took him up on it I would have killed myself half way through.
I knew I needed a way to work with my mind and I found it in meditation. I knew
I needed a way to make a living not with my mind, and I found it in plumbing. Now is
the time when I find out if what I did was the right thing. Of course it was. Now
survival is not so important. Life is more beautiful than ever it was. It’s also obvious
that it’s not going to last forever. A broken glass just doesn’t carry much weight.
What people think is about the same. I used to think theatre had the capacity to
change people’s lives in the sense that if they saw (what I thought was) the truth,
they would recognize it. I was wrong about all of it. People only change when they
are confronted with death. That’s the only reason there is a European Union. It
took two world wars to get the message across. Unfortunately, the rest of the
world hasn’t gotten the message....maybe Japan.

My heart is broken, but I’m not bitter. I trust in my broken, sad heart…the only
thing I rely on. It is true. It does not deceive. It is not affected by the vicissitudes
of life. Sympathy for all of us confused beings comes out of it. It is symbolized
by a broken glass. It is symbolized by the sparrow that somehow finds a way to live,
by children playing in the rubble of Beruit, by the Tibetian people who practice
their culture in spite of not having a country, by the young people that demonstrate
against the WTO, by the artist that starves rather than getting a job.