When I was growing up, I loved the science fiction TV show Babylon 5. It had an epic story arc, intriguing characters and cool spaceships. It also had some interesting ideas, one of which was an alien proverb: “Understanding is a three-edged sword: your side, their side, and the truth.”
When I was growing up, I liked to see things in black and white. It made things easier to understand. I’m right, you’re wrong. It made life easier to go through, judging easier, justifications smoother.
Now that I’m older, I see that there are more shades of gray in the world than pure hues of black or white. That sometimes there are no completely right or wrong sides – you just have to pick a side and face the consequences.
Another saying, Japanese this time not extraterrestrial, goes: “Hell gapes beneath the upraised sword… Step in! And Heaven is your reward!”
In the past I used to say that I never had enough time to do everything I wanted to do. Now, after having said it enough times through the years I realize how true that statement is. I will never have enough time to do everything I want to do, because it’s easy to scale desires. It’s impossible, however, to increase the finite amount of time I will have on this planet.
Yes, I can always increase my chances of living longer by living better. But it doesn’t take away the fact that my life – my life, your life, everyone else’s life – is limited. You have x number of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years and that’s it.
I’m reminded of something Paul Bowles wrote in The Sheltering Sky:
Death is always on the way, but the fact that you don’t know when it will arrive seems to take away from the finiteness of life. It’s that terrible precision that we hate so much. But because we don’t know, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that’s so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.
It’s been 2 months since I visited my friend Paiboon in the forest monastery of Wat Pa Don Hiay Soke, and I’ve finally finished the video interview I filmed with him there. I hope you enjoy it.
It was a tremendous learning experience for me, personally, spiritually, as well as technically. I’ve always wanted to visit with Paiboon again ever since I first visited him in 2007. I’ve had the idea of filming an interview with him for some time, to let Paiboon’s friends back in Singapore see how he’s doing and to see a little of what life is like in the forest monastery.
Somewhere along the line, during filming and editing, I realized that the story could be better served by concentrating on the content that was more universal, rather than simply personal, and more people could hopefully benefit from hearing Paiboon speak.
There was a wealth of material I didn’t use, but don’t worry that it’ll go to waste. Paiboon and I have something else to take care of that – something even better, but it’s been delayed due to the floods in Thailand, so the announcement will have to wait.
I haven’t filmed and edited a video since my student days in 2000, so please forgive the errors in the video. I ambitiously took on the project with a Canon 7D, a professional camera that even the pros need to know how to use to get the best out of. I also had to relearn an editing app from the ground up. Working only on the weekends and weekday nights I had free added to the long time it took for me to finally finish.
A friend of mine passed away this week. She was always so much larger than life, it’s hard to imagine her gone. She lived life to the fullest – there are very few people I know personally whom I can say that of, but for her it was absolutely true. That makes the loss of someone so vivacious, courageous and beautiful that much harder to accept.
The night I got the phone call, I thought of this quote. It has never seemed more real to me than it does now.
A dream of family, scorpions and death. Waking up in the dead of night, heart pounding. I feel afraid and I don’t know why. Can’t get back to sleep. Wake up, walk around, an awful dread creeping up over my shoulders. Like a cold sheet of ice weighing down my back.
We are so unprepared for death.
We tell ourselves stories to sooth our souls, but the fact is that nobody alive has come back from the other shore, to tell us what really happens the moment we die.
I think of my father. Of how deeply connected our lives are, so deep it’s in our blood, in our bones. I can’t imagine not having him in my life. It would be like pulling a pillar out of my house; a missing space where a force of love and strength used to be.
And yet, I know that I will lose him. Everyone will be lost one day.
I’m a full-time technology writer. When Steve Jobs passed away in early October, it struck me deeply, and I spent days reading tributes written to him. Among the many I read, one particularly resonated with me. Jason Snell, editor of Macworld, wrote:
The most one-on-one time I spent with Steve Jobs was a telephone interview for the 20th anniversary of the Mac and Macworld in 2004. We spent six months setting up what ended up being about a 10-minute-long phone call, if that.