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Tag: experience

Gaining Experience Points

Assuming that simply being alive and making any kind of progress is a never-ending hamster wheel, an ouroboros where the outcome you worked diligently toward is swallowed up in the gaping maw of the next problem, challenge, or opportunity, there’s a certain point in any cycle where it seems unlikely that you’ll make it back around to the starting point. Think of it like that moment when the tilt-a-whirl hits its maximum spin and you hit the metal side of the car with a lurch in your stomach that anticipates but doesn’t quite expect the reverse cycle to kick off.

More often than not, those pause points or moments of relative uncertainty function as epiphany enablers. Like a song in a Broadway musical, they introduce plot devices that take you from one point-of-view (like you’re really mortal enemies) to one diametrically opposed (like now you’re madly in love), without the benefit of developmental dialog and/or theatrical business in between.

Given that, and in the absence of any solid way to measure evolution, how do you actually know you’re making any kind of progress whatsoever? Do the problems get smaller, does your calm take an increasingly larger percentage of your time, are your vital signs like blood pressure, sugar, and activity antibodies more in line with acceptable standards from reputable medical authorities?

A lot of the world’s spiritual traditions suggest that you don’t really know you’re making any headway until you stop thinking about making headway. The best of them even say that making progress is the easiest way to know you’re not making progress. In Soto Zen, for example, the practice is the outcome. You don’t meditate to transform yourself into an enlightened being, a bodhisattva, because you already are one. Just sitting, shikantaza in Japanese, is the enlightenment of just practicing. Shunryu Suzuki said we’re all perfect, we could just use a little improvement. Mac Rebennack might have agreed, saying “You’re on the right trip, but in the wrong car.” In any case, the trick is to arrive without travelling, right?

But what does that really mean? If there’s nowhere to go, and time is mere artificial construct, a house of mirrors reflecting forward and backward in the House of Now, then why are so many of us interested in self-improvement and self-awareness, and so battle-worn resisting self-interest, self-doubt, self-aggrandizement, and self-pity?

Self-help is a mega-million dollar industry built on the history of human fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of death, fear of not being enough, fear of dying without living. As if you had a choice. UG Krishnamurti, the other Krishnamurti, said we are all asking a question we already are able to answer. We just don’t like the answer – and want somebody else to tell us we don’t have to do any work on ourselves by ourselves. Once you stop asking questions, he said, you no longer need any answers. You just live. Until you don’t.

Do we really want to live forever? What for? What do you think you’ll get done in the next two to three hundred years that you haven’t managed to screw up already? We don’t want to learn, to become wise, to reach enlightenment. Because when we do, all the great religious traditions tell us we become one with the divine. That’s what atonement (at-one-ment) really means, after all. You can’t really take the salt back out of salt water once you’ve dissolved it. If you could, what’s the point? Isn’t that like imagining you get more than one once in a lifetime opportunity?

Once you get the chance to level up, some traditions say the best course is to hold off on that advancement until everyone else gets there too. But if you’ve ever played Dungeons & Dragons, you understand that the only way to not keep accumulating experience points is to die. It’s only when you’re dead that the rest of your squad has an opportunity to catch up with you. And some beings take a lot longer than others and gain points in different ways. We don’t all regenerate hit points or magic in the same way, nor do we advance levels at the same rate. In that respect, we’re not all created equal. Each of has our own set of skills, our selected bag of tricks, that give us a myriad of complex, complementary, and often contradictory means to accomplish our objectives. We don’t even necessarily have the same objectives – except of course to remain alive at the end of the quest.

You go with what you know. And you go into what you don’t know. And as is often said, unless you know where you’re going, there’s not much point in choosing who you need along for the journey. In the same way you don’t measure the quality of a goldfish by its ability to climb a tree, you don’t need an elephant to help you on a long sea voyage.

Sometimes, though, it’s the skills you don’t know you need in your party that make all the difference. Once again, Dunning-Kruger plays a part. If you don’t know anything, you don’t even know what you don’t know. So how do you know who should lead you, or when you need to lead, or follow?

You get to roll the dice. Isn’t that enough for now?

08 APR 2025

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Anti-Virus: a complaint or lamentation

I wonder how the world would be
if thirty years ago,
instead of playing thankless gigs,
a soundbyte of a show

I’d done when merely seventeen
(and better then, than now)
would have been made, and hit the ‘net
(God knows exactly how),

gone viral, and been seen worldwide.
Would I have been star?
I wonder, would I then have bothered
LEARNING the guitar?

By that, I mean becoming part,
just part, of what it means
to gain through time some mastery,
by living in between

the wanting and the knowing how,
the skill and the desire,
each note both torture and caress,
both kindling and the fire.

True art is more a crucible
where souls are bent and forged,
than an exciting carnival
where egos are engorged.

I wonder now, when looking back,
on things that could have been;
and thank the gods for then and now,
and the time in between.

What good would I be if back then
I’d caught on like a flame?
I would have not learned anything,
and been, today, just lame.

03 MAY 2011

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Each moment is a threshold

Each moment is a threshold
hinged upon an ancient door;
we swing between two rooms:
the future, and what’s come before.

Experience, the lubricant
that smooths the rust and squeaks,
we start to use, and learn to hoard,
before we learn to speak.

One room is full of fantasy,
the other, hardened fact;
and though we glimpse both in the frame,
one isn’t coming back.

Each motion scrapes the floorboards clean
of dust from either side,
and pushes it before us.
One day, we choose to decide

which room is where we want to live,
to dwell on history,
or venture into the unknown
and forge a destiny.

We spend our time, hung on this door,
our focus one small arc
that gives us merely glimpses of
what’s out there in the dark:

for one, what holds the doorframe still,
what force compels these walls
to stand erect our entire lives,
while all around us falls?

And what if we should swing too hard,
as if it were a game
to make the quickest, loudest swing?
Is the oak door to blame

if loosened from its hinges,
it should let us hurl beyond
the simple, repetitious arc
we’ve come to depend on?

22 JUN 2005

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On Bards of Old

Did bards of old, I wonder, ever tire
of rooting through their souls for a new verse
in order to instruct, praise or inspire
through their connection with the universe,
and after twenty years of “learn by rote”,
requiring mastery of form and feel,
the skill to recognize a tune by note,
a repertoire to make the senses reel,
and knowledge of the history and lore,
not only of their clan, but the whole world,
while at the beck and call of some great lord
who nine times out of ten, was partly churl,
requiring curses cast against their foes
or songs of praise to elevate their fame?
How often did a bard observe a rose
for just its fragrance, not speaking its name?

And when a verse or two was shared between
a group of bards that met along the road,
how often did the conversation lean
to simple things, not meter, rhyme and code?
I wonder if the burden that they shared,
the weight of culture’s future on their tongues,
was often thought a curse, even compared
unfavorably to being deaf and dumb?

They say the pen is greater than the sword,
that eloquence breaks down more doors than steel;
how treacherous that makes a life where words
are just as precious as true love, or meals.
Let modern poets suffer for their art,
imagining their angst so great and pure;
where their woe ends, the bard’s task only starts,
and leads where few may travel, or endure.
Those bards of old are gone, some may declare;
Their arts? Anachronistic and no use.
So few remain who act as if they care,
and on the struggling poet, heap abuse.
Did bards of old, I wonder, ever think
to give up, knowing that their audience,
who when given ambrosial words to drink,
gained neither wisdom or experience?

04 MAY 2005

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Tradition and the Individual Talent

for T.S. Eliot

When Icarus took flight with home-made wings
he sought to rise above, not divine laws,
but listening to how the eagle sings
attempted to reach past the aeropause

that culture places on its young when born
to limit how far flung their dreams may reach,
and teaches children to avoid its scorn
by tempering their thoughts in civil speech.

Poor Daedelus, tradition’s solid stock,
can only watch in anguish from the bluff
as his bright future plummets to the rocks,
its bindings frayed, momentum not enough.

Against the ceiling set by common whim
there is no soar or dive; just fall, or skim.

03 JUN 2004

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Untitled Sonnet

If I never saw another morning sky
nor waked to hear the sparrows on the lawn,
if roses gave no scent when I walked by
and all the butterflies were dead and gone,

there still would be their memory in my mind
(for beauty is not merely for the sense)
and every place I looked for it, I’d find
a way to grow from each experience

For life is in the living, here and now
and does not linger long in sight and sound;
It dwells in death and rebirth, and somehow

remains, among all simple things, profound.
The end? In truth, that day will never come;
we merely pass from bread, to toast, to crumb.

31 MAY 2003

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