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Rajah
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Name: Steve
Interests: I enjoy smoking really good cigars and discussing esoteric principles and teachings with my teacher and friends.
Expertise: I'm an artist of the electrical kind. I help little old ladies whose power has gone out and I build fully automated, post modern, never before built mansions. I have a very full life.
Message: message meEmail: email me
AIM:  sldrajah
Member Since:
3/22/2001
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| Sometimes
Sometimes it seems that no matter how much I strive to do what is right; nothing really changes on the inside. It’s all just layer upon subtle layer of the same ol’ Steve. Then those close to me help me to step back and take a look at a larger perspective. They show me that, while I’m not yet who I will be, I’m also not who I used to be. Not by a long shot.
For their help and support I humbly and gratefully say, “Thank you.” | | |
| Parentology
I’ve been a parent for almost sixteen years. I’ve only started being a father for maybe the last year or so. I remember, when I was a teen and under what I considered to be unreasonable oppression by my parents, saying to myself, “I’ll never do this to my children.” I remember promising myself to be different in many ways, all of them better, to my kids. Ah, the arrogance of youth.
As it turned out the parental “oppression”, which I renounced, came out of stasis and was brought to bear on the three children my wife bore me. It wasn’t because I wanted to be an insane tyrant. I simply didn’t see that the compulsion to be in complete control of this life, which I called mine and which was now divided into five parts (three kids + one wife + me = five) as insane. Everyone has suffered because of this obsession to rule with an iron hand. I’ve caused those who desired to love me to fear and resent me. I’ve done this for years.
Lately, being more open handed, fair minded, and willing to listen instead of mandating towards my family has been my desire. This means letting go of being in control is very important. It also means seeing that being in control is only an illusion. I’m not in control of anything... at all.
One time, when I was a lad of fourteen, I brought home four C’s on my report card. I had always brought home A’s or B’s before but, for one half of a semester, I got complacent and didn’t strive as hard as I normally did. The rule, regarding grades, in our home was: If you bring home a C on your report card, you are grounded to your room for nine weeks; until the next card is given. Needless to say; it was a bitter time for me that half semester. I hated my parents with a passion for imposing this punishment on me.
Today I discovered that my son has three C’s and a D on his grade cards. Did I go insane and impose my will upon a child who is already struggling with his own hormonal insanity? Only for about ten seconds. Then I remembered my experience. I remembered the emotions that raged when I was grounded. I remembered feeling how unjust the whole situation was. I saw that getting those four C’s really caused no harm in my life. I remembered and I spoke to my son from that place. We talked about desire versus responsibility. We talked about setting practical goals towards attainable results. We talked about how the grades, in and of themselves, were of no importance; but the character built and habits gained by doing what needed done to get good grades would serve one well in life.
My son, once he saw that I wasn’t going to declare martial law, told me that these grades are an anomaly (my word not his), that he would strive to do his best in school and he would bring his grades up. He did this of his own volition and our conversation was pleasantly and peacefully ended.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be a father again when the next opportunity arises. Hey, it could happen. | | |
| Forgetting is too Easy
One of the things we do, in our little circle of friends, is help each other when one of us is down. This “help” manifests in many ways, some of which may be uncomfortable for a short time but yields abundant fruit later. A couple of us seem to be blessed with the knack of putting numbers together in such a way as to make a sensible budget so that someone who might be having a little trouble with their finances can have clear, obtainable goals to get themselves back onto solid financial ground. It’s not easy for anyone involved, when someone has to look at themselves in the face of indifferent numbers, because numbers don’t lie. Numbers don’t spin the truth nor do they make themselves less easily seen in shades of gray. They are what they are.
When we start working with a person and they bring us their statements, it’s easy to be compassionate and realize that they are very vulnerable. The hard part is to remember that they are just as vulnerable after some time has passed, they have been making progress and then have a relapse. It’s also difficult to remember that I have absolutely no right in having financial goals for those we are assisting and to remember that whether they succeed or fail has nothing to do with me and how I do my job with them. It’s easy, for me at least, to hold too strict a line for others regarding finances just because I do it on a personal level in my life. For some reason I happen to have some measure of discipline regarding money. I don’t have it regarding food, nor do I have it regarding anger or other emotions. It’s strange how I can become fixated on getting certain results from others who have asked for help in their finances, and forget that they are struggling in this area just as I do in areas where I am weak. It’s strange how easy it is to forget that we are there to serve them instead of holding them to a goal that may very well be unrealistic at that time because it is overwhelming. It’s strange that it’s so easy to forget to praise them for their progress, encourage them in their moment of weakness, and just be there for them when they need us. What makes it so strange is that I really want to do all of the positive things yet I can’t. It may happen from time to time but, as sure as shootin, I’ll fall back into projecting my own goals and standards onto my friends; the very thing I don’t want to do. What good is it to have a golden rule if you can’t follow it to save your life? I guess the good in it is that it creates the space to stop, even if it’s just for a moment, and remember what the real purpose in these circumstances is. That being to put oneself, as best we can, in the shoes of another and see that we all have our struggles and that compassion, mercy, and acceptance is something that we all desire yet have very little power to give. Why? Because forgetting is too easy.
I wish to remember... often. | | |
| Thank You
I saw a movie this week called “What the Bleep do We Know”. It was extraordinary in that it caused me to remember important things that have been, maybe not forgotten, but certainly not at the forefront of my mind. Things that have caused my life to change dramatically in the last five or six years.
In this movie it showed an experiment some physicist did with water. He photographed the molecular structure of this water with a special black light microscope. He showed the natural state of the water molecule in a normal drinking glass. Then he wrote on separate pieces of paper the words love, thank you, and I can’t stand you - I’ll kill you. He taped these pieces of paper to water glasses, filled with water, and left them for twenty four hours. After the allotted time had passed he photographed the molecules of water with the words taped to the glass. The results were remarkable. The regular water molecule was a simple hexagon. The molecule with the word “thank you” taped to the glass was multi hexagonal and resembled a beautiful snow flake. The molecule with the word “love” on the glass was as different and more beautifully complex as the “thank you” molecule was from the normal one; with layers upon layers of hexagonal patterns interlaced with one another. The colors of the first three molecules were blue and white. The molecule with “I’ll kill you” written on it was barely recognizable. It literally looked like someone had taken a hand full of dog crap and flung it against the wall. Its shape was all blotchy and spattered and its colors were black and amber. It was shocking, and it caused me to remember, in a flash, my history as a working man.
For most of my working life (I’ve been working since I was twelve) I hated having to go to work. I hated the tasks that were required of me by inept, power mad bosses who would stab you in the back in order to protect themselves from their bosses. I hated just barely making it from week to week, being told that the company couldn’t afford to give me a ten cent raise because “times were hard”. I hated hearing it said by a foreman to a superintendent, “There isn’t anyone in this whole crew worth half of what they’re getting paid.” and this while we were setting records for production. I hated wondering when the next lay off was coming. Blah, blah, blah, ad nauseam. I hated the whole rat race.
Then, after an extremely hard two years of financial and emotional darkness, I noticed a change. I sat crying in my garage one evening, after getting home from a meeting with a good employer who told me that he was out of money and had to let me go. I sat there broken; crying and telling God or whoever was listening, that I was thankful for every day I got to work for that man, that I was thankful for being physically able to work, and that I was thankful for being willing to work. I was thirty something years old, crying my eyes out, with no hope of a different working future; saying thank you... thank you... thank you. When I had composed myself I went inside the house and my wife told me someone had called and wanted to know if I would do a small electrical job for them. I thought, “what the heck” I’ll go to the unemployment office later. I called the people back and did the job for them the next day. As I was driving out of their driveway my cell phone rang. It was someone else wanting to know if I would do a small electrical job for them. Ok, this was strange, but I was willing to do it. The next day I got two calls from people wanting me to work for them. The following day three calls; all from people who wanted me to help them with their electrical problems.
Now, almost six years later, I saw a movie that reminded me to be thankful for the almost constant stream of phone calls that keep coming day after day. I now employ six people to help me serve others and it appears that I will need several more in the near future. The jobs keep getting bigger and more challenging and the phone keeps ringing.... and I, with different tears in my eyes, humbly say to that which keeps me, “Thank you, for reminding me to thank you”. | | |
| Chess
It has been said that the game of Chess is a complete example of the universe. Not having the capability to know or understand the universe in its entirety; I have no ability to expound on that. What I do have is my own experience of how chess is very much a part of life for Steve.
Steve first came upon the game of chess in the sixth grade. He was fascinated by it when he saw it was a game of power, surprise, strategy, and subtlety. He learned the game quickly and became fairly proficient at playing. Well, at least he was good when he played his classmates. He didn’t fare so well when he played his Uncle Jim, but he would win enough to continue playing with determination and passion.
Later in his adult life, Steve occasionally played some of his friends. He found that when he played aggressively too soon in the game he would almost certainly lose. He learned to lay traps and to play a cunning, early game. He learned to look for any sign of weakness in his army; to see where he might become vulnerable and to compensate at once. He learned that he could be ruthlessly aggressive only when his opponent’s pieces were covered in multiple ways.
What Steve didn’t realize is that he was learning more deeply than he knew. He didn’t see that he applied what he learned to the arenas of his relationships, his vocation, his family. Steve trained himself, with encouragement from life, to live as if he were in a game of chess. This way of life has served Steve well but it has also been a great detriment to his growth.
Three decades have passed since Steve began to assimilate the game of chess into his life. He is beginning to see that those parts of him that “live” chess don’t serve him in the way he wants to go. They are suspicious, cunning, and merciless when they perceive that they are being attacked. They have some ability to divine the intentions of others just by “feeling” their surroundings and they aren’t often wrong. This isn’t who Steve wants to be. Now Steve is beginning to see that in order to become who he really wants to be; the chess player, with all of its roles, must start to become passive instead of active. He also sees that they aren’t interested in the least in giving up their position and power. Steve is beginning to see that, somehow, the chess players have become the ones who are in control and he is in a prison of sorts. It’s ironic isn’t it; that the game would become real and its purpose would be carried out against the one who embraced it?
So, what now? There is much to be seen, as it has become apparent that Steve doesn’t have the power to do anything to stop the chess players in his personality. If Steve can remember to observe them, time and time and time again, they will eventually become less of who he really is. Will he succeed in freeing himself? That is unknown. It is enough that he struggles to see the forces which drive him. To dispassionately observe them as if they were an interesting stranger..... yes, that is enough for now. | | |
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