Bugs.

I saw a bug while I was treating a patient the other day. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Or her.

She was pretty, so let’s call her a lady. Continue reading

Snapping Out Of It

Yesterday morning when I was doing my exercise routine, a renown Taoist monk/Tai Chi master contacted me personally and offered help. We had been following each other on social media for some time, and from time to time he’d comment on some of my posts. He noticed that I’ve posted a few times about how much of a funk I was in, and that I was a bit sad. So he contacted me saying that maybe I can train with him for a week or a weekend and tackle this attachment with him (what an honor for such an invitation!). If I was sad, he said, maybe there’s a fault in my philosophical understanding of the Tao.  Continue reading

Limping

Feeling sad is so annoying.

And it happens every spring. Without getting too much into Taoist principles, spring time is a time for a lot of shifting. And for me, it’s always intense, and it sucks. And to add to that, I dumbly tend to do problematic things at the same time, which makes things a lot worse. It’s like I lose my head.

[cut to: “Where Is My Mind?” by the Pixies]

I’m struggling over here. Continue reading

The “Self” and Qi Cultivation

When I was doing my sitting neigong this morning, I remember having reached a state of absolute emptiness when an insight forced its way into my head, knocking me right out of my wuji. I checked my watch and 52 minutes of neigong had somehow passed, and so I had another 8 minutes to take note of that insight for a later time while I power through the rest of my meditation. It was a rough 8 minutes. Continue reading

Loss

Just a few days ago I became keenly aware of my feelings of grief over the loss of one of my closest friends Angela, who tragically passed away due to suicide two years ago. It would’ve been her 39th birthday three days ago. When she passed away, I allowed myself some time to grieve, but from time to time, the very thought of her would place such a heavy weight on my heart.

So I doodled in her honor… and in honor of those who’ve felt alone, abandoned, and forgotten, and have considered suicide themselves. I know I did. Continue reading

Wuji/Wu-Wei Drawing

During the past week even till now, I couldn’t feel any dumpier. Harsh memories, lost friends. One of my closest friends Angela would’ve had her 39th birthday today. God I miss her. I’ve got another friend with whom I’ve missed talking. Actually, I miss having conversations with virtually all of my friends. I don’t have very many, but I miss them all.

Being sad is dumb.

Whenever days or weeks like this happen, I normally try to lose myself. Or my “self.” In a good, constructive, spiritual way I mean. But I’ve been having a hard time. So I figured today, after a nice lunch with my wife, whom I haven’t really seen in a week because of our work schedules, I thought it’d be fun to go to Michael’s and get some art supplies for myself. So we did. Continue reading

Craving External Validation Sucks

I remember when I was a scared little kid growing up in Chicago and the surrounding suburbs, it took every ounce of energy to get through school. If I wasn’t dealing with teachers reminding me how stupid I was, then I was reminded by my peers of my smallness, wimpy-ness, and insignificance. Every day was a fucking gauntlet. I ran home crying at least once a week. And when I did make it home, I came home to an empty house. I had no brothers or sisters, and my parents were always at work till I went to bed. I was socially awkward so I didn’t have very many friends. I didn’t have any relatives nearby, nor was I close to any of them. All I had were my A.M. radio and my parents’ old Frank Sinatra records, to which I’d listen on my parents’ white antique couch and stare at the ceiling till it was time to drag myself to bed.

My favorite Sinatra big band album

Big Band jazz and Frank Sinatra were my friends. I used to daydream about dancing with girls to that music just like in those old movies from the 1940’s. Swing dancing looked like so much fun and the music was beautiful. Swing music lyrics were sometimes sad, but they had this odd way of hugging me and crying with me and being lonely with me. The Great American Jazz Songbook was my home and my solace. That music was a place for peace, and it took me away from all the hurt. I never felt abandoned listening to the jazz classics. Music never put me down or made me feel bad about myself, especially jazz. Music never hit me or called me names. Coming home and listening to jazz made me feel less hated and alone. Continue reading