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from Lavorare con lentezza

Qualche appunto su Il potere (1972) di Augusto Tretti

articolo pubblicato su Sicilia Libertaria, n. 406, luglio-agosto 2020

Il Potere

Il potere (1972) di A. Tretti è un film anarchico in ogni suo aspetto. Lo è dal punto di vista formale, innanzitutto. Rifugge ogni immagine conciliante, letteralmente se ne frega del bel cinema, dell'artificio della macchina da presa – eppure non è privo di una rigorosa ricerca filmica e fotografica: tutto il film mostra una grande consapevolezza, sia che il regista si serva di immagini ruvide e grottesche sia che affronti sequenze di grande impatto figurativo. È anarchico nella realizzazione: il budget ridottissimo, uno sparuto gruppo di attori non professionisti, qualche maschera di gomma, aeroplani ricavati da una bicicletta. Eppure questa apparente trasandatezza, questa povertà dei mezzi, non è una mancanza, non costituisce un minus rispetto all'impostazione filmica complessiva. Infine, il film è anarchico nel suo significato più profondo: una storia grottesca e didascalica (ma non per questo non accurata) della genesi del potere e del suo perpetuarsi tra gli uomini. La tesi del film è semplicissima: da quando è nato il potere, esso è sempre nelle mani delle stesse persone, e tutti gli attori delle vicende storiche altro non sono che burattini in mano a un potere che assume quasi contorni fantasmatici e metafisici: una volta che è nato, esso si conserva e si amministra da sé, fa il bello e il cattivo tempo tra gli uomini, innalza e distrugge imperi, esalta e annichilisce popoli, tutto pur di perpetuarsi e di continuare a imporre il suo dominio. Per rappresentare il tortuoso cammino del potere il regista utilizza un linguaggio grottesco e allegorico: il potere ha un volto e un corpo, anzi tre: esso è rappresentato da tre bestie antropomorfe assise in trono: un leone, che rappresenta il potere militare, una tigre, che rappresenta il potere commerciale, e un ghepardo, rappresentante del potere agrario. Il film è costituito da cinque episodi, ognuno riguardante un periodo storico (l'età della pietra, l'età romana, l'epopea del Far West, l'Italia post-1919, l'epoca moderna) e le belve intervengono a commentare i fatti, a ordire e tramare per dirigerne gli sviluppi (tranne il primo episodio, che mostra la nascita del potere e con esso la sottomissione dell'uomo all'uomo). Fin dall’inizio la genesi del potere viene connotata da un alone farsesco, esso nasce da una una menzogna, un sopruso, si regge sulla truffa e sul raggiro (un uomo si finge dio del fuoco e sfrutta questa menzogna per ricevere onori e offerte). Nel suo apparire originario, il potere nasconde sempre un processo di colpa morale: esso nasce dalla volontà di sottomettere altri uomini, ricavandone un tornaconto personale. Il tema dell'inganno è ancora più marcato nel secondo episodio, in cui viene narrato il tentativo da parte di Tiberio Gracco, (tradito da Seragapitus, socialdemocratico ante-litteram, blandito e corrotto dalle offerte dei latifondisti) di far approvare la riforma agraria e di distribuire la terra ai contadini. Il senato si propone di boicottarlo politicamente e, infine, di ucciderlo. Ogni colpo infertogli dai senatori durante il brutale assassinio è scandito dall'inserimento in fase di montaggio di fotografie di Matteotti, Rosa Luxemburg, Gramsci, Ernesto Che Guevara, Malcolm X, Lumumba, creando uno straniamento che di fronte alla modalità grottesca della rappresentazione costruisce un ponte temporale attraverso cui mostrare che il potere, quando si mette sul suo cammino, è capace di uccidere chiunque gli si metta di traverso: sebbene suddiviso in episodi che coprono determinate epoche storiche, il film nel suo significato complessivo è decisamente meta-storico e privo di collocazione temporale. Solo il potere ha una sua storia, una storia sempre uguale di soprusi e di dominio, ma è una storia fittizia, perché basta uscire fuori dalla logica del potere per rendersi conto che, invece, nulla cambia, e chi comanda trova sempre il modo per farlo. E se nell'Epopea del Far West Tretti addirittura sembra anticipare il western revisionista, è negli ultimi due episodi che la genialità del regista raggiunge le sue vette più alte. Nel quarto episodio viene narrata l'ascesa del fascismo. Di fronte all’avanzamento delle rivendicazioni socialiste la borghesia industriale e agraria chiede l'intervento di un uomo forte che possa ripristinare l’ordine: ecco Mussolini, comicamente raffigurato come un uomo minuto col volto coperto da una maschera di gomma (sarà lo stesso regista a interpretarlo) che tuona imperioso: «Tu, agrario, hai bisogno di me! Tu, industriale, hai bisogno di me! Tutti avete bisogno di me!». Nessun aspetto del regime verrà risparmiato dalla feroce e corrosiva critica del regista: la marcia su Roma viene condotta da un manipolo di incompetenti camicie nere, incapaci di trovare la strada per la capitale, mentre un pavido Vittorio Emanuele III aspetta impaziente di poter aprir loro le porte della città (mentre Mussolini, invece, viaggia comodamente in un vagone letto), D'Annunzio viene mostrato come un fanfarone sobillatore di folle che prende il volo sulla sua bicicletta addobbata a mo' di aeroplano, le parate militari del fascismo vengono ridotte a uno squallido circo in cui gli stessi soldati, di volta in volta, cambiano divisa e mostrine, per impersonare i diversi corpi militari, mentre un compiaciuto Mussolini assiste dal balcone e, non visto, si gratta il deretano. Infine l'enorme farsa del regime, ancora una volta, si mostra essere soltanto uno dei mille volti che il potere assume per dominare le masse degli sfruttati; la maschera di gomma di Mussolini verrà ripresa mentre penzola malinconicamente appesa all'ingiù, la tigre del potere commerciale la getta via dicendo: «Oggi questi burattini non servono più!», e le tre belve delineano la loro nuova strategia: «Se vogliamo continuare a sfruttare e a speculare, dobbiamo farlo sotto le ali del parlamentarismo traendo profitto dalle leggi democratiche. Narcotizzeremo le masse con la stampa, con la falsa cultura, con la televisione, distrarremo il popolo con lo sport, abbaglieremo la gente con i beni consumo e favoriremo le aristocrazie operaie». Ed ecco un’impietosa rappresentazione del potere consumistico: la grande produzione industriale di generi alimentari artificiosi e artificiali, la nuova religione dell’automobile, la forza persuasiva della pubblicità (l’orrendo e inutile Moblon, che tutti vogliono per via di una martellante campagna pubblicitaria, condita da accattivanti jingle e sensuali foto donne senza veli). Il capitale raggiunge la sua apoteosi e si insidia in ogni aspetto della vita, nell’edilizia popolare, tra le rivendicazioni operaie, mentre i padroni capitalisti si dividono i profitti: dopo una fortissima sequenza di montaggio parallelo, in cui i capitalisti snocciolano i loro guadagni miliardari mentre si alternano immagini di rivolta popolare, ecco che le tre belve del potere elaborano la loro ultima macchinazione: «Oggi per conservare il potere è meglio camuffarsi da socialisti» e il film si chiude con una burlesco sole rosso che fa da sfondo a una falce e un martello tenuti in mano dalle fiere, mentre campeggia la frase di Lenin: «… ma chi non sa che ai giorni nostri ogni furfante ama pavoneggiarsi in un vestito rosso?». L’affresco è compiuto, sembrerebbe che il potere abbia fagocitato ogni cosa nelle spire delle sue continue metamorfosi, eppure le tre maestose belve altro non sono che costumi, anche i loro volti sono fatti di gomma, sono maschere. Il potere si manifesta per ciò che è: una terribile farsa che vive dentro la dissimulazione e il camuffamento. Gettar via la sua maschera, prenderlo sonoramente per il culo, è uno dei massimi doveri etici a cui siamo chiamati. Iniziamo pure a divertirci.

 
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from HaidarCairns

Darragh Grove-White accepted into Forbes Business Council

VICTORIA, BC., JUNE 30, 2020 – Darragh Grove-White, COO of This One Marketing, a leading digital strategy and B2B marketing agency in Victoria, British Columbia, has been accepted into the Forbes Business Council, the foremost growth and networking organization for successful business owners, top-tier professionals in their class and thought-leaders worldwide.

Grove-White was vetted and selected by a review committee based on the depth and diversity of his digital strategy, SEO expertise and online marketing experience. Criteria for acceptance include a track record of successfully impacting business growth metrics, as well as personal and professional achievements and honors.

“We are honored to welcome Darragh Grove-White into the community,” said Scott Gerber, founder of Forbes Councils, the collective that includes Forbes Business Council. “Our mission with Forbes Councils is to bring together proven leaders from every industry, creating a curated, social capital-driven network that helps every member grow professionally and make an even greater impact on the business world.”

As an accepted member of the Council, Darragh has access to a variety of exclusive opportunities designed to help him reach peak professional influence. He will connect and collaborate with other respected local leaders in a private forum and at members-only events. Darragh will also be invited to work with a professional editorial team to share his expert insights in original business articles on Forbes.com, and to contribute to published Q&A panels alongside other experts.

Finally, Grove-White will benefit from exclusive access to vetted business service partners, membership-branded marketing collateral, and the high-touch support of the Forbes Councils member concierge team.

“It’s a great honor to be nominated into this illustrious group of high-impact business leaders,” said Darragh Grove-White. “As an industry leader in the emerging field of marketing algorithm strategies, our mission is to help entrepreneurs, small businesses and non-profits leverage search and social media algorithms to maximize profit-drivers. Being named to Forbes Business Council underscores the success we’ve earned for our clients and our enthusiasm for elevating our clients’ brands.”

ABOUT FORBES COUNCILS Forbes Councils is a collective of invitation-only communities created in partnership with Forbes and the expert community builders who founded Young Entrepreneur Council (YEC). In Forbes Councils, exceptional business owners and leaders come together with the people and resources that can help them thrive.

To learn more about Forbes Councils, visit forbescouncils.com.

ABOUT THIS ONE MARKETING This One Marketing is a performance marketing agency that’s leading the way in marketing algorithm and digital engagement strategies. This One Marketing specializes in online lead generation, video marketing and search-engine-optimization (SEO) strategies for B2B and B2C clients. This One Marketing is based in Victoria, British Columbia and serves clients from around the world.

Contacts: Name of company: This One Marketing E-mail: info@thisonemarketing.com Name of Contact Person: Eliza Brady, Executive Assistant Full Address: 805 Gordon St, Victoria, BC, Canada, V8W 1Z6 Phone: 250-686-9908 Website: https://www.thisonemarketing.com/

 
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from kittybecca in English

Comparing atrocities is absolutely valid and necessary in order to gain any sense of perspective on any problem, and abdicating your responsibility to do so is a form of moral cowardice. There are material differences between executing 2/3 of an entire population with the aim of exterminating all of that population, vs. doing other bad things that aren't that. Say it with me: Not every bad thing is the Holocaust. You can call something bad without calling it the Holocaust.

In light of the fact that Israel has never attempted to exterminate the Palestinian people, and has certainly never killed 2/3 of the entire Palestinian population, its crimes do not hold a candle to those of Nazi Germany or even to America, which killed most of the pre-existing population of the territory it now controls. However, it is and must be valid to point out the similarities in ways of thinking that could make Israel comparable to Nazi Germany in the future – including the genocidal ambitions of many on Israel's right. And it must be said that Israel is still bad. Just as despite the fact that the USSR's crimes are not comparable to those of Nazi Germany, the USSR was still bad.

This isn't an abstract issue of theoretical debate. There are people literally saying things like, “Jewish partisans were just as bad as Serbian Nazi collaborators, or perhaps worse, since Serbian Nazi collaborators were at least patriots fighting the Soviets.” Or saying, “Israel turned around and did the exact same thing Nazi Germany did to them.” Jewish partisans are being accused of being war criminals by countries that are simultaneously rehabilitating the reputations of those who enthusiastically helped round the Jews up, while Holocaust survivors who die in Jerusalem are being mercilessly and viciously attacked by so-called “anti-Zionists” on Twitter, with precious few people coming to the defense of Jews and with a great many parvenu leftist Jews coming to the defense of the anti-Semites.

To compare the USSR or Israel to the Nazis is a form of Holocaust revisionism, as it seeks to obfuscate the gravity of Hitler's crimes and gaslight the people who escaped from them and ended up doing bad things. The first is a type of comparison that is common on the right, while the second is a type of comparison that has long been widely accepted on the left. Attempting to address this subtle antisemitism and subtle Holocaust revisionism on the left leads to the sort of dogpiling and widely-accepted Kiwifarms-level trolling that ultimately drove me off of Mastodon.

This makes the future of the left seem rather bleak, and yet I'm too class-conscious to be anything else. Unfortunately, the left has yet to care about Jews, based in large part on its own history that it refuses to confront. Under the Bolsheviks you could be Jewish only if you subordinated your Jewishness to working-class politics – Jews had no rights as a class, and anyone who said otherwise was a nationalist and a reactionary. The leftist and secularist Bund was dissolved for this exact reason, and viciously attacked by Lenin, Trotsky, Stalin, and others.

Then all of a sudden, only a few decades later, the Soviets started supporting literal religious nationalist reactionaries elsewhere in the world because they were “anti-imperialist”, often favoring nationalist reactionary movements over their left-wing opponents. But even with the Soviets' excuse for antisemitism out the window, Jews still weren't allowed to have any identity as a group, because for Jews in the USSR to have such an identity would undermine the USSR's own imperialist politics and wars.

Today, the idea that Jews are not allowed to argue for rights collectively has survived into the New Left, as argued in this brilliant article on Jewish liberation and decolonization. Just go and read that if you're still confused. It may be too late to salvage this current cycle of antisemitism, or maybe it isn't – I'd like to believe it isn't – but this cycle has to end. The liberation of all oppressed people depends on this cycle ending.

 
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from dashsolutions

How Dash can help you perform Reliable AWS Auditing and Scanning

Dash is continually adding additional compliance scans and cloud services to our scanning and continuous compliance monitoring offerings. You can also utilize dash for AWS auditing , security scanning for managing and complying with all the HIPAA regulatory standards. Reach today and get the best assistance.

 
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from 1te

Rövid videó: https://www.bitchute.com/video/u8q2fwCul4du/

A valóságban ezt már meghaladták: egy adatgyűjtő app, pl. fb (és a többi óriáscéges hasonlóan), napi 14400-szor kérdezi le a pontos pozíciódat (a gps mellett a körülvevő wifi hálózatok alapján háromszögeléssel), és minden, a telefon közelében elhangzott szót és hangot elemez, napi 24 órában (amit hozzátesz az adatgyűjtési központban lévő profilodhoz), persze a kamerát is bármikor használhatja, nézd csak meg az app jogosultságait. Mellékesen a feltöltött fotóidról (az ászf-ben is benne van, ha használod a szolgáltatást, minden felöltött kép, adat, írás felhasználási jogát átadtad nekik) az arcodat is kielemezte már, egy ujjlenyomathoz hasonló azonosítót készített (az arcpontok vektorai és távolsága), amivel aztán bármikor be tudja azonosítani a fejedet bármilyen kamerán keresztül, úgymint ellopják és megtartják az ujjlenyomatod, illetve arclenyomatod. Ha bármit törölsz, azt csak a megjelenítési felületről törlöd, a háttértárolókból nem.

A megoldások: 1. Ne használd ezeket az óriáscégeket és megfigyelőplatformjaikat, úgymint fb, google, apple, stb. Vagy szorítsd extrém minimumra, töröld le az eszközeidről az összes app-jukat (amíg rajta van, ugyanúgy megfigyel, hiába nem használod), használj alternatív app-okat és böngésző privát ablakot. 2. Használj helyettük alternatív szabad platformokat. Látod, ez az írás sem ezek rendszerén van. 3. A meglévő fb-google-stb. profilodat szennyezd nem releváns adatokkal. Vigyázz, mert a mesterséges intelligencia kiszűri, ha valami nagyon mást akarsz beadni, vagy szándékosan intenzíven, meglepődnél, mennyi mindent tud rólad (az összes barátod és családtagod együttvéve sem tud töredék annyit), így csak kicsit hamisíts (pl. hozzád hasonlító ember fotóját tag-geld be, hogy te vagy rajta, de ne túl gyakran). Így csinálják az elnyomók is, sok igazságot megmérgeznek egy kicsit, terelésképpen. Ennél sokkal jobb megoldás a teljes (fiók és app) törlés és utána szabad platformokra váltás.


 
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from אני זוכרת

נכתב בזמן אחר לגמרי לא מזמן:

על זיכרון – או בשבחי האגרנות אנחנו עוברות דירה. עברנו. עומר פה איתי אבל הוא ילך בקרוב. זה לא הבית שלו זה הבית שלי. זה לא הבית שלי זה הבית של ג'מאל. שושי מוציאה את הדברים מוכנית מתוך הארגזים ומסדרת על המדפים. הבית שלה בארגזים. אצלי זה הכי שיט רנדומלי. יש כמה דברים מייסרים בתהליך הזה. לא מיינתי את הדברים לפני המעבר. אני ממיינת אותם עכשיו. המיון מייסר. הוא מציב שתי ברירות. או שאני שומרת או שאני זורקת. הוא מציב שתי ברירות, או שאני יודעת מי אני או שעוד לא גיליתי. למשל, ערמת הבובות הישנות. צפרדע, עכברים שמתחבקים, בובת מיקי מאוס, חתולה לבנה עם אף ורוד וקשקוש על הבטן, ליצן, אלו תמיד היו שם. חתול מבד תכלכל פרחוני, דובה ורודה, אריה קטן, אלו הגיעו מוקדם מאוד. סנאי, בובות מבד מגבת, בובת הולי הובי עם תלבושת מלאה (היא תחליף של בובה ללא תלבושת שאנטיה נתנה לי פעם מתוך האוסף שלה. בימי השוק מצאתי פעם אחת כזו לבושה, איזו התרגשות, אז היה קל להחליף את המקורית בחדשה, זהה, לבושה), בובת טיף טיף (היתה לי גם תחפושת תואמת, גיל 5? הבובה חסרה את הכובע האדום, לתחפושת היה שיער בד סינטטי ארוך צהוב), בובת ארנב, בובת פיל צבעונית קטנה, אני זוכרת מתי כל אחת מהן הופיעה. צביר זיכרונות חומרי. שאלה ראשונה: באיזה אופן אנחנו אמורים לזכור? (אמורים של משהו שאני חייבת למצוא לו שם, ההנחה שיש לאדם טבע, ההסתמכות האנתרופולוגית לכאורה על עבר קהילתי – שבטי כלשהו, עבר של כפר מדומיין, מקום שאף פעם לא עוזבים אותו, בית שהוא כל העולם הקיים.) באיזה אופן אנחנו אמורים לזכור? האם הזיכרון אמור להיות חבוי בי כמו גרעין שבלעתי, זיכרון פנימי, לכל אחת זיכרון משלה. התפיסה של האדם המנותק, יש לו זיכרון משלו, הוא הולך בעולם הגדול וכולו צביר זיכרונות עטוף בשר. איפה גדלת? באתי מאיזה מקום. אני מישהי. אני זוכרת. הזיכרון כך הוא מעין מכשיר להבניה של האינדיבידואל. אי אפשר לחשוב על הזיכרון בצורה אחרת. המהות שלו היא פנימית, אישית. אני עשויה מזיכרונות, וזיכרונות הם ישויות מנטליות, הן רוחות הרפאים של היחיד, הם האלים פרטיים, הם שלי. או, (ועכשיו במעבר לשבט המדומיין, טריטוריה קבועה? אנחנו יושבים על אדמה? חקלאים בבקתות בוץ? כפר דייגים על הים, בתי במבוק? לא טיילתי בעולם ולא ראיתי שום דבר, עומר שאל למה בעצם היסטוריה ולא אנתרופולוגיה, אני חייבת להודות שמאגר הדימויים שלי דל.) זיכרון קולקטיבי. מילים טעונות. פתאום הפואנטה של הכתיבה הזו נראת קצת פחות מלהיבה. כמובן, מושג קיים, זיכרון קולקטיבי, יש לך מה לחדש? אני שמה את זה בצד, אני אבדוק רגע אם הזיכרון הקולקטיבי שאני מתכוונת אליו הוא זה המוכר. בחזרה לאוסף הבובות. אני מוציאה אותן מתוך איזה ארגז, ומתבוננת בהן. הן מכוערות ומרוטות. הפרווה שלהן גסה. מוכתמות, האפים של רבות מהן חסרים. אני מסתכלת עליהן בעיניים זרות. אין בהן כל ייחוד. כמובן, אפשר להפריד את אלו שהן יפות יותר. עבודת יד יותר. משהו שאפשר לראות בו את העבר, גם מבחוץ, אבל זה יפספס את הנקודה. ובכל זאת, יש אדם בעולם שיסתכל בהן ויראה כמוני את העבר. אחותי. יש מהות יותר בסיסית לקשר דם? מה מייחד את הקשר של אחים אם לא השותפות בהכי הרבה זיכרונות חיים? הזיכרון כדבק. זיכרון חיצוני. האם אפשר לחשוב על העולם כנשא של זיכרון במקום על המוח? הזיכרון כעצם מוחשי? חפץ זיכרון? זה נשמע כמו פמפלט שמתלווה לאמנות במוזיאון הרצליה. הייתי נוסעת לשם עם אמא לפעמים. אהבתי את זה, זיכרונות יפים. כמובן, אמא שלי מתה ומאז אני עסוקה יותר בזיכרון. התקלקל ההארד דיסק החיצוני הכי יקר שלי. אז לא חפץ זיכרון, אנחנו לא במוזאון, אנחנו בסיור באנתרופולוגיה הדמיונית. חקר מקורות התרבות, טבע האדם. אנחנו חיים בכפר, ובאותו מקום כולנו גדלנו. אני לא מדברת על הפגישה של ישראלים בחו”ל, למרות שאני כן. אני כן, אבל מנסה לחשוף איזה טבע, שמתכחשים לו, במקום לומר, כן ככה זה, אנשים נוטים להתרפק יחד בנוסטלגיה על מה שמשותף אני שואלת, איך זה כשאף אחד לא עוזב אף פעם את ישראל. והיא קטנה, בדיוק בגודל הזה שאומרים שהוא האפשרות שלנו לזכור. 300 שמות ופרצופים? 1000? לחיות בתוך הכפר. הכפר שכולו מכיל זכרונות, הכפר עשוי מזכרונות. אף אחד לא זוכר שום דבר לבד. שום זיכרון הוא לא פרטי. תמיד היה שם מישהו. תמיד המישהו הזה נשאר. הזיכרון הוא לא במוח, הוא באדמה ובתווי הנוף. הקולקטיביסטית בונה פה תזה. כן כן. הזיכרון הפרטי מבנה אינדיבידואל כצביר זכרונות קריסטלי, הזיכרון הופך לרכוש פרטי. הזיכרון המשותף מבנה קודם כל קהילה, זוכרת, שחייה בתוך סביבה שמהווה זיכרון חיי. אפשר גם לחשוב על תפיסות עבר והווה, תפיסות זמן שונות שעולות מזה אבל זה לא למסגרת הטקסט הזה. והיחיד בקהילה הזוכרת, מהו? נקודה שנעה בחול. שרטוט בחול. נמלה בקן. בחזרה לחפצים. למעבר דירה. לאוסף הבובות. לרצון להפטר ממנו. מהחלון של הסלון בבית החדש רואים את השמים ואת הכוכבים. אני לא רוצה להסתכל. אני כועסת על עומר שהוא הולך. אני לא רוצה בית כל כך גדול שאצטרך לזכור לבד. אני כועסת על כל הזמן שנרשם בי ורק בי. איזה קיום יש לזיכרונות שאני צוברת מהבית החדש שלי. השותפות עם שושי מכעיסה אותי, לא איתה אני רוצה לזכור. לשי אין אחים ואחיות עכשיו, היו לה אבל עכשיו כבר לא. כי הן לא כאן לצבור זכרונות יחד. הדבר האיום ביותר בלגדל ילדה לבד זה העול הנורא של זכרונות שרק אני יכולה לשמור. המחשבה הכי כואבת של הזמן האחרון היא זו שאומרת שעשיתי טעות. הייתי צריכה לדעת, הייתי צריכה לדעת מה הדבר החשוב ביותר וברגע שנפרדתי מאיל הייתי צריכה למצוא לשי אחים ואחיות. הייתי עוברת לקיבוץ, לנווה איתן, לבית שיכון, למקום עם חברים, יד אליהו, לא היו לי חברים, רציתי להיות שוב בת 18, הייתי, השארתי את שי בבית, יצאתי לטפס. בדידות. בחזרה לחפצים. לשמור את אוסף הבובות, זה לומר שאני רוצה בית. כמות הארגזים שהעברנו מעידה עלי שאני לא נוודית. עוד ועוד ארגזים והדברים בתוכם אמורים להיות שלי. אני לא מצליחה לקחת על זה אחריות. אני לא יודעת מה מכל זה שלי. ערמה זמנית תמידית של חפצים שזזה איתי לאן שאני הולכת. הם אומרים משהו שאני לא מוכנה להזדהות איתו. לקחת אחריות. זה הבית של שי. אני עצובה נורא. הכתיבה נתקעת. זה הבית של שי ואני לא רוצה בו. הוא לא שלי. בטח שאני כועסת על עומר. הוא לא רוצה וגם אני לא רוצה אבל רק לאחד מאיתנו יש ברירה. הוא אורח. אם רציתי לגדל את הילדה שלי לנדוד הייתי צריכה להתחיל מוקדם יותר. ולמה לנדוד? כי הצביר החומרי הזה מזכיר לי יותר מדי את השבט, וההשוואה כל כך גרוטסקית ועצובה. שברי שבט בתוך בתים, אני לא מזדהה עם זה, אני לא רוצה להיות בורגנית. הכל זמני, הכל מקרי, לא אכפת לי לנדוד בין דירות עם ארגזים של חומרים מתכלים. כל החפצים שאני לא מזוהה איתם, כל הדברים שהם לא אני. מה אכפת לי, יש לי כסף, שעברו איתי דפי טיוטה, שיעברו איתי תבלינים, שיעברו איתי בגדים, אני משתמשת בהם עד שהם הופכים לסמרטוטים. אבל בתוך כל הדברים האלו, מסתתרים הדברים שלי. ארגז בובות, ארגז של בגדים שאני לא יכולה לזרוק. הציורים של שי. המכתבים שלי. אני בשביל שי ההורים שלי. החיים שלה נוצקים לתוך המיכל שאני נותנת לה. אני אחראית לשמור לה על הציורים. אני לא זוכרת את המילה הראשונה ששי אמרה. אין לי עם מי. החיים שהיו לנו היו השבר של החיים שלי. אני שומרת על הציורים שלה. אני לא יודעת למה. מה נעשה איתם? נבנה מהם קירות לאיזה בית? הם יהפכו אותנו לשתיים יחד? נזכור יחד? אני לא זוכרת כלום. הדברים שלי צריכים בית. הם צריכים מקום, הם לא צריכים להיות מטלטלים. אולי מחסן. אין לנו בית של ההורים. אין לי כפר לחזור אליו ואין לי חברים שאפשר לדבר איתם על זכרונות משותפים. נגה בטח זוכרת, פוקהונטס, כפכפי אצבע מרופדים. ראש אולי זוכר, רישומים קטנים, אני ישנה במזרון ליד, פלוצים מביכים. מאי אולי זוכרת אבל ממנה תמיד נושבת צינה קפואה. קשת, גורי, אסי. אני לא יודעת אם האנשים האלו רוצים לזכור אותי. מיכל. אני לא חברה של אף אחד מהאנשים שיש להם זיכרון משותף איתי. רק שלי. ועילי קטן מדי. ואמא שלנו מתה. ואבא שלי ממציא זיכרונות וזה רק מפחיד. לשמור את הבובות זה לומר, אני שומרת את הזכרונות של עצמי. רציתי כמובן לבנות פה קייס פוליטי. כולנו נוודים וכולנו מוותרים על הכפר. כולם מזלזלים באגרנות. אגרנות אומרת: זה חשוב, אני לא בודד, אני לא אינדיבידואל, אני צביר חומרי. אפשר לראות עלי ומסביבי את הפנים שלי. את הבפנים שלי. אני יכול לספר סיפור לכל חפץ אבל לא כל סיפור יכול להיות מסופר עלי, החפצים מגבילים את החופש, גם את החופש להיות זיקית. נוודות היא ערך קפיטליסטי, אגרנות היא שמרנות של עולם ישן נעלם. רק בבית יש לדברים הקשר וטעם. רק בבית אנשים חיים סיפור פרטי. נוודים זזים בתוך המטריקס, אין להם בית ואין להם התנגדות. מספיק לכתוב עכשיו עלמה. את צריכה ללמוד איך לכתוב, לא ככה.

 
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from daftar123

Adalahsalah situs poker situs poker yang sangat baik antara situs banyak permainan poker tidak sedikit reserved. permainan poker online berdasarkan permainan sekarang dapat dimainkan dengan lembut mulai dan mengambil langkah-langkah situs online poker permainan yang sangat baik di Indonesia, salah satu situs poker. Bermain game online poker berdasarkan situs poker yang sangat baik adalah pilihan yang tepat dan benar.

Mengapa yang sesuai dan pilihan yang tepat? Karena situs poker yang bersangkutan, Anda dapat bermain game poker menyenangkan dan kegembiraan akan sangat memuaskan. Tidak hanya itu, Anda pasti bisa mendapatkan beberapa keuntungan di poker online di situs poker terbaik. Keuntungan yang ditawarkan mencakup bonus poker terbesar yang baru-baru dihadiri oleh situs poker atas. Tidak sedikit keuntungan terbesar Anda bisa mendapatkan ke situs poker terbaik, antara keuntungan terbesar adalah bahwa Anda bisa mendapatkan hadiah bonus. Dengan permainan yang sangat baik untuk digunakan serta kombinasi yang sangat baik dari poker dan nilai besar, Anda mungkin memiliki kesempatan untuk memenangkan hadiah bonus.

permainan poker online adalah huruf mengangkat klasik bertaruh lagi untuk beberapa situs, serta agen profesional dimulai lagi permainan kasino online di banyak negara di Asia seperti Thailand, Filipina dan Vietnam.

Indonesia duta poker kemudian membuat persiapan situs poker handal, dengan deposit minimal taruhan sangat mahal untuk sebagian besar pemain kesempatan untuk memenangkan dividen mengesankan. Poker adalah salah satu di antara perusahaan game melakukan pekerjaan rumah secara online sedikit, tidak bermain kartu permainan game online poker.

Poker membuat taruhan dengan kemudahan terbesar persiapan ramah sebagai server, aplikasi berbasis Android / iOS serta beberapa layanan yang berbeda yang mendukung permainan poker online menjadi menyenangkan. Sudah sadar bilalau poker game adalah menyenangkan.

Dalam bermain poker deposit minimal 10 ribu, layanan ini sangat mendesak dan seluruh elemen er selalu ingin pelayanan yang baik. Masalahnya adalah er tidak jarang pasti mendapatkan untuk berkomunikasi dengan agen poker layanan handal kepada pelanggan untuk mendiskusikan masalah ini lebih tidak cukup permainan.

Jadi, er semua permainan online poker Indonesia tentu harus meringankan sistem yang lebih baik. Layanan yang baik, tidak hanya dalam bentuk hanya respon yang cepat dan menyenangkan. Namun, pelayanan yang baik bahkan mendapatkan pekerjaan respon sistem yang cepat dan secara profesional.

 
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from dutapoker123

Anda harus terbiasa dengan dealer poker terbaik. Tidak hanya di Indonesia, agen poker sebenarnya bisa ditemukan di mana saja. Keberadaan poker selamanya agen membawa warna baru bagi para pecinta judi online. Pasalnya, mereka diberi ruang bebas agar bisa bermain dan berkembang. Tidak ada diskriminasi pada satu pemain yang lain.

Kebiasaan bermain judi online sebenarnya hanya beberapa tahun. dilakukan para pemain. Sejak poker pertama kali ditemukan, permainan sebenarnya sering bermain di poker. Jika kita ingat, sejumlah negara berkembang dan poker Legalize. Di Malaysia sendiri, ada begitu Genting Highlands Asia Tenggara perjudian pusat. Semua pemain yang berbondong-bondong kunjungi di sini.

poker konvensional jelas duta poker tidak sama dengan secara online. Namun demikian, keberadaan poker konvensional selamanya disambut hangat. Demikian pula, poker online saat ini istirahat turun dan memproses tradisi semua pemain. Mereka berangjangsana tidak lagi poker langsung, tapi lewat perangkat komputer atau smartphone. Ternyata keuntungan yang disediakan yang bisa dialami oleh para pemain. keunggulan dirasakan Pemain Online Poker

  1. Akses yang lebih cepat.

Para pemain sering harus mengunjungi poker konvensional dengan perjudian. Kondisi ini berlangsung beberapa poker awal dekade berikutnya sambil berdiri. Di zaman yang serba cepat modern dan seperti sekarang, subjek berikutnya tentu sangat sulit. Semua orang memiliki sementara dan keuangan keterbatasan untuk menghubungkan segera poker. Agen poker sangat baik menjadi solusinya.

  1. Deposit minimal.

Kapan lagi bisa berjudi tanpa perlu melakukan deposit besar? Jika Anda ingin poker online adalah mirip dengan poker konvensional, kita keliru. Di sini, pemain dengan deposit kecil dapat bermain di meja taruhan. nominal deposito tidak sebesar seperti poker konvensional ratusan jangkauan ribu hingga jutaan rupiah di meja judi.

Siapapun bisa berjudi tanpa harus berangjangsana segera untuk poker. Mereka tidak harus mengeluarkan biaya transportasi untuk biaya agar bisa bergabung di meja judi. Menariknya, semua pemain dapat terhubung online poker kapan saja dan di mana saja. Hanya dengan mengandalkan jaringan internet yang cepat, semua pemain sudah bisa menguji keberuntungan.

Mari kita bermain ini ketika perjudian di bandarq agen dengan deposit. Ini bukan masalah Anda tidak memiliki sedikit uang atau tidak, tapi di sini kita hanya harus berani bermain uang kita di dunia online. Game ini merupakan game yang menguntungkan dan dapat dihitung bahaya.

Saya tidak harus bermain poker dengan orang-orang yang memiliki tidak kurang uang, hanya bermain dengan orang-orang yang berani untuk mengikis uang mereka di meja judi sudah cukup untuk menunjukkan bahwa judi dengan dealer sangat menarik. Perjudian pemain poker online dapat mengenal berbagai variasi dari permainan firasat yang sangat baik yang terutama mengingat agen poker yang sangat baik di Indonesia. permainan judi online akan lebih menyenangkan dan bermanfaat kira dilaksanakan dengan dealer poker terbaik. Dikala ini sudah disediakan tidak ada agen judi kecil yang mengambil game online poker.

Namun, di agen judi tentang itu menyatakan apakah kita telah menemukan yang terbaik? Sebenarnya, dalam menemukan agen poker perjudian yang baik sebenarnya susah-susah gampang. Untuk semua pemain yang pernah lama malang melintang di dunia perjudian online akan ringan dalam menemukan agen judi poker yang sangat baik mengenai seperti. Namun, pemain baru yang masih tidak akan mengambil beberapa panggilan-dalam memilih ini agen yang sangat baik.

 
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from kete

“A BuzzFeed News review of police killings during the month of May found that 15 of them began with anything from a broken taillight to a call for police to break up an outdoor barbecue to a plea for help from a man who told the police he was starving.

“Footage from incidents across the country has undermined police accounts of shootings. In 2015, the release of dashcam footage in Chicago unraveled a police tale that 17-year-old Laquan McDonald lunged toward Jason Van Dyke, prompting the officer to fire 16 shots. McDonald had not made any threatening movement toward the officer.

““Every time a person has a record, it’s implicit, that person was killed for a reason,” said Jocquese Blackwell, the Johnson family attorney. “It’s the Black tax. Why did Dion have to die? That he had a past didn’t matter.”

“The death of a Black man asleep in his car after a night of drinking only to encounter law enforcement shares the storyline of Atlanta’s Rayshard Brooks. his death ... moved Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms to enact new use-of-force restrictions. Dion’s family has yet to even learn the name of the officer who shot him. Brooks’s shooting was captured on video. Dion’s was not.

“There was one sliver of video capturing her son’s final moments. A TV station managed to record a video feed from traffic cameras installed around the city. The video doesn’t show the shooting but it captured Erma’s son, writhing on the highway. Two troopers appeared to hold him to the ground. In view of the camera, an ambulance idled just yards away. Nearly six minutes passed — as Dion bled on the road — before the ambulance approached and medics tended to him.

“Pat’s friend, Micah Roberts, wondered if his friend had to die that night. “He was having a mental health episode....” Experts estimate 1 in 4 people who have been shot and killed by police have mental health issues.”

notes from On The Day George Floyd Died, Police Across The US Shot And Killed At Least Five Other Men

 
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from kete

“In August 2018, Louisiana legislators passed a law establishing a new felony charge for anyone who trespasses on critical infrastructure facilities, including chemical manufacturing facilities and oil and gas pipeline construction sites. Over the following couple months, police used the new law to charge 14 people protesting the oil company Energy Transfer’s Bayou Bridge pipeline, as well as a journalist.”

2 close calls:

“Last October, police charged Gregory Manning, the legally blind pastor of Broadmoor Community Church and a member of the Coalition Against Death Alley, with a felony for allegedly inciting a riot. Authorities said Manning failed to immediately leave a hallway outside the office of the Louisiana Association of Business and Industry during a protest against the association’s influence over state politics. A prosecutor later dropped all charges.

“This spring, legislators passed an enhanced version of the critical infrastructure law, which would have ramped up charges for trespass during a state of emergency. Louisiana Gov. John Bel Edwards vetoed the bill.

“To Rolfes and McIntosh’s attorneys, the timing of the latest charges is particularly suspect. on Juneteenth, ... Quigley — Rolfes and McIntosh’s pro bono lawyer ... — received a phone call from a Baton Rouge Police Department detective, notifying him that a warrant was out for the pair’s arrest. Both the activists were en route to a ceremony at a burial site for enslaved people, located in a field where Formosa plans to build one of its facilities. The right to carry out the ceremony had been hard-won: Formosa had fought in court for the past week to prevent community members from holding the gathering. A judge denied the company’s final appeal only the night before. The detective told Quigley that the charges had been filed in April, but they’d held off on issuing the warrant because of risks associated with the coronavirus pandemic. “It seems more than a little suspicious that this long dormant warrant was activated 12 hours after Formosa lost in court,” said Quigley. “It seems like it’s clearly retaliation.” “If there’s such a danger, why wait seven months and pick the day of a community celebration of its liberation from slavery to send that message?””

notes from Louisiana Environmental Activists Charged With “Terrorizing” for Nonviolent Stunt Targeting Plastics Giant

 
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from SculpturesDirect

How to Take Care of Your Beautiful Acrylic Sculptures

Acrylic sculptures are a perfect mix of playful and sophisticated making them the most beautiful addition to the modern residential and commercial spaces. They are available in wide varieties assisting you in decorating your indoors and outdoors in incredible ways.

 
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from BARRY GRAHAM ESSAYS

by Barry Graham

More than two decades ago on New Year’s Eve, my friend Bett and I had dinner with two friends who were older than us, and who intended to make an early night of it. Bett and I had other intentions — we were going to the big party at the Santa Fe Railyard. But that was still hours away, so we headed into town in search of mischief.

We stopped briefly at a restaurant where Bett’s girlfriend was having dinner with some of her friends. As we talked with them I ordered an appetiser, even though I had just eaten dinner.

As we left the restaurant, Bett said many of the town’s art galleries were open, and were serving free drinks. We agreed alcoholic freeloading would be a fine way to pass the time before the party, and off we went.

It turned out some of the galleries offered free food as well as booze. I partook mightily of both, even though I’d just eaten dinner followed by an appetiser.

As I chomped on some buffalo wings, I saw Bett looking at me.

“You can’t turn down food, even when you’re not hungry, can you?” she said.

“You’re right,” I said. Without my explaining why, she knew and understood.

There were many times when the only way I could eat was to steal food. I was born in Glasgow, Scotland, in 1966, in the Maryhill district, which was a Third World hidden within the first. For most of my childhood, hot water on tap was a fantasy, having a toilet in your home was a luxury, and food of any quality was seldom available. One of the most painful moments of my life, a moment of pure grief, pure loss, was caused not by the death of a person but by being deprived of a meal.

I was in my early teens, and I had just been handed a plate of chicken. This was a rarity. My diet was almost exclusively one of fried processed meat — usually cheap sausages — potatoes, eggs and white bread. Chicken was an expensive luxury, so I was excited.

Before I could eat any of it, a woman whose role was nominally that of parent came into the room. She was drunk at noon, and she didn’t like me. She said something unpleasant to me, I responded in kind, and she knocked the plate of food out of my hands. As she stomped the chicken into the dirty carpet, the hopelessness I felt was so huge that there was room inside me for nothing else.

That woman is dead now, but, forty years later, I can still see the look of dumb malice on her drunken face. In the years to come, I was to mourn the loss of that meal more times than I could keep count of.

There were other times, times of inadequate food or no food at all. And, when these times were over, I still lived in fear of their return. I could never bring myself to pass up a chance to eat. I still felt I had to take it whenever and wherever I could get it, because if I ever had to go hungry again I didn’t want to have to remember the times when I could have eaten but chose not to.

Whatever we think our life’s purpose is, each living day centers around one thing: obtaining what we call food and taking it into our bodies, then doing it again soon after, and then again. Many of us can do so without thought of its terrible, urgent importance.

My friend Charles Bowden is now dead as well, but when he was alive he knew what was most important. In a book called Blues for Cannibals, he wrote: “Before there was a language of words on paper, there must have been a language of food. Speech begins with the fire and the kettle. I am sure of this.”

I’m sure of it too. Chuck Bowden loved to cook, but he didn’t eat excessively, and, though tall and broad, had a lean build. I also love to cook, and I am also lean, and to look at me you might assume I am also moderate in my eating habits. That assumption was made by a friend who invited me, along with some other friends, to his house to eat the racks of ribs he was grilling. He had invited four of us, but only two of us were able to come. “Oh, well,” the host said to me, the first to arrive, “I guess you’ll be carting off plenty of leftovers.”

He was wrong. As the three of us sat at the dining table, my two friends — both large men — ate their share and then stopped. I ate my share, and then ate the racks that had been intended for our absent friends.

My companions stared at me in awe. “You could go in for competitive eating contests,” one of them said.

When I left, there was a single uneaten rack of ribs, and some beans. My host put the food in Tupperware and I took it with me. When I got home, I ate it before going to bed, enjoyed it, and fell asleep contentedly. The next day, my friend who’d cooked it asked jokingly about any ill effects involving a toilet, and seemed surprised when I told him I felt fine.

As a result, I think, of a long practice of Zen meditation, and no lack of food, my constant hunger has lessened from a compulsion to an eccentricity or quirk, but it refuses to be killed by sustenance or logic, and still preoccupies me. I read a crime novel in which the protagonist, waiting for a friend in a small restaurant, orders two hot dogs, one for him and one for his friend. He then realises that his friend is being attacked nearby, and goes outside to help her. Mayhem ensues, after which he returns to the restaurant with his friend in tow, and they find their food waiting for them on the counter. Shaken by the violence they have just experienced, they don’t feel like eating, so they just have drinks instead.

Even though they’re in physical danger, and the protagonist’s life is crumbling around him, all I could think of was the wasted food, those two hot dogs going cold and uneaten.

#hunger #foodpoverty #memoir #personalessay #barrygrahamauthor #charlesbowdenauthor #maryhill #glasgow #scotland

 
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from BARRY GRAHAM ESSAYS

by Barry Graham

This morning, I sat in half-lotus position in front of my altar. As usual, I was wearing Japanese monastic attire, and had a Buddhist rosary wound around my left wrist. I looked at the statue of Bodhidharma, founder of Zen, and at the photograph of my late teacher. The bell rang, beginning my meditation. I’ve heard it ring thousands of times in the two decades that I’ve been a Zen Buddhist monk. As usual, I bowed, then sat with a clear mind. I was no longer alone.

More than thirty years ago, a different bell rang, but it had a similarly profound impact on my life.

I was seventeen, and I had gone to a boxing gym for the first time. I didn’t talk to anyone in the changing room as I got ready, or when the training began. I jumped rope. I punched the heavy bag. I did floor exercises. Then the coach called out, “Get gloved up, boys.” It was time for sparring.

There was a cupboard that contained a dozen pairs of sparring gloves, with heavier padding than the gloves used in competition. Along with the other young men, I went to the cupboard, got a pair, and clumsily put them on.

I was staring at the untied laces, and considering pulling off both gloves and fleeing the gym, when a boxer standing nearby, whose hands were still bare, casually took me by the arm and laced me up. As the coach called me to the ring to spar, there were tears in my eyes. He thought I was nervous about getting hit. I wasn’t at all.

At the time, I was so alienated that I had no idea people helped each other. I had never received, or given, any kindness. The only social currencies I had any experience of were violence and coercion. I had been raped and beaten and I had gone hungry and, except for when I had been used, or been told that I was worthless and stupid, I had been ignored. That a person I didn’t know would help me put on a boxing glove, for no other reason than that I was a fellow boxer who needed help, was overwhelming to me. As my spar-mate and I squared off, I had never felt less violent.

That night, I left the gym by myself, but, for the first time ever, I wasn’t alone. The laughter, the camaraderie, the sense of community, came with me. I returned the next training night, and every other one. I didn’t learn how to fight in that gym. I had been fighting for a long time, and the training only sharpened my skills. I learned about friendship. In a place of intense, focused violence, I learned about compassion.

It wasn’t long until the coach scheduled my first fight. My opponent glowered at me as we touched gloves in another ring, in the center of a smoky little nightclub. I felt nothing toward him, no hostility, no antagonism. I went back to my corner. My coach put in my mouthpiece, and the bell rang.

I was five-eleven, and weighed 118 pounds, a pale stick made of muscle and bone. My opponent was several inches shorter, much wider, and this was not his first fight. As I climbed into the ring and my coach removed my robe, I said a nervous prayer that neither I nor my opponent would be seriously injured. As I looked at the spectators, I was aware of two things: That most of those watching expected my opponent to beat me easily and quickly, and that I didn’t care what any of them thought. It wasn’t about them, or about my opponent, or about me. It was about the fight.

The guy was much stronger than me. After two minutes, when the first round ended, I had a welt under my left eye. As I sat on the stool, my coach told me that I had lost the round. I knew, and I didn’t care.

As the second round began, some of the spectators yelled for my opponent to finish it, walk through me, knock me out. A few others yelled encouragement to me.

My opponent became angry when I smiled at him as we circled each other. I didn’t care how he felt. I slipped his jab and countered with one of my own, then did it again, and then again. As he tried to force me to back up, I hooked off the jab, hard, and he walked into it. I saw the shock on his face as he tried to keep his legs under him.

I had never felt so peaceful, because there was no sense of “I.” Only “this,” the thing I was doing in that moment.

After the fight, which I won by a points decision, my coach told me how happy he was for me. I ate a chicken leg and drank a can of soda, and my coach gave me a ride home. A few blocks from where I lived, I asked him to let me out because I wanted to walk the rest of the way. We shook hands, and I got out of his car, and he saluted as he drove off.

It was cold, and I saw nobody else on the street except a cop. I felt a happiness, without passion, that I had never known before. I did not expect to be able to fall asleep easily, but I was wrong. I slept well, and woke early.

It was a taste of the peace I would later find through Zen. “If you practice here you’re responsible for yourself,” the elderly priest, whose hands shook with Parkinson’s, told me on my first visit to the Zen centre he ran. “You’ll never be any better than you are now. Anything you have to deal with now, you’ll have to deal with for the rest of your life.”

“So why should I bother with Zen?”

“I don’t know. I never said you should. You came here.”

When I look at these words, they seem harsh, uncaring. They were anything but. Hearing them, I felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief. I knew I was being levelled with. I wasn’t being lied to, and so, even though I couldn’t understand why anyone would practice Zen if it wasn’t going to “help” them, I trusted it and I trusted the priest. When the other two participants that evening showed up, I joined in the service. We sat on cushions, chanted in Japanese, and then spent two half-hour periods in silent, objectless meditation called zazen, broken up by ten minutes of walking meditation, clockwise around the room, called kinhin.

When the priest told me just to sit still, I asked him what to do with my mind. He told me I didn’t have to do anything with it, but to just observe it, be present, and, whenever I realized that I wasn’t, to just to come back to where I was.

I thought it was the stupidest, most pointless thing ever – and I knew it was going to save my life. I don’t know how I knew, but I had never felt so certain. And I was right. My sad fury, which I had feared would eventually lead me to prison or the morgue, did not diminish with practice – but it lost all power over me. I would come to relate to my anger in the same way that I related to the anger of other people – as something I was aware of, but that was irrelevant to me.

A couple years later, I took the vows of a Zen monk, a commitment to serve all sentient beings, to save them from suffering, understanding that this includes myself, but without concern for personal salvation. My sangha, or Buddhist group, is not affiliated with any mainstream Zen schools, but, for me, being a monk isn’t about jumping through institutional hoops — it’s about living by my vow. I vowed to meet life as it is, rather than attaching to my preferences about how it should be, to meet myself and others as we are, rather than attaching to my preferences about how we should be. The essence of the vows are contained in the words that I chant every day, at the end of my meditation:

*Sentient beings are numberless; I vow to save them.

Delusions are inexhaustible; I vow to end them.

The Dharmas are boundless; I vow to master them.

The Buddha Way is unsurpassable; I vow to attain it.*

What I had experienced in boxing is what Zen Buddhists call single-pointed attention, a state of such presence with the activity of the moment, with the moment as it is, that there is no room for ego, for any consideration of self. It’s a peace and freedom that can only be found in compassionate detachment. When I had reached this state through boxing, I’d left it behind as soon as I stepped out of the ring. It was the same with zazen for a while. But, so gradually that I didn’t notice, what I found meditating started to come with me when I stood up and left. And, after a while, I stopped finding it on the cushion but instead brought it there with me, hands palm-to-palm, meeting the moment, sitting present with all creation, and all destruction, each time the bell rang.

#zen #buddhism #memoir #personalessay #boxing #compassion #friendship #poverty #loneliness #barrygrahamauthor #dogobarrygraham

 
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