AFTERNOON WITH SOO

Soo’s question for the new year I’ll ponder.
Is it
Do we eat to live?
Or
Do we live to eat?

I pour out the 11-minute pasta at exactly 11 minutes. Into the metal colander I liberally pour olive oil, sprinkle salt and pepper and then add the crimini mushrooms and pecans that have been lightly sautéed in bacon fat and garlic. I will top it all off with freshly-grated aged parmesan cheese and crushed live basil.

With that meal, I live to eat. There is no greater pleasure than to eat. Or is there?

What about sex and procreation? What about love and recreation?
What about that 4-bedroom model home near the beach?

In each age of our lives we receive a mandate. But the mandate is not clear; it comes to us from our parents, television, and peer pressure. Occasionally, if one is lucky, it comes to us from an enlightened person.


Soo is enlightened but not understood in his own language. If he were understood by many then he would be remembered like Jesus or Buddha. Someone must make his words known.

When Soo eats, he does just that. He eats. When I eat, I am writing or watching TV, or standing in the kitchen. I must learn to just eat.

I should ask Soo to will me his papers. I will cherish them. I will have them translated. I will understand them and then publish.

I’ll go to some tropical paradise with healthy fruits and vegetables, and mild weather year round. I’ll get up early and go to yoga when the surf is down. I'll spend the afternoons editing Soo’s memoirs. I will be dressed in a sari, as the most comfortable garment around. I will sip bottled water all day and at cocktail hour, one glass of wine.

The words will confuse and anger me at times. This translator sucks, I will think, until I grasp that it’s also my mind. Can I take the words of an enlightened man and make them understood by others? This challenge will awaken me.

Is that what happened to St. Paul? Is that what happened to the monks around the Buddha after he died? Who wrote the Qu’ran?

Soo’s words would become mine. With them I would leap forward. Capable of synthesis and unification I would mirror his vision in my own words and yet retain the magic of his original utterance.

Perhaps the question for the next near year should be
Do we human beings live to communicate?
Or
Do we human beings communicate to live?

Sunset from Iron Mountain

Today Julia, Otis and I climbed Iron Mountain. It's at least an 800 foot climb to 2695 feet.

Driving east to Poway it was gloomy and hazy and I reconciled myself to a climb without view. I was wrong. Magic happened. On the way up, the clouds cleared, and the sun came out. As we stood at the summit the haze disappeared. First I spotted the ocean, a vivid yellow in the center of the screen. Then downtown appeared and Pt. Loma. To the east I could see Mt. Laguna and the Salton Sea. South lay Mexico and San Miguel. North was Palomar. San Diego county painted itself before me.

On descent, the sunset was awesome. It grew redder and redder as we neared the bottom. In one switchback, I caught the sun between the dead limbs of a tree.

Iron Mountain

Surf's Still Up

Stonewall looking East

Stonewall looking West

Today's Hike

Today I climbed Stonewall Peak, an 800 foot ascent. I forgot my sweatshirt and wore only a sleeveless summer top with sweatpants. Many people on the trail remarked on my fortitude in the 53 degree wind. I smiled as if I had chosen to go sleeveless; as if there was a nice Goretex jacket in my backpack

A cloud descended on me mid-way up the trail and it grew even colder. I wasn't sure I would be able to see anything when I hit the top. But right as I neared the summit, the cloud broke up and sunshine spilled over me. The photos that accompany this are looking east towards Mt. Laguna, and looking west towards the cloud as it dissipates.

City Scape

An alien shared this shot of San Diego with me on Christmas Eve.

San Diego Christmas

Heading to sunset cliffs this morning, the western peninsula was covered with fog so I headed to the bayside. This is what I found.

My favorite view

San Diego on a high pressure winter's morn.

Stereo Types

I have a Latino computer guy who works with me; he is quiet and competent, yet the young girls in the department find him slightly scary.

Today, in a discussion of diversity he said,"If you are from New York, then you must be puertorriqueño; from California you are Mexican. And if from Miami, you are Cuban.”

He understood our Americans, he did this Ecuadorean who lives in California, and thus is Mexican.

Tidal wallpaper

The cave floor at Cheesegrater rock

Surf's up!

Surf came up today in San Diego.

The Semantics of SSRI Addiction

SSRIs (anti-depressants) are not addictive, the drug companies claim. They are not addictive in the sense that I won’t run out and prostitute myself to get another fix. Why should I? My health insurance covers it. Or maybe I might now that I have quit taking SSRIs since “hypersexuality” is one possible side effect of withdrawal.

As I withdraw from my SSRIs so that I can resume flight, I have been experiencing (not “enjoying”) several side effects, such as

(a) dizziness
(b) nausea
(c) headaches
(d) lethargy
(e) anxiety
(f) tingling and numbness of hands
(g) "electric" shock-like sensations in the head
(h) sweating
(i) insomnia
(j) irritability
(k) tight throat
(l) vivid dreams
(m) joint aches and pains

I seemed to have escaped the hypersexuality side effect which is why it is not on my list. I also listed the withdrawal symptoms with letters because I don't really want to know how many I have. The pharmaceutical companies don't call it withdrawal since SSRIs are not "addictive." They call it SSRI discontinuation effects. I call that a semantic end run around the truth!

One of my favorite side effects is the electric shock-like sensation. Sitting here at my computer composing, my head jerks forward like a bird zapping an insect. That fast and it's over, until it occurs again.

Another one that amuses rather than frightens me is a finger thing. My left middle finger gets stuck in the upright position in the morning. I cannot bend the second joint of my own volition. I go about my business until noon giving all and sundry the "finger." Even when I'm not feeling irritable!

According to several clinical studies made of SSRI discontinuation, the discontinuation (can I please call it withdrawal!)syndrome complicates the evaluation of patients after stopping the drug since both patients and physicians often interpret the symptoms as an upsurge of "anxiety" related to a relapse, and they decide to resume treatment with the gratifying subsidence of the "anxiety", when in actuality these symptoms are produced by withdrawal from the drug.

I quit all medications last Thursday. By Wednesday -- one week later -- I was really tempted to resume the SSRI. On Friday, in desperation, I did a websearch on "SSRI withdrawal" and discovered that my awful feelings were normal.

That night when I got home from work I took two Aleve, opened a good bottle of wine, dragged out a joint that someone had given me months ago, and popped a serax (like valium).

The Aleve zapped the dull headache. The pot subdued the gastric disturbances and dizziness, the wine relaxed my throat and irritability, and the serax soothed all the rough edges. I felt really good for the first time in a week.

Before bed I drank 20 ounces of water. I woke up this morning feeling just fine. I am 9 days SSRI- (though not entirely drug-) free.

Thai!

Maria came into my office and exclaimed, “Something smells good!”

I had just finished my lunch but had thrown the box away in the lab. I knew I had just eaten my favorite Thai food by the Ethnic Gourmet, but what was it?

Maria looked at me expectantly. I made several attempts to recall the name of the dish, one I eat about 3 times a week.

”Thai, I know it was Thai. It’s not the green curry, but the … Thai. It has noodles and peanut sauce. It’s … Thai. Not Satay. Thai.”

For the life of me, I could not name what I had eaten for lunch. My rapid recall and photographic memory had abandoned me during this transitional period of my life.

Two hours later, on the phone with my sister, we were discussing the stress of decorating the house for the holidays (neither of us are stressed actually – she still has her Thanksgiving decorations up, and I have two miniature Poinsettias strung with white lights on my piano), and as she discussed her holiday plans, I blurted out, “Pad Thai.”

She stopped speaking and waited for me to continue.

“Two hours ago,” I explained, “I had a dish for lunch and then 10 minutes later could not remember the name of my favorite Thai food. It just came to me now, two hours later; that’s how menopause has affected my memory.”

“That’s funny,” my sister replied. “I made Thai food for the first time last night from a recipe I found and I thought that you had somehow known that about me.”

It's good to have a sister who understands this turbulent life passage.
What will be on the other side? I'm getting excited to find out!

Sky on the brink of Winter

Splash

You don't know how many tries before I caught this one right.

Play of Light

The interface between rock and sea is tumultous.