Taru Onsen, Yubara, Japan Saturday, 10 February 2001

I’m ready to retire. Snow falls on snow, here in deep twilight at an inn in old Japan, about four hours' drive northwest from Kobe.

Fired into the whiteness of the porcelain cup I hold is a dainty light blue flower. It looks like a dragonfly with blue wings. I take a sip of the water within, then quietly study the cup.

Into my mind come thoughts of life's transience. Like the first sip I took, life's treasures must be savored as they happen. They refresh, but are finite. I take a second sip, this time deeper, more courageously. The blue wings of the dainty flower seem to whisper me on; seem to beg I gulp the final sip and enjoy the full glory of the longer moment.

I do.

The water's now gone. Only remains a wet sheen indistinguishable from the pure white cup. The light blue wings no longer promise to refresh. There's no more water to partake.

Life is shared but for a moment. Bright memories linger, and then leave only transparent essences. In the cold, crisp air of Yubara tonight, the ghosts of all my ex-ancestors all around, I feel their own unmistakable essences mingle with my own former hopes and dreams. All are now but forgotten. I guess I’m alone with the wonderful times my family enjoyed here. Memories flit into my mind, like Cerina and I holding up fingers upon which mid-summer dragonflies once landed and then flew off to eternity. EJ fishing. Monika playing the piano each morning. Stuart in his Scout uniform. Mako laughing.

God willing, there will be an eternity where I might work out my challenges. God willing, there will be an eternity where I can finally “connect” and tell others how much they meant to me. Friend and foe, married or divorced, God willing, there will be a time where I can grasp and correct crazy issues which have caused me to heave my sorrows silently out into far too many dark skies, alone.

But those are the afterbirth. I look down again at the little blue wings. They're still delicate. They're still pretty. But the moment of their refreshment started ending long ago. I came, I drank, and now I see. My cup is empty, coated only with see-through memories. I've experienced the contents. I could be wrong, but I find nothing else makes sense: Life is for drinking up and for moving on. Loving is for Eternity, where we can work at understanding answers.

A page once turned cannot be written upon any more.

Cheers

The Degree of the Blue Vase

Ryan Kell walked into my office yesterday and put a blue vase into my hands. It was empty. It was blue.

"Huh?" I said, articulate to the end. (Insert very long pause here whilst brain not computing much at all.)

It took me a very long minute to finally figure out what was happening-- with a generous reminder about an old book I'd strongly recommended he read, The Go-Getter by Peter B. Kyne.

"Life-changing!" he echoed. "Absolutely amazing!"

I am honored. I wish I'd written such a book, but I'm equally proud to be the bearer of such a life-changing tome. "It shall be done--" Esprit de corps doesn't bubble up from the bottom. It filters down from the top.

Or as Kevin Trudeau repeatedly quoted Cavett Roberts, "Character is following through on decisions long after the excitement of the moment has passed."

Read The Go-Getter, and learn of the Degree of the Blue Vase: It shall be done.

Cheers

Thank You Kevin Trudeau

Last decade I was privileged to work closely with Kevin Trudeau, the Mega Memory guy you see on television infomercials. Over the course of perhaps four years we worked together in conjunction with Nightingale-Conant, developing a handful of international business enterprises.

Chatting with my eldest son recently, he recalled one life-changing moment when we were on the set of a Hollywood-style video production. Dozens of people bustled around when Kevin suddenly turned to my then 16-year old lad and said, "Here. When this vibrates, answer it, 'Kevin's phone!' and chat with them. Show them your personality. Take a number, and let me know who called." To EJ's (and all of his staff's) shocked look he simply assured, "Listen, I've seen you. You can do it. You're better than you know." The first thought that flashed through my mind was how many potential million-dollar deals might chance to come through his phone whilst he was away for a few hours. But he was right-- my son already had confidence, had read some of the success books, and Kevin's challenge changes his life still. I saw EJ straighten that day-- not figuratively, but forever and still. It's a very sobering thing when someone trusts you. It can change your life forever.

So, too, as the years roll by I am increasingly grateful for Kevin's personal tutelage and instructions to me. His list of recommended books has changed my life forever. Dozens of motivational classics sit in my bookshelf, ready at hand. I devour motivational audio in the car, and listen as I work my 16-hour days. I set yearly, monthly, and daily goals and measure my progress, and each day print out a list of to-do items, striving to be better.

Funny, though how I saw others scoff at Kevin, or heard them berate his advice.

The years go by. I'm privileged to befriend another billionaire, Mr. William Farley, part owner of the Chicago White Sox and CEO of Fruit of the Loom clothing (to name but two enterprises). It's wonderful to receive an e-mail out of the blue with, "Looking forward to seeing you again."

But rich people don't think like poor people.

I was meeting with Mr. Farley ("Bill") when he quietly mentioned to a group of top leaders that his life had been changed by the book "Think And Grow Rich"[an!] . I began applauding heartfelt appreciation-- but was surprised to hear me clap alone. He looked at me and we smiled a sort of brotherhood that began between us that has even rewarded the two of us with an actual discovery of earliest-known recordings of Napoleon Hill, author of the life-changing book. Funny thing though is people look at us like we're two crazy kids.

And so far, it seems no one else has picked up the book despite Bill's hint. Rather unbelievable, but 20% of 80/20 I guess.

For myself, I squarely owe Kevin a debt of gratitude, and I thank him publicly. I also thank God for exposure to these unique men, and further seek their counsel on temporal applications of spiritual principles. Whilst I'm not in the class of these leaders, for whatever reason I am in their company. Under Kevin's tutelage I've already laid a foundation for a rich relationship with Bill Farley. I can "see" Bill with the insight of Kevin's experiences. We grok the same classic principles, but in my case that came only by first shutting my mouth and learning something new. I learned a lot. And as in EJ's case, I faced my fears and did the hard thing first.

By taking the road less traveled, "that has made all the difference."

Cheers

Cleaning Out The Dirty Old Year

Got a few things to clear out before 2008 hits:

1. Last election's results gave me tenfold the previous number of votes. Whilst I wasn't elected (at least they haven't asked me to City Council), I DO thank all 200+ who voted for me. The reason I take your nod so seriously is that I wasn't just a knee-jerk vote. Since I didn't spend one dime on posters, placards, handbills, or other falderall, every single one of you learned of me by word of mouth, and gave rapt consideration about how I would serve you. My reputation was apparently enough to vote tenfold your confidence in my works and credibility. One and all, I consider your expression a high honor. Thank you. I'll win next time.


2. Speaking of honor, for the second time in four years I've now closely witnessed and had to deal with complete dishonor. Around a deep woods campfire this story would make your skin crawl-- and no less dramatic were days spent working with this creature.

This fellow had been employed at the advertising agency, and from the start acted as if evil incarnate. His one-note recommendations to sell all products were to create "booty billboards," his way of suffusing sex and pornography into every meeting. My partner gave him a chance, but like the scorpion who cannot help but acting like a scorpion, he reverted to his black heart.

But the joke's on him: Though this cretin slurked away one day, immediately reaching out to steal clients, utilize our vendors, actually taking physical documents (and computer hardware), we'd already taken massive steps to contain him. We knew he was on a course of self-destruction and we were not going to be collaterally damaged. So wherever he turned the steel doors of containment had already clanged closed. With the parade of evidence from every sphere and possible gathering method, our upcoming day in court will be most satisfying. He has no idea how completely and utterly his life will be changed. I anticipate he will again run as he has before run from his past, changing his name as he flees, but we have him.

Most pitiable is that everyone attests to what he apparently cannot see: He vibrates on such a low and sinister wavelength that his life is already over. He trails his scummy reputation and his dishonorable thinking, and every act spreads the word. In this day and age, he cannot escape the spread of warnings about him on the Internet. It's a new world.

But he has no one to blame but himself. While working with the agency, people gave him a chance. I know I did. I gave him every chance. I kept hoping he was taking the opportunity to pull out of his personal nose-dive. But he invariably engendered such bad feelings that people shut him down when came in on his own. They reviled him. No one wished to associate with him-- excepting one or two of the same mind who enjoy that kind of "booty billboard" darkness. Most treacherous is how he presents a lightness of being-- promising the world as all the while chatty and smiling to allay the blackness permeating his soul-- trapping, if possible, those unaware of the tarbaby he is, until he steals from them whatever he can get: Equipment, relationships, connections, things, or whatever else. So he hops from one sucker to the next, draining them of valuables.

The bottom line, though, is that anyone listening to their own 'gut feeling' would know his laughter and smiles hide a truly sinister heart; one that would (and apparently will) do them harm. It's just a matter of time.


3. And the same goes for any other damnable people, such as abusers of children, or those who terrorize the elderly. Not too long ago I encountered such a "man" who, when the police escorted him away, screamed such horrible things at his widowed mother that the police said, as recorded on video tape, "I've never encountered such foul words said by a son to a parent." He lives in a similar blackness of spirit and brings no joy-- except to depart. There are "dirty old men" and there evil old men... How tragic to reach over 70 years of age, and still foment such evil within.

Good riddance, we all say: For evil to triumph it is necessary for good men to do nothing.

I keep the Cross close in my life, and will testify against them when the time is right. In the meantime, as over 200 local people recognized when voting for the strength of my reputation, yes, I'm working on perfecting myself, yes, but more important, I'm working on keeping out the darkness that sometimes surrounds us. I don't like darkness to any degree, and fight it at every turn.

So at this turn, clean out the darkness and dross from 2007 to make a stronger and more pure 2008.

Cheers!

Holy Schmokes!

Gadzooks!

One week from Tuesday (more or less 'today') three local Salem City Council seats will be filled via election with three people. I hope to be one of them.

Yeah, I know something like that is off most people's "to do" list. It's like going out of your way to hit your thumb with the hammer. I'm not a butt-kisser politician, or someone motivated to close the ozone hole by being kind to pinecones-- but I do have a thought or two that could either help the City Council noodle things out better. That or I've got enough of a stubborn streak to just drag my feet when things are just plain 'ol going the wrong way. Common sense means heel tracks left all over the floor.

Service-- including public service-- is me. I like people and I get along with most everybody. And I think the city population will like that I'm pretty frugal when it comes to money. For example, I haven't spent one cent on political flag-waving via placards, signs, banners, posts, rope, fliers, buttons, straw hats, heated socks, or wash-off tattoos either. Let them eat cake, I say, or remember the Alamo or something like that. Keep your money and buy more ice cream to raise the GNP.

Last election I got 22 votes. (Thank you mom.) Can't wait to see how I do in the polls this time around.

Cheers!
E-LectabLee yours

Heartfelt Gratitude

I've been extraordinarily fortunate this past week to be awash in love.

I suppose I find it noteworthy in public mention first because love is such a rare and delicate treasure, and second, because I believe expressing gratitude to God is a condition of deeper fondness and Christlike attributes. I developed a keener understanding during the last decade in inexpressibly hard times, seemingly independent of cause and effect. "Pain engraves a deeper memory." (Anne Sexton, OMNI, May 1985)

So while you might not find it strange to hear me vocalize (and blog) my deep gratitude for the obvious-- family members serving unselfishly, children who love and grandchildren who innocently smile-- you would then hear me express an equivalent and deep thankfulness for coworkers and clients, people who share their instruction and insights, people who simply call to say hello, and Church leaders in quiet service... even for those over whom they have no responsibility to so serve. You know who you are-- and to you I express love.

Thanksgiving this year marks new beginnings for me. I know it will be the first time in two decades I find myself truly thankful. Year after year all color remained bleached from of my world, and I marveled how "goodly" people delighted in taking advantage of my time, my efforts, my skills, and my offerings to them. I watched them grab and go.

"How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in life you will have been all of these." (George Washington Carver)

Cheers!

On Perfection

I am not perfect.

The topic of perfection came to mind via two events: A huge work I recently performed that, with thousands of tiny bits incrementally performed over the course of over ten hours, was negated for a single error; I also consider the ongoing plight of my teen-aged daughter, now at the stage of life where she expects too much of herself.

Perhaps there is no answer in either case, but I try to understand.

I recall a Led Zeppelin concert on Thursday 23 October 1969. While I was unfazed, friends publicly decried the "different" sounds of the live band.

Having been a recording and performing drummer for years (and for years to come), I knew that produced music (then and now) is incrementally assembled. One "lays down tracks" --a best effort-- and then works hours to remove or replace imperfect portions one at a time.

However, my friends could only spread the word that the Zeppelin concert was nasty.

Again, I understood. This was the first time Zeppelin had played the Boston Gardens (prior to that they'd simply done the intimate Boston Tea Party-- about 500 people). At my own concerts, I knew it was all we could do to balance the mix-- hall dynamics, reverberation, amplification all changed the timbre of the drum sound... not to mention the difficulty of stage-replicating precise settings of fuzz boxes, compressors, equalization, and even imitating layers of vocals laid down in the studio by the same person!

But two decades later, in Japan in 1993 I ruminated, "Everywhere I look I am surrounded by perfection. Perfect paintings, perfect orchestrations, perfect vocalists, perfect artistry, perfect rock bands...

"We live in an astounding world of perfection and humanities. Russian operas, symphony orchestras, background rock music for games, classic and renaissance paintings, movies, faces, bodies, cinematography, cartoonists, writers, performances, hand-made jewelry creations, jingles─ the television constantly heralds a stream of one perfect achievement after another.

"But what can I do that is perfect? If someone were to come up and take inventory, what could I do that is unique, awesome, or flawless?

"I don't know. Some things I do (I think) may come close, but most don't even register. Is this a question for which most people will not know their own answer? Are [humans] supposed to do one thing perfectly?

"Maybe the answer is more to be found in the story of Vincent Van Gogh─ not in the part about his suicide─ but in that he sought for perfect expression of what was inside, yet could not express it to his satisfaction. The frustration of what he considered imperfect paintings sentenced himself to death to end the pain.

"Yet his 'imperfect' paintings top every list..." I wrote almost 15 years ago.

Without moralizing further, I'd simply say that things haven't changed all that much for humankind. People still irrationally expect perfection-- both in performance of others and by their own delivery:

...My "one mistake" amongst thousands of corrections in 2007 cost innocents honest earnings.
...Led Zeppelin's concerts disillusioned many in 1969 because the band didn't sound like their recordings.
...In 1890 Van Gogh (then 37) shot each and every one of us to death in a small way.

The sickness of irrational hopes of perfection (in others) kills everyone a little bit every day.

And you? From whom do you expect perfection today?

SeriousLee