Free Tibet

I have a dirty, dusty bumper sticker that's been on my front window for 18 years (since 1990); "Boycott China, Save Tibet."
When I stuck it there all those years ago, I vowed to leave it until the Dalai Lama was allowed to return to his homeland in Tibet. How sad that not only have things not improved in those 18 years, they are so much worse now.

Several dozen (as many as 80) Tibetans and Buddhist monks were killed in riots in the past week. Chinese troops were surrounding Drepung monastery in Lhasa, with hundreds of monks still inside. I really want to expose what the chinese communist "boss" said (don't know his title, he was referred to as this on PBS.) I saw him speaking these words on PBS; "The Dalai Lama is a jackal. An evil spirit with the heart of a beast." I wanted to spit at the real lying jackal on my tv set.

Here is the direct quote from the Dalai Lama, "I appeal to the Chinese leadership to stop using force and address the long-simmering resentment of the Tibetan people through dialogue with the Tibetan people. I also urge my fellow Tibetans not to resort to violence."

Anyone who knows anything about the Dalai Lama knows he stands for Peace and Compassion. That has been his life-long teaching. He is a world treasure and even in the face of this horrible situation continues to urge non-violence. But, this was, after all, Tibetan National Uprising Day -- the equivalent of our Independence Day -- only we're free. Tibetan monks are still tortured, gagged, and silenced by their chinese occupiers.

Imagine 49 years of occupation! It will be a full 50 years next year, and even monks grow weary of daily abuse. Who could blame them? How in the world would we (Americans) act? We couldn't tolerate one attack on our precious soil (2001), and we'd be violent every day if our land was occupied. Try to imagine our homes and churches occupied -- our rights and weapons taken away. Americans can hardly conceive of such a thing, yet we occupy other countries (like Iraq) and support these chinese thugs even as our children are dying thanks to their poison toys and other imported junk. I end as I began, "Boycott china" -- their junk, their coming games, and for god's sake: FREE Tibet!

Wild Mind

In Buddhist meditation the goal is taming the wild mind. We sit quietly, and notice our jumble of thoughts without judging them. We label it "thinking" -- no matter what it is -- let go and try again. Natalie Goldberg, a long time Zen student, called one of her early books on writing "Wild Mind." It doesn't get much better than that for describing the writer's dilemma. On one hand you want crazy uncontrolled thoughts and emotions to spill out onto the page. The wilder the better. But the time comes to stop tossing words and ideas. Structure, architecture and even research are required to create something coherent out of the mess. Art? Fiction? What is it?

Today I was talking to another struggling novelist. He has the best take on creative writing -- that first and foremost it's for us. When an amateur musician sits down to play the piano on the weekend, he or she doesn't think about how to record the music and sell a CD of it; at least not at first. First, you learn to play the piano and practice. Then you might play to relax and unwind. A person can play music or paint just for the pleasure of it, and everyone understands that. Why, then, do amateur weekend novelists feel so obsessed with publishing? I just want to write for my own enjoyment. I want to release this obsession with how and when to publish. It's completely ruining my writing pleasure and the quality of the work itself.

Before I started my friggin' albatross-around-my-neck novel, I used to write for pleasure. Sometimes poems, sometimes "rants" and sometimes just weird blurbs that had no particular purpose. Those were the most fun. I think that's why I like the blog. If I get a wild idea, I can just go off on a tangent. I don't really care who reads it, or if anyone likes it. It's just for "fun."

Back to the novel. Tonight, actually as of 3-6-2008, I'm declaring my novel a pleasure piece. I'm writing for my own amusement and benefit. Scriblerian schmaltz! Oh no, just when I thought I could relax and goof off, I hear the heavy wooden door of "the Cloister of No Return" creak open. Monk Natalie beckons me. She speaks of craft and voice. Enter at your own risk.