10. September 2008 by Gene.

Simplicity.  An alluring concept — easy to grasp, easy to understand, yet as difficult to achieve as your ideal waist size, an undeviating heart-friendly diet, or world peace. If Thoreau thought simplicity difficult to achieve in the 19th century when he took to the woods in a log cabin at Walden Pond, how can any of us achieve simplicity while being bombarded by one hundred trillion cell phone emissions per minute? Besides, after two years of chopping wood, snorting nature, and filling several notebooks with philosophical scrivenings, Thoreau chucked it and moved back to town.

When I was young, with a mind as pliable as potter’s clay, I thought Thoreau was onto something. Doesn’t everyone wish life were a little simpler? Simple as in less complex, not simple as in the mindedness of the Republican election platform.

Take photography for instance. Why do enthusiastic photographers acquire so much gear? The other day I went on a photo walk with just my Canon S3 IS digicam, a lightweight point-and-shoot with a lens range equivalent to 36-432mm — what is sometimes referred to as a superzoom model, as opposed to all the other models which the manufacturers assure us are all super, at least until they are replaced by newer, superer ones.

In addition to its zoom versatility, the S3 has good macro capabilities, and a surprisingly good movie mode that, I must confess, I usually forget is there. I’ll not be providing competition to Michael Moore any time soon. The S3 is a comfortable camera, so I ask myself why do I bother with bulkier, heavier SLR and DSLR cameras with their various lenses when I could shoot 90% or more of my images with the S3?

The lure of this logic, with its overtones of monogamous virtue, has caused me, twice, to sell off DSLR cameras in a quest for simplicity. I essentially divorced two nice DSLRs: a Canon 300D Digital Rebel and then a Pentax *istD2. My newly-resolved relationship with a single, worthy P&S digicam lasted for perhaps six months, but in the end it was doomed to failure because while the lure of simplicity pulls me one way, I must confess to a problem that pulls me in another: lust for lenses. For me the online KEH used camera and lens store in Atlanta is a camera porn site to which I may be as addicted as David Duchovny is to the human variety.

Not only do I fancy lenses, I often fancy the older ones, as perhaps befits my age. I won’t state my age, but if you guessed 63 you’d be exactly close.

So, we come to the nub of it: lust leads to complexity. You acquire lenses, then you need a new body. Soon you have so many lenses it’s no longer possible to maintain a discrete relationship with each one. Your lens drawer becomes a sultan’s harem of complexity.

Perhaps Sarah Palin would counsel abstinence, but when you’re already pregnant with an expanding lens collection, it’s a little late, though I agree it would be morally reprehensible to suddenly abort. If I’d had lens education early enough I might have taken precautions, but as it is I’m a fallen photographer.

So, at last I face the varnished truth: I am a photographer with lens issues. For me simplicity is no more attainable than is a profound appreciation and understanding of punctuated equilibrium by George W. We all have our limitations.

Thus, after a lifetime of longing for simplicity, I bid adieu to Henry David Thoreau and his clever Walden memes. There is more than one kind of addiction, and an addiction to the idea of simplicity leads not to the promised land, but to the sorrow of yet another unobtainable dream (YAUD, in geek terminology). Besides, my cell phone is chirping, and I have to take this call.

Posted in Humour, Philosophy, Photography | 5 Comments »

17. August 2008 by Gene.

There’s nothing like a bypass operation to put some perspective into your life. You taste mortality and realize the fragility of being alive. With it comes an appreciation of life and all living things. As I’ve recuperated over the summer, I’ve enjoyed the outdoors as never before. In addition it’s been an extraordinary summer.

Record amounts of rainfall have kept lawns green and blossoms in bloom longer than normal. By August our lawns are usually scorched and the late-blooming summer flowers pose against a dry backbround. Not this year. Everything is verdant.

I started the summer with very short walks that taxed the limit of my endurance. As my strength increased, I began carrying extremely lightweight cameras, gradually working up to the Nikon D40 that I bought especially for the rehab period. The length of my walks increased and as I developed more strength I bought a bicycle to add variety to my exercise regimen and to increase the radius of my travels. Both the D40 and the bicycle were great additions and I’ve developed a relatively safe method of packing the D40 into a padded bag that fits on the rack over the back wheel. With this I’ve been able to get shots of new places like the lakeshore view in front of the Adamson Estate and the mouth of the harbour where the Mississauga Sailing Club is located.

One side effect of my recovery surprised me a little. I find I have less interest in owning several types of camera than I did previously. My new impulse is to simplify and thin my gear collection. As a result I sold my Hasselblad kit — probably the nicest bit of gear I’ve ever owned, but gear I wasn’t using much. I used the proceeds to upgrade my Nikon D200 to a Nikon D300. I wasn’t able to carry around a heavy DSLR like the Nikon D300 until recently. Now it’s my main camera for walks on most days. I like using different lenses with it, mainly older Nikon AIS lenses that I also use on my Nikon film bodies. I particularly like using my Nikkor AF 24mm f/2.8 on the D300, as in this photo of early morning sunshine and haze outside our front door.

But most of all, I’m enjoying the summer itself — its sunny days and rainy days, hot days and cool days. And all the creatures, including humankind, enjoying the summer’s bounty.

I’m not a religious person, but I remain in awe of the evolution of life on this planet and I’m thankful to be a conscious being able to appreciate its beauty. A planet that can produce beings who can contemplate, and magnificent birds like ospreys to inspire those beings, is a very special place, and this summer has been a special chapter in its long story.

Posted in Philosophy, Health & Wellness, Photography | 8 Comments »

15. May 2008 by Gene.

It’s been a number of years since I was last interested in meditation. I first encountered it as a student, when wandering through the stacks of the university library, looking for something for a literature course I was taking, I peeked through the bookstacks and saw a book with an intriguing title, The Way of Zen, in the next aisle. I’d heard of Zen of course. The Beat poets were fond of it and I’d seen some beautiful Japanese prints that were described to me as in the Zen tradition of art, but I didn’t know much about it. I checked out the book, by Alan Watts as it turned out, and entered what was then a new chapter of my life.

Like many a youth I was on something of a spiritual quest and the slippery Zen koans and the discipline of meditation appealed to me. I’d rather outgrown the Christianity I’d been raised with (both Protestant and Catholic) and this seemed a more sophisticated and interesting kind of spiritualism. Not that Zen should be called “spiritual” but that was my youthful take on it. A little Zen, a little pot, a little acid, a little Taoism, a little Carlos Castenada — it was the 60’s of course, and it marked a deep collective inturning toward mysticism and magic.

After I shed the 60’s, I found myself still interested in meditation and for awhile I linked up with a California-based group called Self Realization Fellowship. I joined them once a week for guided meditations and I practiced meditation on my own. At the time Carl Jung was probably my greatest influence and I sought some kind of oneness with the cosmos, at least symbolically.

I look back with fondness on that period of my life, however non-critical my thinking was then. It was a poetic period. Later I gradually became more secular and more agnostic in my beliefs. What started me in this direction was the study of natural history. I became intensely interested in birds, plants, and the world around us. As I learned about ecosystems and the evolution of life on earth (something I never doubted for I was always of a scientific persuasion that favoured evidence-based conclusions), I gradually came to see my earlier mindset as, well, youthful. I had matured, developing a humanistic, secular viewpoint that was skeptical of spiritual claims and highly doubtful of anything that smacked of the supernatural, including a belief in a god.

These days I call myself a “friendly, non-militant atheist”. In other words, I’m not a hard-core Dawkinsian type of in-your-face atheist. Although I see evidence of many of the horrible things religions have wrought, and are still wringing, I experienced its comfort and solace at a younger age, and would not dream of challenging anyone’s personal belief in something they hold sacred. As long as it doesn’t cross over into public policies and legislation. Church and state must be kept separate. Religions have no lock on morality. There are good people among the religious and non-religious alike, and evil people in both categories. We are all humans, capable of greatness and capable of atrocity.

With that background, you may understand why I have been seeking a secular form of meditation. Anything that smacks of Eastern religions or New Age mumbo-jumbo gives me the fantods. Unfortunately, most guided meditations fall into these camps. The reason I’m interested in meditation is simply for its acknowledged contribution to good health. I tend to have a streak of anxiety in my nature and I think meditation would be good for me.

To that end I downloaded some meditation podcasts. One, which I shall not name, claimed to be unaffiliated with any religion or school of thought so that’s the one I started with. When I first played it I thought something had corrupted the download, for the host’s voice sounded sibilant and distorted. Then I realized that it was a deliberate sound effect, resembling, to me, the cheap audio distortions used for aliens on the older Tom Baker Doctor Who episodes. I suppose the host wanted to sound mystic.

But I tried to persevere. The music was relaxing, creating a dreamy mood. I had no problem with that — it was rather nice. Then the host said (and repeated this several times), “feel yourself filling with infinite peace, infinite joy, infinite love.” Infinite? Crikey, not even the universe we inhabit appears to be infinite. If I recall correctly, its size has been estimated — something you can’t do with something infinite. As the host repeated this injunction my distress rose. Why infinite? I could certainly envision my heart filling with peace, love, and joy, but not the infinite variety. It’s a meaningless term.

The host then used an image that was the worst he could have picked for a recovering heart surgery patient. “Look at a lit candle. Now imagine the candle in your heart.” I could imagine it all right, and it elicited horror. End of meditation.

As I thought about this for a day or two, I recalled a book I’d read years ago called The Relaxation Response, by Herbert Benson. What I distinctly remembered about it was that although the controlled experiments confirming the efficacy of meditation were initially run on students of Transcendental Meditation, the same efficacy was found to be significant for test subjects who simply relaxed for the same period, rather than meditating on a TM mantra.

I did a little googling and found a website for Benson. In it he had a little “Steps to Elicit the Relaxation Response” piece that was just what I was looking for. Sitting calmly, letting the muscles relax, then concentrating on breathing. No more, no less. Yes, this is what I was looking for. A simple, secular meditation technique with no spiritual strings attached. I don’t need my chakras to glow colourfully or white light to emit from my head to enjoy a good meditation. Nor could I believe they would anyway. Likewise I’m not interested in references to Buddha and Bodhisattvas, supposed individuals who returned from a cycle of reincarnation to be spiritual teachers to mankind. Give me a break. Meditation should be no more special, or spiritual, than taking a walk.

I should add that, for me, taking walks is very special indeed, but not for spiritual reasons, unless by “spirit” you mean that aspect of mind, a percept of the brain, that allows us to reflect on the world around us, and take joy in being one of the earth’s creatures — one that walks bipedally during its short but sweet lifetime.

Breathe in, breathe out, relax. Life is precious. As far as I can see, you only have one, so live it well. Don’t plan on an afterlife. Focus, instead, on the current, and likely only, one.

Posted in Philosophy | 5 Comments »