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Passionate Compassion If you want to dabble your doodle in some mystical soup, you need go no farther than the pot marked “compassion.” The word comes from the Latin, cum pasio. Literally, “with suffering.” That’s it. Just being with suffering. Compassion offers no answers. It gives no reason. Has no rational justification. Compassion is no counselor. No doctor. No mother’s breast to offer suckle. Compassion is not a commodity. Can’t be bought, sold, borrowed or traded. Don’t think you can lay your money down at the altars of self-help workshops, therapists’ couches, social workers’ desks, ministers’ offices, doctors’ tables, psychics’ living rooms or gurus’ caves and expect compassion to spontaneously geyser itself into your life. Compassion with a price tag ain’t compassion at all. Nor can you horde compassion, save compassion, invest compassion or stick it under your mattress. You can’t stuff it in the freezer and pull it out when you need it. Like most of the really worthwhile happenings in life, compassion is a catch-it-when-you-can kind of critter. Doesn’t lounge around in corners waiting for crises to appear. Doesn’t lurk in the shadows waiting for you to stumble or screw-up. Doesn’t hole up in a fort waiting to ride out on a white horse to save your butt. In truth, compassion is one of the most ludicrous ideas that ever hatched from the human/divine consciousness egg. To be with suffering. To hunker down/cuddle up/snuggle with pain. To actually get close enough to another’s pain to feel it. Share it. Taste it. Touch it. Smell it. It’s absurd and preposterous and more than a little repugnant to think that anyone in their right mind would voluntarily get close enough to another’s muck and misery to actually experience it. Isn’t there enough pain and suffering to go around? Don’t we each have enough poop of our own? Why would we ever want to share someone else’s anguish and wretchedness? It makes no sense whatsoever. But we do. Oh, yes we do (And heah come de mystery, Sweet Cakes), because somehow, this insane act is one of the most life-restoring and regenerative of all human encounters. Compassion is no cure. No antidote to pain or suffering. But, compassion somehow connects us to a deeper wisdom, to a higher awareness, to eternity. Compassion is spirituality beyond religion. Not bound by doctrine, dogma or even tradition, compassion is free to make love with your heart and soul. And the even more amazing mystery, Sweetcakes, is that the passion of compassion gushes into the lives of both the giver and the receiver… the compassionate and compassionee. It’s magic is what it is. Wizardry. As illogical as any fairy tale. As incongruous as any Bible story. The way compassion works is almost like it was out of some ancient myth. Some legendary adventure of the gods. Which may well be precisely what we are. - Howard

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Stop and smell the piss

these first four post are copied fro another blog where they we originally posted


Roy knew we were going somewhere and was excited. He pranced around as I loaded the car. We made plenty of room for him in the back and loaded a forty pound bag of his favorite food. He looked around because he knew there were treats somewhere. So we were of to Washington and onward.
Our first stop was Ashland Oregon to visit with Eva, Demian's sister. I'd had brunch with Buffy at the Slow Club and didn't get on the road until 2:00 pm. I called her to say we would be in late but we made better time than I had figured. I left a message and laid the phone on my console. I had turned the ringer of and had the phone on vibrate so when she called back it took me a minute to notice that I had a call coming in. After a couple rounds of phone tag we connected. Eva told me her parents we there. When we got there I also met Eva's boyfriend.
No dogs were allowed in her apartment so I made Roy a bed on the front porch. While we were inside he decided to take a romp. When I was ready to get a room Roy was gone. I was going to follow Nona and Gary to the motel but I had to wait for my wandering companion. He mess ed with me for a bit but came around. We found a motel that let dogs stay in the room.

We met for breakfast the next day then Eva took us on a walking tour of Ashland a small college town. There is a shop there that sell quilts made from 1840 to 1940 and there were dozens of them displayed on the wall, tables and racks. I must point out that Nona has a quilting business selling patterns and accessories to make quilts. She has written a book on the subject. So needless to say Nona loved the shop. I tied Roy to a post and looked around. I was impressed at the different designs. Nona explained that this was women's of that time art. Later I said to her, "I bet you could have stayed there all day ." She nodded .

I went out to sit with Roy and let her browse for a while. I had a treat in my pocket but I made him work for it by holding it high as I could. After a few measuring jumps the snatched it from my hand. We walked around for another hour which he enjoyed.

Stop and smell the piss

Roy is a ten year old chocolate lab, my daughter's and we are on a road trip. I must first explain the title. Buffy, my daughter lives in San Francisco. I walk Roy while she is at work. A activity that is good for both of us. Roy's life is very simple; He needs food, shelter, food, petting, eating, treats, eating and long walks. If Roy has a weakness it is his love of food of any kind. Buffy says it is because he was the runt in a litter if 12 or 14 I forget. He is non aggressive and avoids aggressive dogs. He is a large dog about 100 lbs so he can and will defend himself if necessary. When we walk down the street people are always commenting on what a beautiful dog he is. He likes the attention but looks at me because he knows I have a treat in my pocket and he knows at this time I'll give him one. Then it is on to the next spot to sniff then mark or not.
This trip began because of a mix up in the VA system. I am a 100% serviced connected veteran receiving a small compensation barely enough to live on. In September my check was returned by the bank. Why no one can tell me. What could have been solved in less than an hour took two months. My check was sent to an old address where I haven't lived in two years. Then I found out my October check was sent to that same address. Now I am homeless, over extended on my credit and overdrawn on my bank accounts. I have incurred late fees, over draft charges and higher interest rates.
Buffy said to me, "Daddy why don't you take a road trip, you can take Roy." So I put my furniture in storage and we struck out to Anacortes WA to see my nephew, his wife and six kids. We have traveled there together last year. We are looking forward to seeing them and Roy is anxious to smell new territories.