Delusion, delusion, delusion, delusion: is there anything else? If you gave permission to every couple in the world -- to every boyfriend and girlfriend, every husband and wife, every man and man, every lesbian and lesbian -- to be absolutely authentic with each other: would they remain together? The human mind has an infinite capacity to delude itself, to take a very simple -- though troubling -- intuition and to twist and distort it into something that fits the ego's needs and won't make waves. We hide ourselves from the Truth because we don't want to hurt ourselves and each other, and the game is killing us. See, the Truth is a hand grenade lobbed in the china shop of the soul, a bomb blast barely contained by the precious ornaments we adorn our souls with. But, it must be thrown, and thrown gently, and with care, wrapped in the soft pillowing of Beauty, lobbed with the intent of doing pure Good. For Truth can catalyze Goodness, can build solid things in the world, if it is told with tact and precision, that is, with Beauty. Paying attention to Beauty as one reveals a hard truth to a loved one allows the stark ugliness of said remarks no additional -- and false -- compliments in the form of new, uglier falsehoods. Toss the grenade, but scrape the nails off of it first. And as one does so, yes, a great deal of china is cleared out, whole rows of shelves are demolished, lighting fixtures and point-of-purchase displays are wiped away clean and vaporized. The Truth destroys, but the memory of it's form sailing through the air is remembered, the shock of its detonation embeds itself in the patterning of the walls, and space for something new is left behind. Like, better china.

So it's obvious that the Integral Movement has reached something of an impasse following the resignation of Integral Institute CEO Steve Frazee, followed by the exodus of several core staffers (including myself), founder Ken Wilber's health problems, and the resulting and understandable stagnation of I-I's marketable offerings.

The question now is: what next? More pointedly, what should those of us lit up and inspired by the integral vision do now that I-I, at least for the time being, lies in dormancy? How can we "be integral" when the world's premier integral organization is sitting on the bench?

At this point, we shouldn't be looking to I-I for any sort of leadership in the near future. The organization will get back on its feet, but it will take time, and only with serious realism on the part of those now in charge. And this, of course, places the responsibility for carrying the integral vision forward on our own shoulders.

But how?

For one, it behooves us all to continue to cultivate the intellectual curiosity which brought us to integral in the first place. The newly-released AQAL Journal is a step in the right direction, but there are also a wealth of alternative -- even contradictory -- perspectives on integral theory worth considering, from Jeff Meyerhoff's bold deconstructions of Wilber's Sex, Ecology, Spirituality to Andrew P. Smith's compelling ideas on "natural heirarchy" to Michael Bauwens' writings on Peer-to-Peer economics and Matthew Dallman's quest to revamp the Western canon and the humanities.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, a renewed commitment to personal development and practice, whether in the forms suggested by I-I's Integral Life Practice, or many other disciplines across the spectrum of human potential. ILP, in its fullest form, is already too much for most folks to practice; many of us are so lost in work or other obligations that even folding laundry and getting out of bed in the morning present significant challenges, to say nothing of exploring one's psychological shadows or meditating in the first, second, and third person dimensions. Consequently, practice as such needs to be promoted and cultivated first and foremost, starting with even very simple things like sitting in silence for five minutes a day, jogging once around the block each morning, or telling a loved one what you appreciate about them.

Third, and closest to my own heart, could be a refocusing on artistic and media-based expressionions OF an integral vision -- of a life lived with greater freedom and fullness -- which stems from the enactment of the first two suggestions (intellectual curiosity and personal development), rather than Integral Naked's audio and video clips ABOUT integral theory. The world is glutted, at this point, with endless reiterations of AQAL core concepts, and needs far more to be shown what an integral life and perspective looks like from the inside of one's own consciousness. Put in enough effort, and you'll see an entire new arsenal of YouTube-savvy viral videos and rampaging audio which stands on its own and needs no theoretical explanations for it to be grokked.

Along with this, of course, would be a community to support the suggestions above, which is already in place on Zaadz, Integral World, and countless other online venues. It's up to us, really, the community of I-I expats and other integral "outsiders", to take the lead and bring the world what it might so desperately need. Giddyup.

Check out my friends Gwen, Ryan, and Vince rocking out on Buddhist Geeks Podcast #1. Mad props to the Geeks for delivering a quality conversation with crystal-clear audio quality, a sweet Flash audio player, and bump music by ~C4Chaos. Today also marks their official launch -- nice work dawgs! (You can subscribe to Buddhist Geeks by clicking here).

"Observation: We have some sort of "connection" with each other, manifesting itself as shared laughter, intertwined bodies, mutual opinions, and a tendency towards "fun".

Hypothesis: We would make a great couple.

Experiment: Let's make some form of contact every day, from a single text message to an entire day sleeping next to each other at the beach. Maintain the integrity of the container. Remain in each other's presence and see what emerges.

New Data: Wow, we really do have a connection!"


REPEAT UNTIL A SOLID RELATIONAL THEORY EMERGES.

(IN TIME, THEORIES MAY EVEN BECOME LAWS)

This is me basically f*cking around with iMovie, making a little collage as I wait for my dinner to cook. Note the repeated use of AA gear, and the lack of any sort of theme or common sense. The Stuart Davis Show this ain't...

About 2 months ago I wrote about my grandfather Joseph, who was 96 at the time but already showing signs of failing health. Tonight his decline came to an end as he passed away quietly in his sleep at his "cabin in the woods" (as he called his two-bedroom bungalow) in Upstate NY at the age of 97.

The thing about writing a eulogy for a certified mensch who lived to age 97 (see previous entry) is that it's so intimidating. Here I am at age 30, barely getting my life under way, full of anxiety and fear, tasked by my family to encapsulate the life of a man who lived through 91 years of the 21st century, mastered a variety of crafts, raised a beautiful daughter, and was married for 56 years. Um... One thing to keep in mind is that Grandpa himself would be intimidated -- if not humbled -- by the process. Despite the fact that he did not set out in the world with a well-defined mission, satisfied to just bumble along like the rest of us, Grandpa was certainly privvy to a large number of historical unfoldings, which he navigated with the grace and dignity of the Catholic artisan and family man he was. We all know the famous picture of Marilyn Monroe standing in a white dress being blown up by an air grate: Grandpa was there. We all know the work of Norman Rockwell, esteemed painter of Americana and the baseball/apple pie aegis of our collective philosophy: Grandpa spent an entire summer with him, working on Rockwell's monograph. Grandpa also saw Salvador Dali in his "mustache antenna" phase, skipped the Depression to live in a monastery, and ran an unlikely backstage mission in WW2 in pursuit of an elusive ball-bearing manufacturer in Central Europe after D-Day. He was also nicknamed "Pops" at a young age for having hair prematurely white. Long Island, trains, Jones beach, planes overhead en route to Laguardia, fireflies floating over his lawn, pigeons in the backyard coop, Grandma's dinners, the endless piles of books in his basement and living room, the little booklets he used to make my brothers and I to work on our drawings while visiting -- the memories I have of this boundless craftsman's impact on my life and family are infinite. So really, what can I say, other than "thanks"? I'm sure Grandpa would have said the same thing for being afforded the chance to live the life he lead: it was through no inordinate amount of will or sacrifice, but through the quiet good fortunes bestowed on those who live with Love as their primary objective, that Grandpa had his life, and a grand, equisite one at that. Make no mistake: Grandpa never became rich, nor ran for office, nor wrote a book around which thousands now rally. His impact was felt in smaller, more humble ways, quiet moments of beauty and generosity which have touched so many lives. He played fiddle right up until his death, did calligraphy almost as long, attended church several times a week for as long as he could, supported various causes financially, provided a lifeline to a man on death row, visited the poor in Mexico... all while he enjoyed good meals and had a few stiff drinks to wash it all down: the man LIVED. And so it isn't so much with sadness than with pride that we commit Joseph A's ashes to science, as his wife did before him. May his remains light the way of knowledge for the young and curious as his actual life did for so many others. And now, it is up to us, to all of us, to live in his spirit, with dignity and courage, to blaze forth into this new century the way he burned so brightly through the previous one. Salud, and Amen. [That's a first attempt, feedback is appreciated! Funeral is on Saturday....]

According to what transpired at my grandfather's funeral today....

1. Hold it in the city. Suburban churches -- at least of the Catholic variety -- are dull parking lots for closeted atheists; it's in the downtown parishes with the old and the sick that the real life is lived and appreciated.

2. Have a harmonica player. Sad words will only take a choir song go far -- if you're going to talk about the bittersweet sorrow of death and destruction, hire up a harp man to lay the blues riffs over your folkie guitar strums.

3. Assemble a massive photograph display, showing the deceased in every year of his life, chillin' with every person he ever met.

4. Go for celebratory over mournful: it's not every day a 97-year-old makes it to 97, and a congregation should act accordingly, much the way a crowd claps at the close of a marathon. You made it, it was brutal, but you did the whole race without puking or crying or falling down. Here's your sponge, here's your orange slice.

5. People: big, small, rich, tall. Invite the handicapped, the underappreciated, those with learning disabilities (present) and those without hearing (also present). Invite the poor and the outclassed and those who live for themselves less than they do for others.

6. Hang large reproductions of famous faces throughout the cathedral, MLK Jr. being the most prominent.

7. Gifts. Symbols of the deceased's impact on the world, in this case a piece of calligraphy, a violin, and a piece of children's art depicting a youngling's love for said late one.

What can I saw, it was a great funeral, and I only cried a few times, but mostly remained stoic. Grandpa was a good man, lived a full life, and did everything he came here to do. I can only hope that the rest of us are lucky to do the same.

I am a graphic designer: repeat after me. I make things pretty: repeat after me. I cover corporate irresponsibility: repeat after me. In the attention economy, you need me. Nothing gets noticed if it is not designed, polished, aestheticized, and made into a fetish. I make you want those cigarettes. I make you want those pods for "i". Catalyzst. Acrobaticist. Touch the world and make it "ummphrr".

In some ways I feel like a modern-day defense contractor, or a manufacturer of volatile chemicals, a polluter. I create lies in people's minds through the power of eyes. I smooth down rough edges, add color where there's nothing but blood and bone, and select fonts to distract from the facts too difficult to confront. I create new realities by distorting the existing ones to the point where both collapse into each other and all that's left is a logo.

A logo.

A logo.

A logo to save the world, a brand to burn in brains, a Coca-Cola red for the new millenium: every designer craves this, every designer wants this.

Every designer can't have it.

Most of us slog through, creating graphic junk and bad ads and generally rendering the world in drop-shadows and bit-mapped fonts. We distort typefaces and stretch out 12-point strokes and make a nuisance of ourselves with symbol sprayers and automatic silhouette tracers.

But somewhere on the edge of all shadows lies a liberatory potential, something in the designer's toolbox which can set things right with the world and make people do something with their lives and for each either. We call this the Truth.

And design Truth is something very different from the truths of other art forms. It lies not in facts or figures or getting the smaller truths straightened out and aligned. It scares us to think so, but design is not really about philosophy. There is no glory in design, nothing to rival Plotinus or Aurobindo or (gulp) even Wilber. We're makers of pretty lies, imagineers of new, impossible realities, those who wield the digital palletes of aestheticized lust to increase the sensations of desire and aversion towards this thing and that.

And this, my friends, is power.

"Paul is a designer: he sees lines and shapes and layers." -- This was not just meant in a literal sense by the friend who recently wrote it.

A designer sees the hidden alignments in things. A designer reveals the potential for beauty in any arrangement of phenomena, from the casual toss of throw pillows in a back room study to the grand complicated graphic machinations of a world-wide identity program.

A designer made the Google logo and brought greater ease to a million or so lives.

A designer did the seat belts and made your garbage easier to manage.

A designer built the windows and installed the skylights and made it so the French dressing would not invade the arugula bin.

(I am trying to find a deeper meaning for design, and these are my thoughts thus far.)

I have long wanted to be a writer / philosopher / performance artist / musician / comedian / actor / slam poet / sand-castle builder. But what if I could ONLY be a designer? How could I squeeze each of those needs into the design-o-tron pallette?

How would I do it?

Where would I start?

Perhaps I'm just a raging narcissist, but is the recent lack of comments experienced by myself and others on our photos and blog posts a sign of slowdown on Zaadz? I sure hope not...

Dear Buddhists:

How emotionally attached are you to the idea that the world is filled with suffering? Does it filter the way you experience day-to-day life, i.e. allowing you to only notice when suffering is occuring? What if the world is not filled with suffering? What then? How invested are you in the identity of being someone who meditates to alleviate suffering?

Some questions to ponder….

[Sorry, no comments on this one, it's rhetorical.]

Check this video out, done by my good friends Tobey and Jason. Friggin' hilarious.