My bathroom reading is May Sarton's Journal of a Solitude. She must have been in her sixties when she wrote it. And I get this picture of a crabby, pissed old biddy whose religion has made her narrow, but she has openings too, like when she enjoys the musical in New York with the kids in it. I feel the same way about Walt Whitman as I plow through Reynolds' cultural biography of Whitman—crabby and narrow. Suffering individuals who roll in their suffering to prove their worth or mettle. Or their patience with those of us less cultured than they are. These two were very much like I was in my depressed, drinking years.

Now, on the other hand, there's Hass's book on The Essential Haiku. According to him, three of the basics of life for the Japanese sensibility are impermanence, suffering and contingency. Yes suffering, suffering for all of us as a regular condition of life, but there is a difference, I think, in the emphasis that a Japanese haiku writer and these two Americans (and O so many others) place on suffering. To the American Christian, mired in his lot, suffering is a way of earning his place in letters or, in the church, in God's eye. To the Zen master (and I know very little here), suffering is a condition, not to be employed to one's benefit, but to be observed, and when possible, transcended.

At my own age of 70, I'm moving into this acceptance of suffering as a natural condition, not to be endured to prove one's worth and artistic value, but just to be observed and accepted. Quite a difference between east and west, and, believe it or not, an acceptance that yields quite a bit of tranquility. Below, you'll find a little haiku I've come up with that I think meets the essentials of the haiku.

Garden party —
the slugs getting drunk
in the beer saucers.*

*Putting out saucers of beer is supposed to be an environmentally friendly way to kill the slugs who so love one's hostas. All those years in Spokane, toiling in my flower garden, is paying off in some haiku.

Happy Belated New Year!!!!!!!!!! or RETURNING AFTER AWHILE

I finally finished The Singularity Is Near. If even one-hundredth-thousandth of what Kurzweil imagines happens, the future, not too distant, will be quite a place to live in for hundreds of years each.

I've begun reading, writing and having fun with haiku. I just hope I don't get too serious about it and ruin it for myself. My biggest mistake was going onto Craigslist and finding the forum, haiku hotel where people enter, read and judge each other's haiku (haiku is both singular and plural).

Here's a science haiku which few people appreciated at haiku hotel:

DNA computes
on off on off on off on
switch hitting the rose

These are two more normal ones:

for sale or for trade
one serviceable haiku—
missing a foot

snow turns to rain
my umbrella opens to
syncopated rhythms

My next science read is The Stuff Of Thought by Steven Pinker which I just shoved into my backpack to tote around Clark County with me. Today, I'll go over to the Luepke Center to play cribbage for a couple of hours. Also in my backpack is Walt Whitman's America, a book I've been carrying around for months, trying to finish. It's almost too intellectually detailed to be a fun read, but it was meant to be studied more than read for enjoyment. A man called Reynolds wrote it.

It's been awhile since I've made an entry here, but I'm not dead yet, so my mind keeps turning over these eternal [infernal] problems that mortal men have. Mark Twain knew well enough, as the following words show us.

A FEW INCONSISTENCIES

"...a God who could make good children as easily as bad, yet preferred to make bad ones; who could have made every one of them happy, yet never made a single happy one; who made them prize their bitter life, yet stingily cut it short; who gave his angels eternal happiness unearned, yet required his other children to earn it; who gave his angels painless lives, yet cursed his other children with biting miseries and maladies of mind and body; who mouths justice, and invented hell—mouths mercy, and invented hell—mouths Golden Rules and forgiveness multiplied by seventy times seven, and invented hell; who mouths morals to other people, and has none himself; who frowns upon crimes, yet commits them all; who created man without invitation, then tries to shuffle the responsibility for man's acts upon man, instead of honorably placing it where it belongs, upon himself; and finally, with altogether divine obtuseness, invites his poor abused slave to worship him!" —Mark Twain