As an armchair philosopher and student of Buddhism, the question of personal identity has long been a fascinating one for me. Who am I? Who are we? These, respectively, are perhaps the single most important questions we can ask ourselves as individuals and as a race. Important and profoundly difficult to answer . . .

The jungle of sense impressions which engulf our physical selves, layers of memory and learned response that accrete around our minds as we make our way through life, biological imperatives and urges � these are only a portion of the many obstacles that must be weeded and sorted through in order to determine what, if anything, lies behind the pronoun "I".

For some the question is further complicated by disease and/or disorder of the body or mind. It has been something of a revelation for me to realize that I may well fit into this latter category.

A few years ago, precipitated by her reading of An Anthropologist on Mars by noted neurologist and author Oliver Sacks, Sarah mused that I seemed to display many symptoms of the greatly misunderstood condition, Tourette�s Syndrome. I did not think much of it at the time (despite Sarah�s proven and uncanny knack for diagnosing a variety of mental and physical conditions in friends and co-workers) but as time passes and I learn more about Tourette�s, I realize that this informal diagnosis is more likely than not accurate. In which case, I am blessed to be at the mild end of the Tourettic spectrum.

I am not plagued (thank goodness) by the wildly flailing limbs and uncontrollable vocalizations which characterize more extreme cases of Tourette�s Syndrome. Rather, the condition (if, indeed, it is Tourette�s) expresses itself in me via smaller, subtler physical "tics" and language eccentricities akin to echolalia and glossolalia. For instance, even as I write these words my left leg is vibrating rapidly up and down on the ball of my foot. Other physical manifestations include a general state of more or less constant fidgety twitchiness involving finger tapping, knuckle cracking and intermittent head rolling. The above mentioned language eccentricities are evidenced by my regular fixation upon and verbalization of certain words or phrases � either real such as "spatula" or gibberish such as manunu yodo parp. These phonic fixations seem to pass through cycles, one word or phrase replacing another as favorite on a varying scale of time (usually bi-weekly or monthly, it seems).

I hesitate to refer to any of these "symptoms" as uncontrollable or involuntary, as is typically the case with Tourette�s. However, I must admit that I am often unaware of my physical perturbations (such as the shaking leg) until somebody (usually Sarah) brings the movement to my attention (�Rick, you�re vibrating the entire room!�). It is true also that my mind is almost constantly moving, occupied with thoughts, images, song lyrics and words of one sort or another � although in this I wonder if I am so different from most people, possessed as they are by what is known in Buddhist circles as monkey mind.

As I tend to be almost pathologically shy among people with whom I am unfamiliar, all of the above mentioned behaviors are downplayed or completely suppressed in most social situations.

Other aspects of my personality that might be explained by Tourette�s Syndrome, or conditions often associated with it, include the mild depression I have struggled with most of my life and the (thankfully) infrequent attacks of rage I have been known to suffer (during which I have destroyed an electronic typewriter, a stereo system and more than one avocado), as well as my long time habit of counting to the number nine while engaged in certain activities.

The possibility that I might be among the estimated 1,000,000 Americans (according to this article) who experience life through the lens of Tourette�s Syndrome has certainly shone a new light on many facets of my physical and mental self. It is a possibility that has caused me to wonder anew about just who or what that self is.

A new light on an old question. . . . Who am I?

EPA relaxes clean air rules

-the Bush administration yesterday announced a relaxation of clean air rules that will benefit coal-fired electric utilities, chemical factories and oil refineries-

Fed logging rules might be eased

-The Bush administration is proposing less emphasis on wildlife preservation and other environmental concerns-

Geothermal drilling near 'sacred' lake gets Bush OK

-American Indians and environmentalists said federal officials were selling out to big energy. The project, they said, would produce a meager amount of electricity while wounding a rugged landscape of conifers and sparkling hills of obsidian-

Happy Thanksgiving.

Some days I feel evil,

like blood dripping
from a shiny blade

or the eyes of a killer
as the kill is made.

Other days I blaze -

so filled with love
that I shine -

and Jesus walks beside me,
his sweet hand in mine.

Most times I�m a party of two:

one stomping cloven hooves,
the other lifted on gently fanning wings.

One clad in sack cloth and ashes,
the other agleam with diamond rings.

- R. Cody -

Bush Sucks

Shortly after posting the entry I made to this space on 11/18/02 (see below), I realized that I felt conflicted about the content, or lack thereof, in that post. I have never before experienced a single qualm about publicly airing my disdain and (yes) fear of Bush Jr. and his administration. So why did I consider reconnecting to the 'net, logging into Blogger, and deleting the post below? No, not because I feared that El Presidente would send his goons to drag me into the night for voicing dissent (yet), but because I did not express my dissent clearly enough. The post below rises no higher than mere invective, weighted by no arguments and not even an opinion about what is right or wrong with the World Court that Mr. Bush Jr. refuses to acknowledge (he has wars to wage after all). What use can such a post possibly serve? For those who agree with me regarding the Evil that is the Bush Administration it is pointless corroboration. For those who support Bush Jr. and his policies it is equally pointless as they will surley not be moved by such unsubstantiated puff. Of course, the same might be said of any writing on this subject - simplistic invective or well reasoned and articulated argument. I suppose I am disappointed with myself for not practicing the latter (on this occasion at least).

This is what comes, apparently, from attempting to update one's blog at the end of a long and tiring day.

P.S. for some compelling criticism of Bush and his quest for world domination check out The One True B!X

U.S. fears prosecution of president in world court

They should.

And if the "Higher Authority" in which Bush claims to believe actually exists, he ought to be fearing prosecution in that court as well.

Thank goodness the Cirque Du Soleil have brought their latest traveling show, Varekai, to we in the Bay Area.

Despite the storm that caused the cancellation of the opening night performance last week the big yellow and blue striped tent - or, as the Cirque says, "Grand Chapiteau" - remains standing in the parking lot of Pac Bell Park, a colorful anomaly in the generally gray urban landscape at the edge of San Francisco and the steely waters of the bay.

I'm glad because after the disappointment of the GOP sweep on 11/5/02, I can use a good shot of the awe and wonder that the Cirque Du Soleil bring to the world.

This Friday (11/15/02) Sarah, myself and Molly (Sarah's daughter from a previous marriage and one of the sweetest people I have known) will be entering the Grand Chapiteau to escape the so called real world for a couple of hours. The Cirque is much more than mere escapism for me, however. I find the combination of imagination and sheer physical execution these folks produce very often transcendent and, subsequently, inspirational.

I have been a huge Cirque fan for a few years now thanks to the above mentioned Molly, who provided me one day with a copy of the soundtrack of what I would soon know to be one of the Cirque's best shows, Quidam. I was captivated by the music - ethereal girl child vocals, dreamtime melodies, driving rhythms conjuring magic in my head - and knew I had to see the show from which this audio delight had come. We rented the video and I ended up watching it from beginning to end three times in two days! I have done this since with select films but this was a first. Not a traditional circus fan at all, I was enchanted by Quidam's amazing blend of theater arts, gravity defying acrobatics and otherworldly music. I had to see more and quickly hunted down all the Cirque shows I could find on video.

Cirque Reinvente, Nouvelle Experience, and especially Saltimbanco only increased my admiration for this amazing troupe. A filmed Cirque performance is magical but no screen is large enough to contain all the wonder that is the Cirque Du Soleil. I know because I was fortunate enough to see their last touring show, Dralion in '99 sometime before the Orlando incident, and the permanent show, La Nouba while we were in Orlando.

I'm about due, as I say, for a trip to the world of the Cirque. Don't be surprised if this site is not updated again. Sarah and I might just run away from this world and into that one for good. No, it might be better to enter the Grand Chapiteau and bring some of that magic back to this world. God knows we could use it.

Blessed be
the rising sun!

Blessed be
this day begun!

Bounty and beauty
may we find
and to the world
return in kind.

Blessed be
this day begun!

Blessed be
the rising sun!

I penned the above Morning Invocation with the intent of giving thanks and focusing positive energy at the beginning of each day - very much in the nature of a spell or a prayer. It is written in the plural for Sarah and myself. I offer it here for you, the reader, to take and use as you will.

Sarah and myself will be rising early tomorrow (11/5/02) and heading to our polling place here in Oakland so that we may exercise our right to vote. According to all of the pundits and papers I have read voter turnout is expected to be low due to apathy, disgust with gubernatorial candidates, and the traditional low turnout of off year elections.

My own history with the vote can best be be described as "on again" and "off again" - which is to say that I have chosen to vote and I have chosen not to vote (the reasons for the latter decision will be found here). Two years ago, when we resided in Orlando, I believe I was prevented from voting due to my attempted registration as a Democrat being three times delayed by the registrar, but that is another story. . .

At the moment, with George W. and the GOP raping the U.S. Constitution and the planet for fun and profit, I feel that I have no choice - as a socially conscious person - but to vote. I had determined some time ago to vote Green whenever a Green candidate was an option, especially my gubernatorial vote, but a recent post by Tom Shugart (unable to link to the specific post for some confounding reason so here is Tom's follow up post) and subsequent comments from Frank Paynter have caused me to reconsider. I want with all of my progressive liberal heart to endorse Peter Camejo for governor of California but I know that he has little or no chance of winning. I shudder at the thought of Republican Bill Simon gaining the governor's seat and, fearful that a vote for a third party candidate will only aid Simon at this point in time, I find myself leaning toward Gray Davis - the Democrat incumbent whom I would rather not endorse but must if I would prevent a Republican stranglehold on this country.

This sorry situation almost makes me want to stay home tomorrow but that's just what they want us to do. . .

From: The Executive Committee Against Uppity Citizens
Sent: Monday November 03 7:37 AM
To: MoveOn.org
Subject: Please don't vote.

Dear friend,

On behalf of Shell, Mobil, and Exxon; Boeing, Lockheed-Martin, and GE; all the Enrons, Halliburtons, and Harkens; President Bush, Vice President Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, and the other CEOs of the Cabinet; and thousands of us who are working for a better life for the wealthiest Americans, we have one simple request: Could you please just stay home tomorrow?

See, we have things to do. Nations to invade. Wetlands to destroy. Oil to drill. Courts to pack. Corporate taxes to cut.

What's frustrating for us is that we're coming up against some pretty stiff resistance. We've spent hundreds of millions of dollars to secure the Senate, but it looks like we just may lose it. Heck, we may even lose the House. We don't quite get what it is about our agenda that you people don't like, but it's clear that this time, you may be upset enough to actually do something about it.

That's why we're writing this message to you today. Please don't vote. Ask your friends not to vote. What could the harm be in sitting this round out? If you could just stay home on Election Day, we can get back to the important business of running the nation for you, and we won't have to bother you again.

Thank you,

The Executive Committee Against Uppity Citizens

(thanks to the folks at MoveOn for forwarding the above missive from the ECAUC)

Sarah read a poem of mine at Craig's memorial service on 10/27 (see below). She selected the piece, called Two Geese ( a poem based on actual events), because it represented for her the tragedy of Craig's death in regards to the union that was Craig and his wife of many years, Dorrie. When two people unite in love they become something greater than themselves, they give birth through their affection to a third entity called Love. My poem does not address these issues directly but Sarah believed it to be appropriate. I had some concerns initially about her reading a piece of mine but, as it turns out, it was appropriate. Not least because Craig - as a published writer - was, perhaps, the first person besides Sarah to read my stuff back when I first began sending it out into the world.

A day or so before the service, Sarah - who had a copy of Two Geese with her at the office - allowed a coworker to read the poem. I was amazed to hear (and Sarah was amazed to inform me) that her colleague, upon reading the piece, gasped and burst into tears. This woman, by Sarah's account, is not anywhere near the hysterical or weepy type. I still find it hard to absorb that something I wrote could cause so visceral a reaction in a person. As an artist, I suppose, there is no greater complement.

Here's the poem. . .

Two Geese

Waddling across three lanes of traffic,
two geese long necked and starry white
in the rush of headlights.

It seems they are attempting,
like the chicken in the joke, to cross the road.
Or perhaps they lit upon this dangerous ground
while the automobile flow was at an ebb,
only to find themselves beset.

We pass them at 30 m.p.h.
and wonder why they do not fly.

A red light stops us
and in the rear view mirror we see
the inevitable reflected.

In that small rectangle of glass
one of the misplaced pair is struck down
by Fate in the shape of a Ford sedan.

The remaining goose flutters into the night
and whatever brief history awaits it, alone.

�Geese,� you observe sadly,
�mate for life.�

Seconds later,
wind tossed feathers blow by.