Sylvia's Journal

On the way home in the plane I read Axel some more from Tolle’s latest book. I could see from his furrowed brow that he was trying to figure out how to get enlightened as per Tolle’s prescription. Since it does not include any action verb (as in ‘doing’), Axel was racking his brain how the heck to do that, when the word ‘do’ was itself out of bounds. Finally he threw his hands up in exasperation and said, “What does he want me to do, just be a rainbow?” Clearly, Axel is not even close to being enlightened. He agreed on that. I am not either but because some of the things he talks about do resonate with me, according to the book, I am on my way. I do get the thing about being present in the present.

In Atlanta Axel had his pinky nail painted in hot pink by Ingrid’s cousin Amanda from Seattle, along with other guys who fell for her charms. She lifted everyone’s spirits, as one would expect from a stand up comedienne. Axel kept his pink pinky until we got on the plane, back to the ordinary world where no one is enlightened and would understand this guy with a beard and a pink pinky who wants to be a rainbow.

We drove into Cambridge after we landed in Boston to pick up a pair of Red Sox tickets for a game this Saturday from Phil and Joellen who could not use them. The last time I saw Joellen was when she treated me to a birthday lunch, hours before my nightmare commute home that lasted 10 hours on that fateful blizzard day in the middle of December. Phil just finished his latest book, Yankee Go Home, which is being edited before being released to the world of potential publishers. It is about anti American sentiments which he explored during his many travels around the world. It should be good. We stayed for a bit to catch up and then headed home, driving only a few miles ahead of Joe who had just flown in from San Diego to continue his consulting assignment with MSH. It is the same work we started in June, helping one of MSH’s Centers get centered, with as desired outcome a clear identity and a three year work plan.

Dinner was, once more, a mostly homegrown affair after which Joe went off to bed and we settled in front of the TV to see the start of the National Democratic Convention. I lasted for about 15 minutes. I could not stand the inane talk that was delivered as commentary before and after each speech. There is something about campaign rhetoric that I am allergic to. After my live experience of the stamping and clapping and sign waving at Deval Patrick’s primary victory celebration I got enough for a lifetime. As a psychologist I watch the mass hysteria with professional interest, but as a US citizen I find it scary. The whole event is slightly more bearable when I listen without watching; I did listen to Ted Kennedy and to what I hope will be the next first lady and the spontaneous comments from her two girls.  I was not touched by any of it, the use of words and references, quotes, and probably color of ties and dresses are too scripted for me, even though I appreciate excellent speakers. I imagine that everything is finely tuned and calibrated to win over the millions of fence sitters in this country. I hope they were watching more intently than I was and that this will influence their vote in November.