Chapter 50.

Run Motherfucker. Run.

‘They call the wind Mariah’.

The only way to run a marathon without dying is to

train for it. Then, when you think that you are ready, you
train some more until running distance becomes second
nature. Well, I had been training long and hard for my
manful mediation marathon and was more than ready for a
mental run to far side. A quick lunch burrito being gone and
the dishes put away, big foot white dog would have to wait;
there would be no walk today. Meditation was calling. I
headed back to the mancave, sat down on the cushun’ and
closed my eyes once again psyched to hit the ground
running.

The task at hand that afternoon was to uncover a

treasure trove of new manful subjects to meditate about so I
could get them out of the way before starting to work again
next week. I was down to my last days at home and I knew
that I was running out of time to do so. I could feel inside
that things would soon be different, for the better I hoped,
but different no matter what. It was time to tie up some
loose ends and seek some closure beforehand.

Instead, I plunged into a very calm and relaxed state of

peace that seemed to last forever even though only a short
time passed, no more than 20 minutes. It was a classic
meditation, the kind I couldn’t have dreamed in the past
(what me sit still?). When it was over I didn’t feel peaceful, I
felt frustrated. I had failed. Where were those manful
subjects that I wanted to cover in the now anticipated
mediation marathon? That list of great man stuff I wanted to
deal with so I could move back into to a working man’s life
without feeling guilty about what I hadn’t been able to
accomplish while hanging out at home.

So I sat there. Waited some more. Still nothing came.

Was this some kind of final cosmic joke? A message on the
inner machine that there was nothing left to meditate about,
so why not just get on with life and move on. Was that all
there was? Was MM over?

I sat up straight. This just couldn’t be. There had to be

more ground to cover. The show couldn’t end here. So I sat
there some more and waited for any kind of inspiration. As I
waited none came. I began to wonder about the whole
mishegas. For starts, why had I even chosen to meditate in
the first place? I was never exposed to anything resembling
Eastern thought growing up, except for that one group of
guys in high school who heard you could chant for a new car
(they didn’t get one) and the saffron robed Krishna’s dancing
dancing down the streets. I could have cared less about
Eastern thoughts, having enough trouble dealing with Jewish
ones.

Where had this desire come from? How did this Eastern
stuff seep into my life? Did it begin the first time I heard
Coltrane blow India or Africa or a Love Supreme? When I
saw John McLaughlin and Carlos Santana take the stage
filled with candles at the Kabuki, all dressed in white. So
blissed out and blessed out by Sri Chimnoy as they wailed on
their electric guitars. Listening to Miles play Bitches Brew
live at the Hollywood Bowl or the opening chords of that
weird Beatles song on Revolver? The first smell of jasmine
incense? The first sound of the tabla drum? And when did
the trance become real, that unusual rhythmic beat that had
beckoned me for long, how did it become an integral part of
my life?

No doubt I became really curious about meditation after

witnessing first-hand what it did to see who does not relax
except when she is asleep and maybe she isn’t relaxing then
either. I had never seen her calm (remember that quiet is
not calm) in the first 15 years of our marriage until she
began meditating. It evoked a huge change in her. There
she would sit in our bedroom, headphones on blissed out
and so happy when she finished. It looked great.

What held me back from embracing it years ago?

Simple. The complete lack of male energy in her meditation
process. By no means is male energy a prerequisite for me
to learn a skill. I have no trouble sewing a button on my coat
(it needs fixing and waiting for help is hopeless and hapless).
I love gardening, cooking and other allegedly feminine
activities. But the whole meditation scene around her was
dominated by pastel colors, roses that contained your inner
fears, burnt sage and steeped deeply in the zeitgeist of
women’s issues and feminist philosophy. Let me be clear, I
am not criticizing their style. It just had no appeal to me and
it wouldn’t to any regular guy. And to be perfectly honest,
as a result I didn’t trust it. It was just too foreign to
embrace.

Only when a good dose masculine energy seeped into

my quest did these Eastern concepts gain traction in my
soul. I still have trouble believing that a series of events that
began as a ruse on my wife to get her off of my back as I sat
stuck on my couch unable to overcome the inertia of living
without a career set me careening down this road less
traveled. That out of nowhere I heard an inner man Buddha
speak to me and a journey began that continues to this day
down this out of the ordinary path that I came to call manful
meditation.

It wasn’t easy to find help or guidance. There certainly

was no map to follow for guys like me. I suffered through
poor teachers and bad instructors. When that failed, I figured
that there might be some reference on the internet or
something to meditating with a male emphasis. Nothing. I
was on my own and lucky that I found the way over time. I
thank the stars for that.

There were other more personal reasons why it was

hard. Early on it became clear that while I yearned for a
powerful inner peace within, I knew damn well that I couldn’t
calm myself down using traditional methods. I needed help
and not just the usual prescription. I needed guidance with
male view that spoke to me.

I searched for books about Eastern thought by male

authors who might make sense. They were wonderful
writers but completely neutral in tone, virtually asexual in
nature and some downright creepy, replacing the power of
the rose with the shape of a pine needle. For a man that
grew up with Vin Scully and Chick Hearn as his primary
motivators, their mellow approach did not anything to help
me overcome the long standing persistence of my overactive
Jewish/western mind. Nor were their instructions to practice
and practice until it came good enough either. I stood on the
other side of this dance floor afraid to step across just
looking and looking waiting for an opening that was already
there.

Eventually the mediations began to take hold. I’m the

kind of guy that has trouble reading a manual about how to
work something and would rather poke at until it does.
Meditation was no different. I just kept at it until it worked. I
learned over that first year that the problem with meditation
for me and maybe for many others it that it is passive and
we aren’t. As I began to practice Manful meditation
regularly, I replaced the traditional emphasis of meditation
on emptying your mind with a focused and controlled set of
thoughts that were appealing. It helped me concentrate to
pick a specific subject and then to focus on it. That, in turn,
made it easier for me to relax which helped my mind to calm
down and over time it trained me to do so easily. Oh, and it
was fun. That’s right, fun.

My manful meditations started with simple easy

subjects that made me happy and held my attention. Easy
things to focus on. Stuff that reflected the glue that binds us,
the male html code that builds manfullness. Good healthy
things like beer, baseball, hamburgers and wine. Hey, I
didn’t know what I was doing. I was just thinking about what
seemed to come naturally and easily.

Then over time as my power of concentration

increased, the mediations grew in complexity. As my studies
intensified and fall blended into early winter something else
happened that was unexpected. I calmed down and I
believe that as a direct result, she who is my wife loved me
more than before. I meditated about manful subjects that I
could understand and love and focus upon with an open
heart and lots of joy. I could spend hours lost in manly bliss
and equally powerful marital harmony. No wonder I was
attracted to it.

With equal parts concentration and confidence, I

covered some serious issues in my life. Forgave my parents.
Learned how not to become overwhelmed by the
complexities of living with someone as complex as someone
who would even think of living with me. Learned the new
mantras that guide me now, how often do I hear the voice
within that steers me away from anger, resentment and
corrosive thought towards joy, giving and strength. Learned
to embrace the pains and struggles and to let go of what I
cannot control.

As I continued down the path of manful meditation I

discovered something else. I believe that I learned what
Manfullness really is. A sense of Manfullness that is
grounded in the belief that the world that we know as men is
truly a holy place. That every waking moment that is spent
in a manful state of harmony can be a blessed one. A
perfectly balanced state of mind and body, something to be
revered and celebrated as healthy happy males.*

(* a brief side note: As women have staked out their roles as

equals in his world, the very concept of manfullness has
taken quite a beating in the past 20 years. And let’s face it;
many of our brothers have done a shit job of polluting
manfullness with stupidity and abuse. Do not fall into the
trap of blaming women for this. Our goal is to honor being a
man by living a better life and that honor extends to
respecting those around you. And a note to those self-
righteous women who continue to condemn the mass of men
for the sins of those who came before us, do not throw
stones in the bedroom when you live. It pisses us off and
makes us want to leave.)

I had embraced the gentle part of the word gentleman.

It felt good.

Manful Meditation created an additional benefit that I

grasped as another incidental pleasure of the practice. A
sweet real treat, a sort of mental biscuit waiting for me at
the end the road. Here is one of the most important and
blessed lessons of the practice of manful meditation.

No woman, including she would not want to be called

‘mine’, will ever challenge time spent in a manful meditation
practice if you repeat the blessed chant of the meditating
manful man to her:

“Honey, I need a few more minutes, I am in here

meditating.”

Oh, and toss this one in if you really want to be left alone. ‘I
am really into it.” Or this one: “It’s a really tough one.”

She will embrace you.

The first time that these words came spilling off my lips
they worked so well that I laughed out loud, reveling it their
power, it was that good. I used it on her after watching a
brutal 49er loss one Sunday afternoon (it was the early
game). Not wanting to see a soul afterwards, I retired to the
mancave where I went to console myself with several cold
ones, a corned beef sandwich and some SCTV videos.
Sometime during the afternoon she knocked on the door and
asked how I was. I turned down the volume and told her I
was meditating. After my reply she walked away from that
door saying not to worry and talk to her as soon as I was
ready. When I emerged later that afternoon she could not
have been more sympathetic (and affectionate!). Do you
really think she cared about how pitifully the secondary
handled itself that afternoon (please just turn the fuck
around and look at the ball) or that she would have reacted
as well if she found me on the couch in the living room in the
same scenario?

Over the course of my growing meditation practice, I

imagined how this mantra could help my brothers in arms
out there. Think about this. Repeat that line about needing
time to meditate to yourself a few times and imagine how
that would play with your partner. Go on, imagine the
scene. She has just walked into the room. You are sitting up
on the couch. You might be thinking about how your favorite
ball club gave it up last night in the 9th inning and worse yet,
how much money you lost on the game. You here her walk
in. Now close your eyes quick. What do you tell her when
you look up? You tell her that you are meditating. You are
bettering yourself. The result? You are golden. She loves
you. She walks away feeling whole. The entire scene has
changed. Done a 180. But the truth? You could have been
falling asleep. You probably were asleep. You might have
been thinking about a blessed cold one or a slice of pizza.
Your mind could be anywhere. Period. You could be thinking
about anything, anything at all. You can and it will work.
But I digress.

Manful Mediation taught me lessons that I treasure. It

brought me joy where there was pain, slack where there was
tension. They are the coder pins of a balanced manful
experience, the silicon lube that frees the internal rusty
mental hinges. Teachings as clear as the power of a strike at
the bowling alley. A journey with the integrity of Sean
Connery and the consistency of Tom Brady.

I had found my roadmap, a manual, a guidebook to

living life fully and completely in the moment. Free from
boundaries and loved by those around you

How is this even possible? Just relax, release and

practice grasshopper and don’t think too much about how
Carradine died. Wow that was weird. Patience was
rewarded.

As was the case on so many afternoons I started to

think about dinner? Maybe Rack of lamb. Real Mashed
potatoes. Carrots. A dry white for her and a big red for me.
Suddenly that felt excessive, it was only Thursday. But
wasn’t there a rack still in the freezer just waiting to be
defrosted? Time to check it out.

Rack of Lamb. Is there an easier way to show off? I

don’t think so.

Ingredients.

1 Rack of Lamb, about 8 to 10 little chops for 2 persons.

Salt, Pepper, Olive Oil.
Option 1. Mustard, Bread Crumbs.

Heat your oven to 450.

Put a flat baking sheet in the oven as it heats.
While waiting, toss the rack with salt, pepper and a
small amount of olive oil. If cooking option 1, combine
all other ingredients and coat the rack.

When oven reaches cooking temperature, remove the

baking sheet. Place rack fat side down. Bake for 7 minutes.
Should be brown when you turn over.
Bake 7 more minutes.

Lamb should be brown but still pink in the middle of the

chop.

Real Mashed Potatoes.

For small portion. 3 russet and 3 yukon potatoes.
Milk/Half and Half.
Parsley.
Salt.
Butter.

Early meditation music before I knew it.

John Coltrane, India, Africa and/or A Love Supreme.

Ravi Shankar
The Beatles, Within and Without You, Revolver.
The Kinks, See My Friends, Kinkdom.
Miles Davis, Shhh/Peaceful, In A Silent Way.