Yesterday I took another trip down to the chocolate factory to do some testing and bug fixing. The smell apparently is less impressive if one works there every day, but as infrequently as I’m there, spending a few hours surrounded by the sweetness is better than actually eating chocolate.

I’m wrapping up (no pun intended) a big project right now, one that’s taken a few months, and the end is now in sight. Once this is done, I’m plan to decrease the amount of time I spend programming every month to make way for other things. I don’t know exactly what the future holds yet, but that’s part of the adventure.

I stood quietly in order to listen better. The interstate’s dull roar was off in the distance, ever-present by the ocean. But this new sound was much closer, and entirely unexpected in this place, and turned out to be… lots of bells?

Fortunately I wasn’t being attacked by Santa or a crack team of ninja Morris dancers. A few moments later, a number of dogs sauntered by, each with a large bell on its collar, their owner (sans bell) close by. I exchanged looks with a soulful looking black pug before he too passed me and I was alone again in on the trail.

Dogs were a recurring theme on my seven mile trek around the Middlesex Fells’ Skyline trail. I’ve been to the Fells many times and walked parts of the trail before, but yesterday I decided to hike the entire trail, which takes a generous loop around the Western portion of the Fells.

The Skyline trail, as its name implies, delivers a few different views of the surrounding land, and does it by not avoiding any of the hills. On the contrary, it aggressively cuts up each one, which makes the hike a bit of a challenge, though not terribly difficult.

The Southeastern corner provides this view of Boston proper, which seems to make it a popular drinking spot from the looks of all the empty Coors cans littering this area:

Futher up on the Eastern side, looking West, the view is a little bit less urban:

There were other people out on Easter, though not too many. For large stretches of the walk I was alone. There were lots of people out walking their dogs, all seemingly unaware of the leash law. It wasn’t a problem as most of the dogs were very well behaved and I’ve heard there are precious few places to walk without a leash in the Boston area, but there was one man dashing around looking for his two dogs that decided to explore without him. I crisscrossed members of his party and the dogs themselves in various parts of the trail. My attempts to catch them failed (dogs are slippery!), but an hour later I found out that they had been reunited with their owner. Perhaps he should try putting bells on them next time.

As it was Easter, there were families out on some of the flatter trails, and a few families had set up small Easter egg hunts for their children. It was absolutely adorable.

The Fells themselves were beautiful, with Spring clearly just about ready to explode. I ran across a small stream flowing happily, coexisting with some serious icicles:

Right near that place, I sat quietly for a few minutes, and thanks to the running water and the gentle breeze, couldn’t even hear the freeway.

In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a war. Even I almost forget sometimes; the media that I see doesn’t give it a great deal of coverage, and when I go out I don’t hear or see much about it. But it’s there, simmering underneath. We’ve been at war for five years now.

I know there are differing schools of thought as to whether the war was a good idea, if it is just, if it is being handled well, if we should leave, and if so how. These are questions that arise during a war, and there are few simple answers.

I myself wonder if we’re fighting the wrong war. I haven’t heard the phrase recently, but for a while we were in a Global War On Terror. Terror seems to be an unbeatable enemy, and it seems that we pick them more often then not. We’re also in a war against Drugs, a war against Crime, and a few more I’m certain. We’re fighting concepts with the intention of a total victory. In the case of Terror, we’re fighting in a country, and for good or bad people are dying, money that could be used to improve the world is being funneled into more war.

From a Buddhist perspective, we’re fighting the three oldest things, the original axis of evil of Greed, Anger, and Ignorance. Terrorism arises from these, as do violent crimes, drug abuse, and so much more. If we look deeply into the roots of Terrorism, we might get a better understanding of the deadly flowers it has bloomed.

But what do we fight Terror with? What are our weapons? Do we fight anger with more anger? Do we answer ignorance with our own obstinate ignorance? And do we respond to greed with our own righteous greed? If so, we cannot ever win, because we are arming the enemy.

The blooms of Terror might well be contained with guns and tanks, but the war will not be won until we can truly understand the system in which Terror finds nourishment, the web of history and resentments, beliefs both real and imagined. And it cannot be won until we understand our own roots, and see our own place in the system. There’s not an easy solution, because it’s not an easy problem.

I’m very proud of this country, and of the people who defend it. I don’t always agree with everything done, but it’s part of me. Perhaps the worst thing we can do as a nation is to let this war fade into the back pages of the newspapers, to 20 second clips on the evening news. To let it become the dog in the attic, the thing we never want to talk about but that we can’t get rid of. For better or for worse, it’s ours. Our war. We need to hold it up to the light, to see it clearly, every crack and blemish. We need to own it, even if we don’t want it. We have been at war for 5 years, and as I type this over 100,000 of our own are putting themselves at risk. This month at least 10 billion dollars is being borrowed to fund it. Children entering elementary school have spent over half their lives in a country at war.

The war doesn’t look like it’s going to stop anytime soon, but I feel that it’s important that we pay attention. Especially on this, the anniversary day of Operation Iraqi Freedom. It seems hopeless to me sometimes, how someone with such little power in the world can do anything real. But again, in the Buddhist tradition there’s the idea of transforming the 3 members of the axis of evil into something good. It’s possible to take the poisons of ignorance, anger and greed, and turn them into treasures: wisdom, compassion, understanding, generosity. This is something we can do, individually and as a nation. If you and I can do this, even on a very small scale, we’re one step closer to peace.

Robert Ashley, in his Perfect Lives, writes that “the transition always takes one by surprise.” We’re on the verge of Spring now, even though it might not feel like it outside. But these beautiful daffodils V brought home yesterday say otherwise:

The medicine cabinet is replaced, the walls painted a with a fresh coat of white, and most important, there’s no water leaking in. This is good.

Yesterday there was much much cleaning as advertised, and it was very productive. We’re making space for other things, and saving a little bit of space just so it can be spacious. The feeling of having half-empty bookshelves and closets not crammed full to the gills is new.

Today I’m not having the most productive day, but it’s alright; there’s a lot left of the week for heavy lifting, and today it seems I need some time to let things settle. Perhaps it’s an echo of yesterday’s upheaval and rearrangement.

In other news, I made some magnificent udon noodle soup yesterday.

Ides of March. I’m remarkably mellow today, and am resting both mind and body. Tomorrow there’s a lot of housecleaning in store, and then a week of solid work. I’m ready.

As I type this, a stream of water is flowing through my medicine cabinet. The water is from the upstairs neighbors kitchen sink, and the water is a brackish brown. I am catching it in a small plastic bowl, emptying it as I can. I feel a little bit like Sigyn. The plumbers will be here tomorrow.

My heart breaks every day. When I see the homeless staring blankly into the future, cardboard signs in hand. When I see dread in a businessman’s eyes, thinly covered by a layer of affluence. When I look into my own mind, and see all the reflection and projection and darkness and fear. I know that all the suffering, sadness, pettiness and pain of the world is, in a real way, my own.

Today I’m learning a lesson from my small plastic bowl, how it holds the brackish water to overflowing without complaining. And I’m learning a lesson from myself-as-Sigyn, thoughtfully emptying the water as I can, rinsing the bowl, and putting it back in place.

I was out late on Saturday night, meeting up with some friends for a wonderful vegan dinner and then a few hours of karaoke. This was my first time doing karaoke in public, and I must admit it was fun even if my singing wasn’t top notch.

The consequences of being up hours and hours past my bedtime, however, meant that almost all of yesterday was spent recovering. I’m not a night person, despite years of trying to prove it to the contrary. A night out means spending the next day fuzzy-headed, a cloud dulling my wits. Since society doesn’t seem to find afternoon tea the prime social occasion, I’ll of course continue to spend nights out – I don’t want to end up a hermit – and expect to pay the price when it’s time.

This week laid out in front of me is truly an exciting one, if only because I have so much unscheduled time. There’s a great deal of work to get done, projects to wrap up, and I think that it can actually happen. Over the next month I’ve also got to prepare for tangaryo – dawn to dusk sitting in solitary zazen – which is the next step in my path to become a formal Zen student. While part of it is physical (it will be good to practice sitting for longer stretches at once), most of the preparation is of a psychological nature which I don’t think I can describe.