Zen Traveler

My Teacher

2012-01-24T14:45:00.000-05:00

I learned yesterday that my bagpipe teacher of many years, Winter Taylor, suddenly passed away in Atlanta. I was heart broken and saddened beyond words at the news. Winter (I refused to call her Winnie) had spent countless hours with me in her basement studio working on fixing my great lack of musical talent. She was kind, supportive and most of all truly patient. A better teacher I could not have had.

I picked up my practice chanter yesterday evening and ran through some of the tunes that Winter had helped me with. Her words echoed in my mind as if she were sitting right next to me, admonishing me to make every note clean, crisp, and clear. She was a great proponent of simple music played well instead of flashy tunes played sloppily.

As I played, working through our favorite piobaireachd- MacDonald of Kinlochmoidart's Lament, I came to understand the special relationship between a student and his teacher, and that her words and spirit continue to live within me and my sometimes sloppy fingering. I can't help but smile.

Yagyu's Answer

2012-01-21T10:34:00.004-05:00

Peace & Serenity

I recently listened a group discussion that vilified "the militarism of society", which I took to mean the military, it's culture, and other supporting cast members that surround it. I listened thoughtfully to the words and ideas that flowed from the participants, careful not to interject my own experiences of uniformed service so as not to damper or influence the conversation in any way. The prevailing tone was that of liberation theology, the political theory which interprets traditional religious teachings in terms of a liberation from unjust economic, political, or social conditions. This is to say that the participants were highly critical of government, capitalism, corporate culture, popular news media, or pretty much anything that could be widely interpreted as adding to the disenfranchisement of the poor and suffering.

After the talk closed I spent a day considering what I had listened to and arrived at the conclusion that the participants lacked any real, direct experience with the military, and were simply regurgitating thoughts and ideas that they had absorbed from others who had little or no direct contact either. I feel that in many ways I should have spoken up, that I had betrayed my own experiences through my inactions.

The obvious rebuttal is the the story of Yagyu Munenori's life-giving sword. Yagyu was a widely renowned sword instructor to two Tokugawa shoguns during their reign over midevel Japan. His spiritual mentor was the Zen Buddhist priest, Takuan who assisted Yagu in the realization that a sword can both take a life as well as give one. The life-giving sword is the idea that it is best to control an opponent by the spiritual readiness to fight rather than during an actual fight where lives will be lost. From this idea grew the saying that we utilize today, "If you have to fight, you have already lost".

The Four Reliances

2012-01-15T23:23:00.003-05:00

I recently had the opportunity to listen to a public talk given by a very learned man; one who has spent a great deal of his adult life in serious study on the subject of his discourse. In listening I realized that I had many deep and fundamental objections to what was being said, his points, most shaded in political dogma, I found distasteful.

Clearly I had my own hard-fought experiences on the subject matter and believed that, while the speaker was well-versed, he was simply wrong on so many points. I searched within myself and identified my attachments to my own points of view, and it was these attachment that were causing my discomfort. I suppose the take-away for me was simply the process of recognizing my own attachments and then letting them go, listening with an open mind to what was being said instead on playing "point, counter-point" in my mind.

Tonight in my reading I ran across The Four Reliances:

Do not rely merely on the person, but on the words;

Do not rely merely on the words, but on their meaning;

Do not rely merely on the provisional meaning , but on

the definitive meaning; and

Do not rely merely on intellectual understanding, but on the direct experience.

A Long Way To Go

2012-01-11T09:49:00.001-05:00

Ironman triathlon training is taking up a good bit of time these days. I'm swimming, biking, running and lifting 12-14 hours a week, working on building a solid aerobic base for when the training begins in ernest in late February leading up to a June race. This is such a crazy sport, the time and monetary investment is massive, and it changes your entire life. Everything is effected; diet, sleep, job, family. You live in a constant state of mild soreness and fatigue.

Its not the fact that a triathlete can race 140.6 miles in 10 hours that is impressive, but rather he or she has juggled every aspect of their life over the preceding several months to successfully get themselves to the starting line. The race, as many experienced athletes will attest to, is actually a relief. In the forefront of your mind you know that it's the last time you will have to don a pair of goggles and dive into early morning cold water, or worry about maintaining the appropriate running pace for a very long time. For now, at least, that relief is far away. There is a ton of work to do between now and late June. Heading out on a bike ride now before it starts to snow.

Back on the Cushion

2012-01-09T18:38:00.002-05:00

Sunset on Hayden Lake, Idaho

I'm planning on getting back on the cushion tonight, having let myself get away from my practice over the past year or so. I'm a bit nervous but plan to attend a sitting at the the Ancient Dragon Zen Gate Soto Zen Center in Chicago.

In the past I've been astonished how easy it is to pick up my zazen practice having gone weeks or months without actively sitting. It's almost as if you accumulate a familiraty with the practice, and it abides quietly inside of you waiting for your inevitable return. The feeling reminds me of a faithful pet waiting patiently at the door for its owner to return home from work. There's a bit of elated tail wagging, forgiveness, and then its as if the owner never left; comfort and peace prevail.

Lives of Lobsters

2012-01-05T09:58:00.002-05:00

I spoke with a friend of mine the yesterday who is serving as a contractor in Iraq. We were discussing compassion and how all life is precious. He is confronting himself with the fact that he's carrying a gun for a reason and one day may be asked to use it. If all life is precious what about the person that he may have to shoot?

We chatted and both came to the conclusion that the life of a mass murderer and that of a three-year old child are equally precious, one in the same in fact. Carrying it further I relayed that I took the lives of three lobsters the other night while preparing dinner. I did it mindfully and with respect and humanity (odd word there). There is no difference between the lobsters and any other living creature… they are one in the same.

Fodder For Morality

2011-03-11T08:12:00.001-05:00

From the NY Times this morning:

WASHINGTON — Statistics compiled by the American-led military mission in Afghanistan indicate that 2,537 civilians were killed and 5,594 were wounded in 2009 and 2010, according to a study released Thursday.
Official military statistics provided to Science magazine show that about 88 percent of civilian casualties in Afghanistan over the past two years were caused by insurgents, while about 12 percent were the fault of American and coalition forces.

What's the argument here, that they kill more innocent people than we do, so somehow we are "more right"? Having spent most of my adult life as a serving military officer I understand full-well about civilian casualties in war, but this argument has no place in the public space. Using innocent civilian statistics to somehow morally justify a nation's actions seems obscene to me. Every civilian fatality, regardless of who is at fault, should be treated with the same moral importance as those of fallen U.S. service members, and not be used as fodder for who's right and wrong arguments.

Off The Cushion

2011-03-10T09:55:00.003-05:00

Sitting in Starbucks this morning I was contemplating a topic for a blog post when a guy dressed in wanna-be military garb sits down beside me and announces, "Ya know, if you were here thirty minutes ago there wasn't a black person in here". Bingo…. you're my blog post of the day. Are you kidding me?! I thought guys like this only existed in the movies, and certainly not in southwest Atlanta where the populace is well-over 90% African American.

For the next twenty minutes I was treated to an unsolicited ear-full of how when the gas prices go up all of the blacks are going to leave, and how all of the kids at the school bus stops have babies in their arms. I struggled to exfiltrate myself from the conversation but part of me, like driving past a car wreck, wanted to hear this guy's destructive, hate-filled rant.

I contemplated loving kindness and how this guy, as misguided as I believed he was, deserved my compassion. It's easy to love the world's down-trodden and unfortunate, but when faced with someone that is the victim of his own limited mind, the task becomes much more difficult. How do you show compassion for someone that you find so distasteful?

The other take away for me was the question of why do I find his rant so offensive in the first place? Clearly I'm attached to my viewpoints, and when confronted with such a dramatically different perspective I quickly retract and begin to judge and form opinions.

Buddhism is a wonderful thing, and when sitting on a cushion its simple to follow it's tenants. Applying the same in the reality of a crowded Starbucks is a bit more challenging.

Good Vibrations

2011-03-09T06:06:00.005-05:00

There are some people that radiate great energy and positive vibrations regardless of the circumstances. Last night while attending a function in downtown Atlanta I watched a late 60-something Asian woman flit around the room with a hundred other guests at a banquet dinner. She stood out to me because she carried with her a massive, beaming smile, and seemed to care little of what people thought of her. To me, she was the walking personification of peace and self-confidence, my favorite two attributes in a person.

The highlight for me was when the woman raided the dessert table even before people were settling in for their first course. I laughed and commented that she may have her dinner courses mixed up, only to see her grin and retort, "No, it's everyone else that's mixed up".

Throughout the long evening I watched with great curiosity as this tiny woman continued to smile and walk her own path. Towards the end of the event she left the function and ventured out into the nighttime on a solo exploration of the botanical garden's orchard exhibit, a wonderful display of moving through life on her own terms. She made my night.

Boone Soon

2011-03-08T10:46:00.001-05:00

I'm in the process of putting together a springtime cycling trip to Boone, North Carolina. I plan to spend about a week riding through what I believe is one of the most special places on the east coast. I've been to Boone a few times in the past and have always been struck by the natural beauty of the surrounding area. What sealed the deal for me was in Lance Armstrong's biography, It's Not About the Bike, he spoke of riding in Boone after his comeback from cancer, stating that it was Boone that made him fall in love with cycling again. I'm excited.

Boundless Faith

2011-03-06T08:38:00.005-05:00

What is the difference between having faith in something and having confidence in it? Voltaire said, 'Faith is to believe in something which your reason tells you cannot be true; for if your reason approved of it, there could be no question of blind faith.' On the other hand confidence is an assured expectation, not of something that cannot be touched, observed, but of what can be tested as experienced and understood personally. This is why Buddhism shuns faith and embraces confidence. The Buddha stated, 'Do not blindly believe what others say, even the Buddha. See for yourself what brings contentment, clarity, and peace. That is the path for you to follow.'

Theistic faith demands belief in things that cannot be known. Direct knowledge and experience with the previously unknown now moves faith into the realm of confidence, therefor it can be said that knowledge destroys faith. Does it work the other way around as well, can faith overcome knowledge? Now we are in the world of miracles, the unexplained alteration of reality that runs counter to all knowledge.

Faith in my opinion, resides in the soul and is limitless while confidence emanates from the mind and is clearly bound by finite points. Therefor one's confidence in himself or the world around him extends only so far as his personal observation and experience, while his faith appears to be endless.

Emergency Room For Sinners

2011-03-05T00:39:00.003-05:00

Port au Prince's shattered Cathedral of Our Lady of Assumption

On a recent trip to Knoxville, Tennessee I was trying to pull my Jeep out and merge into on-coming traffic that was letting out from monolithic christian church directly up the street. To no avail, no one was going to let me in among the long line of cars. In a moment of frustration I edged out a bit earlier than I should have and was greeted by a cacophony of horns.

My first reaction was, "You are all coming from church. Maybe you should turn around and pay greater attention to the sermon on compassion and loving kindness". I suppose I expected a greater degree of compassion from a crowd that was just exiting a Sunday service. Adjectives that leaped to mind were "hypocritical" and "arrogant".

Reading Timothy Keller's book, The Reason For God the author offered up this explanation, "Churches are hospitals for sinners, not museums for saints". It all became clear reading Keller's words. Why should I expect greater compassion from someone that is a devout attendee of a church service? Would I expect to find healthy people in the hospital emergency room? It was a good lesson.

Guilty Buddhism

2011-03-04T08:05:00.001-05:00

I was challenged the other day about Buddhism's apparent failure to address the concept of guilt. I sat with this for a while and read through what some noted scholars of Buddhism have written on the subject, and came to the conclusion that guilt is a man-made concept and not part of the inherent human condition.

Guilt, as defined by one Buddhist scholar, Rudy Harderwijk, is "seeing or projecting one's mistakes, while not knowing what to do about them or refusing to correct them". To paraphrase Harderwijk, Buddhism views this as a disturbing attitude, i.e. coming about from the practitioner that is not seeing the situation clearly. Self-deprecating guilt may be seen as a complicated version of self-centeredness, which Buddhism addresses quite thoroughly.

Going back, the concept of guilt appears to be foreign to the pure human condition, having grown from it's prominent place in the Judeo/Christian tradition, e.g. the original sin. Guilt of this type is learned, imposed by society and culture. As noted by Harderwijk, " The Tibetans don't even have a word for it". If this is the case guilt becomes a culturally imposed type of mental frustration, one which Buddhism teaches us to overcome through practice and seeing reality in its true form.

One Honest Ninja

2011-03-03T07:01:00.008-05:00

After parking my Jeep my 6-year old son decided that he was going to exit the vehicle via his open back seat window instead of through the door. Being a Jeep its a long way down to the pavement so I told my ninja to open the door like a little man. I few moments later I saw him standing on the ground but I had never heard his door open or close, so I asked him if he had crawled out of the window after I had told him not to. I could see him thinking about it and he finally confessed that he had. I couldn't have been more proud of my son. He chose to tell the hard truth instead of the easy lie, his moral compass was aligned correctly.

I've come to believe that morality and ethics have no relation to age nor intelligence. As a matter of fact, if there is a relationship at all its probably inversely related. As an example, with increasing frequency, white-collar corruption seems to be the crime of choice of the baby boom generation.

How is it that intelligent people loose their moral compass that they once had when they were young? Do some believe that ethics and morality are inherent within intelligence and therefore any decision that they make must be automatically ethical? Maybe intelligence trumps morality and a few are somehow smarter than those that have spent lifetimes defining and framing ethical and moral issues. I'm unsure. All I know is that there is far too much dishonesty in our world, however we all thankfully have the power to change that, one truth at a time.

Addendum: I posted to the blog and then went out on a long trail run. During my jaunt through the woods I began to wonder where on the Spiritual-Intellectual-Physical triangle does morality and ethics lie? It seems clear to me that they are more aligned with the spiritual rather than the intellectual, which explains why learning ethics in the classroom was so much noise for me. You can't learn moral behavior and ethics without something touching your soul.

Sacrifice

2011-03-02T07:32:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking about sacrifice a lot lately, specifically as it applies to long-term goals. I grew up an athlete and it was in dusty, deserted gyms that I began to learn this lesson, one that had me give up much in order to achieve my long-term goal of being a scholarship collage athlete. Many a bright and sunny summer day were spent alone in an unused gym working on ball handling skills and jump shots. In the end, I prevailed and achieved my adolescent goal. Was it worth it? I believe it was insofar as it set a lifetime pattern of not grabbing at immediate desires at the expense of long-term goals.

Today I look back on my life and see this pattern repeated over and over again, my Special Forces career, two graduate schools, Ironman triathlon, emergency medicine, etc. Along the way I've sacrificed horrendously to be able to achieve those goals. Again, was it worth it? Only time will tell. Catch me at the end of my days and I'll let you know.

Of course the desire for the long-term runs counter to some basic Buddhist principles of living in the present moment and letting go of your attachment to desires. This has been the subject of great contemplation lately. Should I give up that bowl of ice cream for dessert in pursuit of my goal of running a sub-10 hour Ironman? What about passing on spending time with my parents so that I can get a long weekend of workouts in? Where does the line get drawn? Again, sacrifice, balance, the Middle Way. Much to consider.

Forgiveness

2011-03-01T07:14:00.004-05:00

Not long ago I was the lead paramedic on a cardiac arrest of an elderly woman who had collapsed in her home. When I arrived the woman's frantic son was looking on as two fire department paramedics and an EMT were starting CPR and additional advanced life-support treatments. I could see the terror in his eyes as his mother lay on her back in the middle of her living room. He paced back and forth asking questions, looking to do anything that he could to help, to make a difference.

As the lead paramedic this was my scene to control and orchestrate; decisions were made and treatments started according to the very latest in resuscitation literature and guidelines. The woman was placed in the ambulance with ongoing good CPR by one of the EMTs; rhythm strips, IV's, drugs, endotracheal tube, shocks, more drugs. Despite our efforts the woman wasn't responding and was pronounced shortly after our arrival at the hospital.

Sitting alone in the ambulance I worked on my report trying to remember the details of the call. Quickly I became hyper-critical of my performance, thinking about what I could have done differently, anything that would have led to a better outcome. I beat myself up for several minutes going over the events in my mind, until finally I looked down at my clipboard and saw the woman's smiling face on her drivers license staring up at me. I remembered that I had hastily grabbed the card from her son so that at least I would have a name when I arrived at the hospital. She smiled at me as if to say, "Hey you did the very best that you could, so stop beating yourself up". In a moment I realized that the call wasn't about me and my performance but rather the woman who was somehow forgiving me, smiling from a piece of plastic. I pushed my report aside and strode back into the hospital to seek out her son. I think that's what she would have wanted me to do.

Moments

2011-02-24T06:58:00.009-05:00

We've all had them. They're familiar to us, we recognize them when we're in "the moment". Some refer to them as the "ahhh moments" of our life, which I believe sums the feeling up perfectly. More objectively maybe, moments of clarity, greater understanding, perfection, realization. Without being a poet, these moments in our lives are difficult to explain to one another, however we all know them.

Recently I've come to believe that, at least for me, these "ahhh moments" are the voice of God talking to me in a quiet and deeply personal way, urging me to live in the moment that he has provided for me, sharing it with him. God has cleared away life's distractions so that I can exist in this very moment of time, where objects, actions and ideas suddenly become clear and understood.

It has taken me 47 years to come to this point of understanding, but looking back I can see similar moments of perfection and peace where the hand of God was fully present in my life.

More lists:

A rainy Sunday afternoon exploring the streets of Buenos Aires, Argentina.
Down in the aerobars, hammering along the sun-scorched roads near Homestead, Florida. A seemingly unending reservoir of power and strength in my legs.
My first taste of Laphroaig.
Browsing the stacks of a Tampa bookstore and out of no where experiencing my first glimpse (kensho) of understanding the Zen Buddhist concept of "nothingness". It dropped me to my knees and made me laugh out loud.
An afternoon meal at La Mar restaurant in Lima, Peru.
Looking a young Haitian boy in the eyes as he struggles with his crutches. He smiles at me.
Walking through the dripping jungle directly underneath the massive Iguazu waterfall.
Coming off the open ramp of a C-130 in the middle of the night with a few hundred pounds of stuff strapped all over me. Following the "chem lights" down into the darkness.
A train ride across the Australian Outback at sunset; in an observation car drinking beer with 20 other warriors watching to world clack by. Someone put on Johnny Cash singing, "I've Been Everywhere".
An early morning walk in the Maine woods after a snowstorm. Peace.
A 16" Brown Trout rising in a misty, morning stream to take a perfectly placed dry fly.
A recent five days
My father's laugh
Standing in the middle of Chile's, Salar de Atacama on an indigo evening listening to the blood rushing through my ears. A single star, then… breathtaking.

Pilgramage

2011-02-23T07:54:00.005-05:00

Istanbul's Blue Mosque

Not long ago I took a trip around the world, and one of the places that I visited was Varanasi, India. I was struck by not only how dirty the city was, but the overwhelming deep sense of spirituality that seemed to permeate everything. I asked a co-worker and he explained to me that Varanasi was one stop on an informal route that backpackers often trek seeking to visit the most spiritual places in the world. This got me thinking, what would my list of spiritual destinations look like? I've come up with...

The Vatican: The ecclesiastical state, center of the Catholic Church.
Kyaiktiyo Pagoda: A well-known Buddhist pilgrimage site in Myanmar. The pagoda's Golden Rock seems to defy gravity, as it perpetually appears to be on the verge of rolling down the hill. According to legend the Golden Rock itself is precariously perched on a strand of the Buddha's hair.
Jerusalem: A holy city to the three major Abrahamic religions—Judaism, Christianity and Islam.
Mecca's Grand Mosque: The holiest mosque in Islam.
Lalibela, Ethiopia: One of Ethiopia's holiest cities and a center of pilgrimage. The city was intended to be a New Jerusalem in response to the capture of Jerusalem by Muslims, and many of its historic buildings take their name and layout from buildings in Jerusalem.
Hardiwar, India: One of the holiest places for Hindus. Millions of pilgrims, devotees, and tourists congregate in Haridwar to perform ritualistic bathing on the banks of the river Ganges to wash away their sins.
Hagia Sophia, Istanbul: From 360 A.D. a former Orthodox patriarchal basilica, later a mosque, and now a museum in Istanbul, Turkey.
Canterbury Cathedral: One of the oldest and most famous Christian structures in England. The cathedral of the Archbishop of Canterbury, leader of the Church of England.
Chimney Rock: Rising nearly 300 feet above the surrounding North Platte River. It served as a landmark along the Oregon Trail, the California Trail, and the Mormon Trail.
Ulura: Ayers Rock, sacred to the Pitjantjatjara and Yankunytjatjara, the Aboriginal people of the area.
Mauna Kea: The peaks of the island of Hawaii are sacred, and Mauna Kea is the most sacred of all. An ancient law allowed only high-ranking tribal chiefs to visit its peak.
Allahbad, India: A site of Hindu pilgrimage, believed to be the spot where Brahma offered his first sacrifice after creating the world.
Mahabodhi Temple, Bodh Gaya: The Buddhist temple marking the location where Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, attained enlightenment.
Lumbini, Nepal: The place where Queen Mayadevi is said to have given birth to Siddhartha Gautama, who as the Buddha Gautama founded the Buddhist tradition.
Potala Palace, Lhasa: The spiritual home of the Tibetan people. The Potala Palace was the chief residence of the Dalai Lama until the 14th Dalai Lama fled to Dharamsala, India.
Machu Picchu: The Lost City of the Incas, never found by he invading Spanish.
Qufu, China: The hometown of Confucius, who is traditionally believed to have been born at nearby Mount Ni.
Tsubaki Grand Shrine: The principal Shinto shrine of the deity Sarutahiko-no-Ōkami and one of Japan's oldest shrines.
Meoto Iwa: The Loved One Rocks; a couple of small rocky stacks in the sea off Futami, Mie, Japan. Joined by a shimenawa (a heavy rope of rice straw) they are considered sacred by Shinto worshipers. The rocks represent the union of Izanagi and Izanami, therefore, celebrate the union in marriage of man and woman.
Mt. Fuji: The iconic symbol of Japan and considered one of its holiest mountains.

The Path To Balance

2011-02-20T11:38:00.005-05:00

At about midnight last night I awoke from a deep sleep, realizing that my personal journey towards a balanced life is all but complete. I laid in the dark and smiled to myself, happy with the path that I had just walked and continue on today.

"Balance" for me has always been an equilateral triangle with each point representing the Physical, the Spiritual, and the Intellectual. I seek to spend equal amounts of effort developing the points so that the triangle remains in relative balance. How many people do we know that are superior athletes, but spiritually or ethically bankrupt; or highly educated that cannot run a single mile?

For me...

The Physical:
My absolute basic level of fitness that I seek to maintain is the ability to, at any given time:

Ride a solo century on my triathlon bike in under 6 hours
Swim 3,500 yards in open water with little effort
Run 8-minute miles all day long

The Spiritual:
My spiritual point of the triangle has always been the most difficult to maintain. Lately I've worked hard to bolster my previous shortcomings:

Daily Buddhist practice of sitting or zazen
Zen Buddhist retreats
Fly fishing
Art, specifically photography
Reading both Buddhist and Christian works, identifying commonalities and considering the differences.

The Intellectual:
My intellectual pursuits are often my favorites and generally pertain to medicine and language training:

The Difficult Airway Course
12-Lead EKG Interpretation
Pathophysiology - Never far away
Blogs and Podcasts that I follow: EMCrit, Dr. Smith's EKG Blog, and ResusME.
Maintaining my Spanish at an acceptable level, while developing my Japanese, Arabic, and soon Mandarin Chinese.
I have planned a Ph.D. sometime in my future

God Drinks Starbucks

2011-02-19T02:08:00.008-05:00

This morning sitting on the patio at Starbucks I watched an older gentleman wander up and take a seat alone at a table not too far away from my own. He remained there for a long time sipping his "tall" coffee and reading a Kindle. By way of description, he was clearly in his mid-seventies, partially shaved head, tan, tall with a very lean and muscled body of an athlete. Casually dressed in cargo shorts and a polo jersey he sat in the wooden chair enjoying the sunshine, Oakley sunglasses on the table in front of him.

I watched for several minutes, not able to pull myself away. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was somehow looking at myself sometime in the future. A wave of peaceful calm washed over me, like a sudden realization; a moment of clarity, of presence… perfection. God was speaking to me… softly but he was clearly there in this moment with me.

Soon the man confidently stood, plucked his Oakleys from the table, and turned to look directly into my eyes and smiled. I somehow knew at that very moment that the best part of my life is still yet to come.

Let Go Of The Ordinary

2011-02-18T08:13:00.003-05:00

Apache over Baghdad

I'm terrible. I'm now getting lifestyle advice from television commercials. This morning over coffee and my daily dose of CNN I overheard a travel commercial claiming, "Let go of the ordinary and grab a hold of the extraordinary. Be who you could be, not who you used to be". What a great mantra for life!

My life has always been about the pursuit of the extraordinary, and I humbly submit that this idea has served me more than just well. I tell young people all of the time, at the first opportunity go out and do the hardest thing that you can think of, whether that's an Ironman triathlon, getting an advanced degree, or trekking some remote mountain slope. Set yourself up for an extraordinary life. Don't accept the mundane. Take the path less traveled, and carry your own pack along the way.

None of this is to say that we all have to be globetrotting, adventure seekers to have an extraordinary life. Be an extraordinary parent, partner, son or daughter. Take whatever you have and make it that much more special. Set exceptionally high goals for yourself. Never compromise or accept excuses. If you found yourself on your deathbed today could to look back with a massively satisfied grin? Would you know that you had lived and loved at a level that most only dream of?

One of my favorite stories that I tell has me, as a young Captain, sitting down over a couple of beers in a dusty Panamanian bar with my Special Forces battalion commander. It was just the two of us; the older Lieutenant Colonel was weaving tale after tale of a lifetime of doing the King's bidding in Latin America, stories of intrigue, adventure, sacrifice, and failure. At a point I looked at him and stated, "Sir, you should write a book". He smiled and with the wisdom of age replied, "I would, but I don't want my mother knowing what I've done". Awesome.

A Voice From The Past

2011-02-17T09:22:00.002-05:00

I was contacted by an Iraqi friend of mine who has the opportunity to immigrate himself, his wife, and his young son to the United States as part of an official U.S. Government program to help out those Iraqis that have assisted us in the past.

My friend is an young, exceptionally bright, and industrious guy who has bank-rolled a ton of money over the years while working for American contractors. He, quite frankly, has the means to do anything that he wants to in this country. I've spoken with him in the past about this opportunity and his dream has always been to open a convenience store in a small, non-Muslim neighborhood someplace in the United States and enjoy a life of security and opportunity for his young family.

When looking at prospective landing places in the United States he confided in me that he and his wife were looking through a picture book and came across a photograph of someone holding an umbrella during a rain storm. That became his other criteria; he wants to go someplace where it rains a lot. I smiled.

Not Quite Complete

2011-02-16T09:03:00.002-05:00


Early dawn in the Middle East

Even a cursory review of recent posts to this blog reveals an author who is searching for something, a deeper meaning of those things around him, a balance within his life, centeredness. In some respects, that is the purpose of this blog, to document my journey forward. Over the past month or so I have sat at a crossroads in my life and have sought direction into the future. I’ve looked inwardly as a Zen Buddhist, and remarkably have found God sitting within my silence. I’ve re-examined those things that have been important to me, and have made peace with my faults. It’s been an unspeakable journey of depth and grace, yet it is still not complete.

Things that I know:

God abides in each of us, speaking softly in his own time. We just have to lessen the background noise so that we can hear him.

Deeds are far greater than words. I hear too many people just passing gas for affect. Mean what you say, and do it.

Reduce the noise and enjoy life as it's happening right now. Our constant dialogue with ourselves prevents us from living in the present moment, a concept that both the Buddha and Jesus preached.

Impatience is simply an extension of our egos. It's a manifestation of us wanting something, and wanting it right now. Calm down, breath, and examine the emotion objectively. It soon goes away.

We need very little; food, air, sunshine, water, and a place to sleep. Everything else is a bonus. Delineate needs from wants. The difference is staggering.

Be critical of yourself, but also be gentle and forgiving.

Don’t be critical of others, but still be gentle and forgiving.

A 16-inch Brown Trout rising out of misty, serene waters to take a perfectly placed dry fly is God yelling at us to smile.

Service

2011-02-14T14:43:00.008-05:00

In my wallet I carry my U.S. military retirement ID card; its my go-to piece of identification when required. Occasionally people will look at it and give me a heartfelt, "Thank you for your service". I've asked myself lately, what is service? So many organizations, from schools, churches, the Boy Scouts, and even prisons are preaching service theses days, but I'm not sure what it is that they are preaching.

Must there be personal sacrifice in order for a deed to be considered service, and if so, does the greater the sacrifice lead to a greater degree of service? Or is it the other way around, can a great good with no personal sacrifice be considered service?

I've been reading much about service to God. Does he require a sacrifice from us? What if I tithed $25/week to a church, or spent a lifetime on my back painting the ceiling Sistine Chapel, which is the greater service to God? I do not know?

I spent twenty years, two months, two weeks, and a day in a uniform, the vast majoring it that time as a Green Beret. I sacrificed horrendously, but at the same time I gained much in return. Was this service and to whom?

Tacked up on my old team room wall...

"Men sleep peaceably
in their beds at night
only because rough men stand
ready to do violence on
their behalf".

- George Orwell

Warrior

2011-02-13T09:08:00.001-05:00

I decided to brave the 58 degree sunny weather and go for a trail run through the Chattahoochee Hills along the river. The horse trail works its way through the forest, up and down hills, and along the banks of the serene water way. It felt good to get out and push myself again, I haven't done so since I hiked the Inca Trail in Peru before Christmas.

It wasn't far and it wasn't fast, but I felt my lungs expanding, my legs burning, and a gentle calm settling over my mind. I concentrated on my breathing, letting thoughts come and go, not following any of them. The next thing I knew I was face-planted into the dirt having tripped over a hidden root. So much for moving meditation. Nonetheless, the fall was a not so gentle reminder to stay in the present moment, nature's (God's?) very own kyôsaku.

I got up, covered with dirt, blood, and probably a bit of horse dung and moved on; ego bruised, but that's a good thing right now. At the end of the trail I was breathless, in pain, and covered with nature. I felt like a warrior again.

Back In The Saddle

2011-02-12T13:59:00.001-05:00

The weather is going to be nice in Atlanta this week. I'm destined to take my tri-bike and start putting some very early springtime miles on it. I've been off my bike for the past handful of months and I feel that it's time to reacquaint myself with the saddle again. There's nothing quite like mile after mile of cycling along country roads, alone with your thoughts, pushing yourself to just the right amount of pain.

As April approaches I'm planning a trip to Boone, North Carolina to get some needed hill work in. A number of years ago I read Lance Armstrong's biography and took note of the fact that it was riding in Boone that made him to fall in love with cycling again after coming back from cancer. Since then, I've always considered Boone a stop on the spiritual cycling path. Looking forward to it.

Making Friends

2011-02-09T12:05:00.002-05:00

During a dinner last night I was asked what it is that I'm not good at. The first thing that sprang to mind was… being patient. This has always been my challenge and even today I struggle greatly with it as my friends will readily attest to. How does one learn patience? I saw a TV commercial the other day in which the characters were watching grass grow, turtles racing, and waiting in line at the DMV in order to learn this elusive skill. Sadly there are no turtles near-by so I'm stuck with my own devices.

I was taught by my teachers to sit, which is what I've been doing lately. What I've realized is that you can become comfortable with your impatience. In other words, just sit and watch it for a while, pay attention to how it manifests itself within you. How does it physically feel? Where does it come from, and more importantly, where does it go when it leaves? I've found that looking objectively at such feelings may not make them go away, but it does allow you to become friends with them, accept them, and not to be threatened by them.

Impatience, like all emotions; happiness, sadness, jealousy are just temporary and only exist in our minds. They are not tangible, we cannot hold them, so what we choose to do with them is our decision. I choose to sit with them and make them my friends.

San Francisco

2011-02-07T17:37:00.002-05:00

It's been two years since I've been to San Francisco. What a great city! Just walking down the street I passed a Michelin-starred restaurant only a few blocks from my hotel, so I now have dinner plans for tomorrow night!

This city has always spoken to me. It is one of the first landing points of Zen Buddhism in the western hemisphere, and when I'm here I endeavor to visit the San Francisco Zen Center, and pay tribute to it's founder Shunryu Suzuki Roshi. Coming here is a bit like coming home to my spiritual roots. It's a good and needed stop.

Once Again

2011-02-04T13:08:00.001-05:00

My view or understanding of God is my own, it's deeply personal. It may or may not conform with current religious dogma, but frankly I don't care. I feel that God exists in each and every one of us in his own way, making himself known in his own time. This is my relationship with God. Maybe it's better to say "my God" instead of just the singular, one-size fits all God. I don't know.

As I wrote in a previous post, God has been speaking to me for my entire life through various means, but only now as an adult have I cleared my mind and soul to the point where I can really sit and listen to him. I can look back and see where he has reached out to me. The parable of the Boy and the Starfish comes to mind. Today when I relay the story to people I can barely hold back my unexplained emotions; it's that powerful for me. Clearly God wanted it to touch me, to have meaning. I do not know why.

Right now God is speaking to me through those "Ahhh moments", glimpses of deeper understanding, recognition, and patience. I am learning to sit quietly with my fears and shortcomings; examine them, become familiar with them. I take solace in knowing that I am not alone in the journey.

God

2011-02-03T08:27:00.004-05:00

Sebastián

As a child, I was taught that God was some bearded guy that hung out on a golden throne somewhere in the sky and oversaw the events of the Universe; I often confused him with Santa Claus. That's a great image for a 6-year old, but it's no wonder that as an adult I have questioned his existence, especially in the face of personally witnessed poverty, war, strife, disease, etc… How can a benevolent God allow his children to be so self-destructive?

Over the past week I've wrestled with a lot of things in my life; I've sought better clarity, understanding, peace, and grace. All things that if God exists, I believe that he would want me to find... on my own. I've taken time to sit quietly in a style that I was taught and to clear my mind of the incessant noise. At the end of the day, once the noise stops and everything just simply exists as it truly is; I found God.

I can't describe in words what I've come to understand, but I've realized that God has been there my entire life, speaking to me in countless ways, but I've just failed to listen. Those who know me are not that surprised (smile).

The picture above is of a boy named Sebastián. I found him in a camp in Port-au-Prince not to long after Haiti's horrific earthquake, and only days after doctors had removed one of his legs above his knee. He was completely alone in the world, having lost his entire extended family. When we met he was still struggling with his new crutches, hobbling around the muddy camp making friends, sleeping and eating where he was able.

Sebastián and I chatted as best we could given the language barrier. He smiled as we fist-bumped, and in his eyes I saw something; something that until only a few days ago I could not identify. It was God speaking to me through this child.

Abide

2011-02-02T12:36:00.001-05:00

“I long for scenes where man has never trod, a place where woman never smiled or wept. There to abide with my Creator God and sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, untroubling and untroubled. Where I lie the grass below, above, the vaulted sky.”

-John Clare

Settle Into Quietness

2011-02-01T09:22:00.000-05:00

Osorno, near Puerto Montt, Chile

When I took my Zen Buddhist vows I was given the name So Enjaku by my teacher, he pointed to a mountain; unmoving, settled sitting in quietness. Lately I have been seeking to return to that peacefulness, to find my center and abide in stillness. Tragically I had let it all slowly slip from me over the past two months, allowing my ego to run amok within my life.

Now, things are quiet. I'm able to once again sit in stillness and stare down my ego when needed, watching as if a parent were monitoring a young child playing in the park. Ever mindful.

I have just finished Harvey Cox's When Jesus Came To Harvard. It turned out to be a wonderful book extrapolating moral choices from the time of the historical Jesus and applying them to the world that we share today.

In my pack I also have a copy of Lama Suyra Das' Awakening the Buddha Within; and SIT, The Zen Teachings of Master Taisen Deshimaru. Both books I've read before, especially Surya Das' which remains a beacon in my on-going yearly pilgrimages toward greater spirituality.

Central to it all is simply sitting, quietly and peacefully, watching my thoughts as they erupt from my mind like a movie theater popcorn machine. The breath comes and goes. I sit and watch.

Walking Away From Your Ego

2011-01-31T08:56:00.000-05:00

Argentine-Chilean border. The gateway to Patagonia

“Generally speaking, the Way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death”
-Miyamoto Musashi
c. 1645

For years I've understood Musashi's meaning, but only insofar as it has applied to medieval Japanese warfare. The 17th Century "Sword Saint" on one level is stating that a warrior must engage in battle with the full realization that he will die. Only then can he cast off egotistical thoughts of self-preservation and truly be victorious. Contemplating Musashi further, a deeper understanding emerges, one that applies to all things in life. You must transcend your personal desires in order to wholly realize what life offers to you, otherwise your experiences are limited by your own sense of self-preservation.

Carrying Musashi's lesson into my life, I've recently come to understand that in any human relationship you must be willing to leave it, walk away at any moment if need be. With this in mind, only then can you devote yourself wholly to your partner and the relationship which you share. Otherwise your ego, occupied with protecting what you have, screams out in a yelp of self-protection, fingers squeezing tightly as the water runs out from in between.

Loss

2011-01-15T13:27:00.007-05:00

As a young boy my father looked at me and passed on a bit of wisdom; if in the end you've had five friends in your life you can consider yourself lucky. Sage advice from a man who fully understood that his son was a deeply private person, one who would forever place the ultimate value and trust on those few individuals that he chose to let in close.

I lost one of those friends yesterday morning, and I am saddened beyond all words and expressions. Of course I've known loss in my life, but nothing remotely to the extent of this. At the news I sat for a very long time feeling the tears pour freely down my face onto my shirt. The loss is complete and totally unexpected, so much so that I expect to carry this emptiness with me for the remainder of my days.

The Middle Way of Scouting

2010-10-03T10:35:00.001-04:00

My son has recently joined the Cub Scouts, a part of the Boy Scouts of America (BSA), and his participation in this venerable organization is causing me some angst, forcing me to examine thoughts and feelings from my own Buddhist perspective.

Firstly, BSA is an organization that does not have a stellar reputation for "inclusive" practices, having won a June 2000 Supreme Court decision allowing it, as a private organization, to exclude certain members based on non-Christian beliefs or homosexuality. This is something that I'm not happy with and question whether I want my son being influenced by an organization that excludes members based on these criteria.

Am I attached to my beliefs, and therefore struggling with my views on the BSA? I believe so. Am I practicing "exclusion" by shunning an organization that does not follow MY beliefs? Again, I think so. Do I want my son to miss out on the myriad of "benefits" of scouting? No.

So what I've settled on is the Middle Way, no organization is going to be perfect, or imperfect for that matter. BSA is what it is, and my son should experience it for just that. Critical decisions about membership and exclusion can be his to make when he's old enough to question them for himself. Until then I will continue to examine and practice, but I'd like to hear from other Buddhists on this topic.

Lesson Learned

2010-09-28T17:23:00.001-04:00

A lady peers out her window in a pro-Chavez Caracas neighborhood. She was curious about the gringos outside of her house, but decidedly cold about it.

Back in Atlanta but not after a bit of drama leaving Caracas this morning.

I was notified last night by TripIt and Delta Airlines that this morning's early flight back to Atlanta was delayed by two hours. Perfect, now it wasn't such an early flight and I could grab a good breakfast before the team and I left for the airport.

Arriving at the airport still three hours before the newly scheduled take-off I found the Delta ticket counter all but deserted. This was odd because one would normally expect mayhem on a flight coming out of Latin America to the States. No one was around except a lone agent.

My first thought was that the flight was canceled all together, but the agent said, "No, it takes off in three hours". As I threw my bags on the scale he told me that I can't check in because the flight is already "closed". Huh?!!

Apparently even though the flight is delayed and the airline goes to great effort to tell you this so that you will not be inconvenienced, in Caracas you still must check in at the scheduled time regardless of when the flight is going to depart. I lost my mind as I stood there with bags in-hand not being able to check in on a flight that departs in three hours. Luckily one of the members of the team that I was with is rather noteworthy and was able to convince the Delta Airlines Station Chief to contact the Venezuelan security to re-open the flight for us.

The learning point for me is not to get too cocky with information and familiarity when traveling. Every airport is different, and they're changing all the time. What you might think is reality in Atlanta doesn't count at all in Islamabad or Quito, regardless if it's a major carrier or not. Lesson learned.

Election Day

2010-09-26T17:21:00.000-04:00

What do you do in Venezuela during Election Day? Your options are pretty limited as everything is closed while the country votes its legislature. Don't even think about drinking alcohol as the entire country has been "on the wagon" for the last three days, I suppose someone doesn't want a bunch of intoxicated people participating in democracy, as if somehow the results would be different :)

A Word On Women

2010-09-26T08:03:00.002-04:00

This is actually a little girl who was attending a street political rally, but I admired her attempt at being fashionable.

In the 90's I spent a lot of time in Venezuela and the one thing that was always a constant was The Question. When you climbed into a taxi and the driver realized that you were not Venezuelan, the very next thing out of his mouth was the trivia question: How many Miss Universe have come from Venezuela? I forget the answer, but it was some outrageous number and clearly a point of national pride.

Yes, the Venezuelan women, a mix of Latin and Caribbean cultures, were put together well. Having said that, all of this "put together-ness" takes time and effort, an immense amount I imagine. The English phrase that gets bandied about for this effort is "high maintenance", and for years I've searched the Spanish lexicon for a similar phrase. There isn't one. The fact that there is no easy way to describe a woman (or man) who is fastidious about their appearance and spends inordinate amounts of time keeping it so speaks volumes about this culture. In other words, the attribute of being "high-maintenance" is so inculcated into the lives of so many Venezuelans that it's accepted as normal and does not need to be described, it just "is".

Shots From Today

2010-09-25T20:36:00.002-04:00

Hanging out on the street looking cool

The Look

This little guy lives in what can only be described as a gated Socialist community.

A lone tree stands in the fog

Brothers I think

Uncle Simón

She wouldn't stop smiling. Awesome.


This little guy was really shy, but we turned it into a game.

Caracas Emergency Department

2010-09-25T09:05:00.003-04:00

A final word on moto-taxis. No, this is not me on the back. There are so many of these things whizzing around that an inspiring photographer could make a collection of shots like this.

Last night I toured a Caracas Emergency Department and I've come to the conclusion that most third-word hospitals are the same: short on supplies and long on sick people. The entrance to the building had all the charm of an East German jail, complete with bars, a sleepy guard, stained tiled floors, and blinking florescent lights. Continuing through the waiting room there was the normal cast of the sick and sleeping laid out on cold metal benches oblivious to one another.

When I walked into the ER all I could see was rows of beds behind a single, long curtain. Every patient had an IV drip, which I took to be a good sign, but my optimism ended there. No gloves or masks for the staff, shockingly limited medications, blood-stained floors and sheets, and some of the worse X-rays I've ever seen.

I spoke with some of my colleagues, pointing some things out and cautioning them not to judge too harshly. The hospital staff was clearly doing the best that it could with what meager supplies the State had given them. I spoke with the attending physician, he quietly detailed of the nightly struggles to make due with what he was given. The nurses sang the same tune, each day the staff had to make decisions about which patients got what was left of the dwindling supplies. This was not a place to be sick, and I couldn't help but hearken back to my death-defying moto-taxi ride that morning. If we had had an accident, this is where I would have ended up, possibly for good.

Not A Good Idea

2010-09-24T18:11:00.000-04:00

All the rage in Caracas. I like this shot, it reminds me of someone sneaking a glance at something that they shouldn't.

Today I did something that I swore years ago that I would never do. I took a moto-taxi through the streets of Caracas trying to beat the traffic in order to get someplace quickly and meet a deadline. For those that are unfamiliar with this mode of travel; one sits on the back of a small motorcycle, sometimes even wearing a cheap helmet, and the driver weaves his way at breakneck speed between the slower cars and trucks. If you think this sounds stupidly dangerous, you're getting the idea.

The moto-taxi "lane splits", or in other words rides between the lanes in order to by-pass traffic. For those that are familiar with Latin America you know that there really are no lanes per se. I sat on the back as the teenage driver decided to show me his latest Moto-GP skills, ripping past cars, diving in front of trucks, and running red lights. (If my mother is reading this…. it was someone else, not me). I came out of the adventure unscathed, but a bit disappointed that I would allow myself to take such stupid chances. One of the people on the trip remarked that it was a lot of fun to ride like that. I couldn't help but think of the crass joke that compares motorcycles to prostitutes; both fun to ride, but neither necessarily a good idea.

Ensuing Crisis in Venezuela

2010-09-23T20:02:00.000-04:00

A little girl helps her father campaign on the streets of Caracas. The upcoming elections will guide this country through the ensuing economic crisis. The pamphlet reads, "You Have The Power".

Venezuela; this is my third or fourth time here in the as many years. There are things that I tend to forget and must re-learn upon each visit. This morning's lesson came during breakfast: this country is devoid of all concept of personal service. You can sit in a restaurant, and a very nice one at that, and wait an eternity for a refill on a cup of coffee. Most places that I've stayed at the staff is standing by with an IV if you require a constant stream of coffee in the morning. Venezuela, not so much.

People have jobs here, and with tight, socialist labor laws they've been very secure in their employment. Secure to the point that there is no need to fill up your cup of coffee, no one is going to loose their job over incompetence. Now enter 30% inflation. Consumer prices are rising and businesses cannot keep pace, they are either going to have to cut costs (labor) or be forced out of the market. This is the polemic that Venezuela is facing today, and the reason for my week-long visit.

The Buddhist Paramedic- Deepening Compassion

2010-09-17T12:07:00.003-04:00

A mountain-top antenna extends skyward through the clouds and mist.

I was approached on Facebook by a Zen Buddhist priest who asked me about becoming involved in Emergency Medical Services (EMS) as a future vocation. The conversation is still ongoing but its one that I'm very excited to have. I can think of no other job that will deepen a Buddhist practice more so than EMS; I say that with a bit of a sarcastic undertone.

If you stay in EMS long enough you encounter terms like, "burnt-out" or "jaded", and I asked myself what exactly do those mean. After some brief consideration the answer that I arrived at is a paramedic or EMT that has dealt with the world's sick and pseudo-sick for so long that they no longer can dredge up any empathy or compassion for their patients. To be accurate, as a good friend pointed out, this is not only limited to EMS but also extends to nurses and physicians as well.

Enter the Buddhist. If you want to become physically stronger you have to stress your muscles so that they grow and develop. Likewise, if you desire (ouch!) to become more compassionate you have to place yourself in situations where this emotion is stressed and tested: EMS. The practicing Buddhist paramedic is tested everyday with the hoards of drug-seekers, EMS abusers, the pseudo-sick, people craving attention, uncaring medical staff, and of course uncaring family members. Its a world that over time whittles away at one's compassion, and ability or desire to emotionally connect with patients. What better place for a Buddhist to find greater empathy and compassion?

Begging To Be Said

2010-09-04T12:35:00.000-04:00

A woman begs on the street of Istanbul.

Driving down the street this morning through a busy intersection in south Atlanta I noticed several high school-aged football players walking in between the cars collecting money. Ostensibly they're trying to raise money for equipment, which I know is very expensive, or maybe a trip someplace. Whatever the reason the players were walking past the waiting cars collecting money in their helmets.

What happened to car washes, bake sales or some other "productive" activity designed to raise money? Since when did coaches start teaching their players to beg? Let's face it, that's what these guys were doing. What sort of life-lesson is this imparting on the players?

I grew up as an athlete so I'm intimately familiar with the valuable lessons learned from being a member of a sports team. Never in my experience did any of those lessons include begging for money, regardless of how effective the technique may be. Do the ends justify the means in this case? Does the ability to purchase needed equipment outweigh the lesson that it's alright to stand on the street corner, next to the homeless, "will work for food" guy and beg for money? I would strongly argue that it does not.

3G and Ferrari

2010-07-30T12:33:00.001-04:00

The littlest ice-cream vendor, helping out her father in the market. Ding Ding

I'm heading out of El Salvador soon. It's been a good trip, traveling to Latin America is a bit like coming home for me. I found the country to be amazingly well-developed, a lot of work has been done since my last visit some years ago. The highlights were finding an Apple Store in one of the large, modern malls, a Ferrari dealership is down the street, and 3G and Wi-Fi everywhere.

It's funny what we use as metrics for development. In the past I've taken notice of a country's children. In other words, if the children are clean, well-dressed (wearing shoes), and heading to/from school you can bet that that particular country is well on the road to future development. On the other hand if the children are playing barefoot in a muddy street, wearing the same clothes day in and day out, well…

Now pretty much all of Latin America is fairly development so my metrics are changing; is there 3G, a Starbucks, a mega-bookstore, and restricted smoking areas. That pretty much sums up economic development in this part of the world. Hasta luego.

Appearences

2010-07-29T10:19:00.000-04:00

I watched a protection detail ride past yesterday. Four police motorcycles, a large client SUV and a police trail SUV. I wondered which vehicle the client was in; it was pretty obvious. My thought was that this was simply the appearance of security and had nothing to do with actually providing or achieving security. The detail would have been better off dropping the police escort and letting the VIP drive around the city in his unmarked SUV.

Similarly, everywhere you look in San Salvador are uniformed static security guards armed with ill-cared for shotguns. Even a casual observer could discern again, that the guards are only for appearance sake and have no effective use. Unfortunately this is all-to common in Latin America, it is better to have the appearance of something, such as security, than actually achieving it. My previous post on ambulances is another example of the same concept.

The concept of appearance can be extrapolated and used to explain many of the social and cultural aspects of Latin America. Another example is the appearance of wealth. A long time ago I lived in Santiago, Chile, and not far from my house was a massive grocery store with unspeakably expensive items imported from all over the world. Each Saturday countless woman would shop the aisles filling their carts with the most extravagant items. They would then stop off at the coffee bar in the middle of the store to chat with their neighbors about the parties they planned to throw and peer into each others baskets. At the end of the day they would leave the basket in the aisle and slink out of the store unnoticed by their friends, being totally incapable of purchasing any of the items they had selected.

The Good People of Gringolandia

2010-07-27T21:24:00.000-04:00

A Salvadorian lady sits behind her door and watches the world walk by

I try to have a chat with every taxi driver that I meet. Not that they're any great fount of wisdom but they normally have some good insight into politics and the social condition. Tonight's conversation went like this:

Me: "How's it going tonight? How's business"?
Driver: "Slow"
Me: "Why's that? The weather"?
Driver: "No, there's not enough money".
Me: "Oh, why not"?
Driver: "Mr. Obama isn't giving us any money".

The conversation abruptly ended there. What do you say to that? I suppose I could go into a triad about American tax dollars belong to the American people, i.e. those who actually pay the taxes, but that will have fallen on deaf ears. (I use "American" to mean the United States… so lets not nit-pick. I'm fully aware of the technicalities.)

This is a common perception, at least in Latin America, that the United States is "rich", and has an obligation to give money to lesser-developed countries, like whatever one I happen to be in at the time. I'm all for giving money for development, access, influence… something that benefits the good people of Gringolandia, but to just outright gift U.S. tax dollars goes against my grain.

Squad Cincuenta y Uno

2010-07-27T08:39:00.000-04:00

I visited a Salvadorian health fair the other day. At the entrance were two brightly colored ambulances set out as a static display with all of their associated equipment laid out for the public to view. The two trucks looked brand spanking new and were marked "Emergency Advanced Cardiac". Of course I was attracted to this scene like a hungry trout to a fly and rushed right over and started digging around, much to the consternation of the women running the display.

A couple of bags of IV fluid, a ratty cot that was jerry-rigged to lock into floor of the truck, and an automatic defibrillator much like you see in the malls in the United States but wrapped in plastic. One of the physicians/nurses(?) asked if I wanted to stick my arm in the automatic blood pressure cuff to see "what my number was" to determine how healthy I am. Really!!?

I'll admit that the ambulances from the outside were immaculate and very impressive, clearly nicer than what I'm used to in Atlanta, but given what they lacked in equipment would not even be allowed on the streets in the United States or Europe. This is typical of much of the third world, parts of Latin America specifically; bright, shinny things that give the appearance of competency but with little or no substance underneath. Someone invested a lot of money in a couple of spiffy ambulances but decided the capability or reason for them was secondary. Why not take the same money and purchase the needed lifesaving equipment and stick it all on an old, beat-up ambulance? If I'm a seriously sick patient I don't care how nice the truck looks, only that I'm getting an advanced level of care in the back.

Maybe I'm being too critical. Maybe they have all of drugs, monitors, airway kits, ultrasound, and other gadgets but just chose not to put them out on public display. Having spent most of my life in and out of this part of the world and having worked in it's ERs…. I doubt it. My regret was that I didn't take any pictures of the trucks to show my fellow medics in Atlanta. They were seriously impressive.

Walking Through Oz

2010-07-26T08:47:00.000-04:00

Salvadorian family walks through the neighborhood

Walking through San Salvador yesterday I was warned about roving gangs of youths that would rob tourists or other unsuspecting, lucrative targets. This is a common practice throughout the world but is easily countered with a few simple actions.

Find out where the high risk areas are, and avoid them.
If you have a guide or driver, trust their judgment.
Don't take valuables with you. Hiding them in what you think are clever areas, i.e., belly or waist pouches is a useless tactic.
Stay in well-populated areas. Don't get lured off.
Stay together.
Be aware of your surroundings. If something doesn't feel right, it's not. Move back to safety.
If you have a driver, keep the car handy, know where it is.
Be purposeful in your posture, demeanor, and actions.
Keep things tucked away; cameras, cell phones, wallets, watches. If it's out there, it'll get taken.

Mi Cuerva

2010-07-25T10:49:00.000-04:00

El Salvadorian beach near Puerta Libertad

It rained last night. I sat in the tiny patio space that is part of the hotel, surrounded by hundreds of tropical plants, an umbrella overhead. Under my feet were flagstones, wet with the warm rain. It was a space that people strive for in their own homes and gardens, but few in North America ever fully achieve. There is nothing contrived in the patio garden just hundreds of plants potted in whatever containers were available at the time. It was like sitting in a room made of vegetation, tight, intimate, and deeply personal.

The first time I saw something like this was at the home of my Spanish language professor in Monterey, California. He had a small deck that was part of his 2nd floor apartment and he had turned it into a tiny tropical rain forest. It was really only large enough for two people to sit in, a Mexican terracotta chiminea glowed off to one side, the air smelled of wood smoke. Plants surrounded you on all sides and covered you above as well. Hundreds of plants thoughtfully arranged, but with no detectable pattern like the random growth of the forest. I've always marveled at that tiny space that my professor called mi cueva, and have seen it replicated countless times but always in Latin America. Somehow the gringo mentality, or at least mine, is too contrived to achieve the randomness of nature.

I sat last night, a glass of Cabernet in my hand and feeling the rain come down around me. It was a very magical yet familiar moment that brought me back many, many years to my professor's cave. What a great moment.

El Salvador

2010-07-24T11:23:00.000-04:00

Two brothers pose for a photo

I arrived in El Salvador yesterday and have only taken a few shots with my camera. I consider it a success that I actually have my Nikon D200 with me on this trip considering my recent track record of leaving it behind

Landing at Comalapa International Airport outside of San Salvador I was immediately struck by two things. Firstly the country seems to have done well embracing the eco-tourist industry. I saw few business travelers but loads of backpack totting tourists intent on finding spirituality amidst the breathtaking landscape of El Salvador. I wish them luck in their wanderlust.

The second thing that caught my attention is the plethora of church missionary groups running around in their uniform-like, matching t-shirts. They were everywhere, bright-eyed with a tinge of apprehension, ready to spread spirituality and to help the helpless. I questioned from an economist point of view which the two groups contributes greater to the Salvadorian economy? I suspect its a fairly close.

More later.

Notes From The End Of The Earth

2010-06-29T20:12:00.000-04:00

Not dead fish from the oil spill. Caught legally in Turkey

OK flog me now. I've been in southern Louisiana for the past six weeks working on the BP oil spill. I was originally brought down to do some executive protection, which soon transitioned into some fairly high-level project management. I didn't bring my camera with me, so for six weeks I slogged around the largest man-made disaster in the history of the planet and didn't take a single shot. What an idiot!! I vow that I'll never make that mistake again. This, from a guy who takes his Nikon D200 with him to the grocery store in Atlanta.

So, what did six weeks in Louisiana get me?

Louisiana's greatest gift to American pop-culture… the drive-thru daiquiri bar.
The media is completely biased in this event. It's the perfect storm for them: foreign business entity, environmental disaster, great visuals, a besieged area of the country, perceived mismanagement, biblical proportions. Can't lose.
This is the laboratory for the Incident Command System. It works, and works well.
The Louisiana Parish Sheriff sits at the right-hand of God.
BP is hemorrhaging money and wants this spill stopped worse than anyone.
The Cajun accent sounds suspiciously like a down-east Maine accent.
The Louisiana weather, like south Florida's, is some of the most awe-inspiring in the world.
An alligator will come out of the water to eat a marshmallow off the toe off your boot. The issue is, what will it eat next?
A grilled shrimp po-boy is the food of choice here. It's all about the french bread, and don't forget the Abita.
Magellan makes the best fishing shirts in the world. Every boat captain is wearing one.

Pajamas In Business Class

2010-05-24T07:05:00.005-04:00

A mannequin in an Istanbul storefront. Children are dressed up in these princely costumes and paraded through the streets by their parents.

Alright, I'm a travel snob. I admit it. I believe that if you're going to get on an airplane, train, or even bus and travel for several hours that you should take a shower and maybe get out of your pajamas beforehand. I was flying business class yesterday coming back from Milwaukee and was (un)fortunate enough to sit next to a 20-something girl who looked like she had just crawled out of bed after having the flu for a week; disheveled hair, under-shirt, cellulite over-flowing her pajama bottoms, and cheap rubber flip-flops. She sat in the window seat making all manner of bodily noises, feet propped up high on the bulkhead, and attempted to drink the plane out of vodka and cranberry.

I'm all for being comfortable while traveling but I'm going to at least be presentable. My yardstick is, what if I meet my parents in the airport? That's a good enough standard…high for most if you knew my mother but that's a different story (kidding Mom). Nevertheless, walking out in public shouldn't be a grunge competition. Take the time to look presentable, if for nothing more than a courtesy to your fellow travelers who have to endure your charms for several hours.

Off to New Orleans this afternoon.

For God's Sake, Stop!

2010-05-20T08:33:00.001-04:00

My EMT partner told me a story last night of a call that he ran a few days ago. His patient was a 12-year old girl with abdominal pain… she was two months pregnant. Looking on, her mother…25-years old, and also her grandmother…37 years old. I'm at a loss, you do the math.

Veteren

2010-05-16T17:46:00.000-04:00

We get called to a "Difficulty Breathing" patient at an Atlanta bus stop, only a mile or so from where we are in the ambulance. These calls I normally encourage the EMTs to take, as its more often than not well within their scope of practice.

When we arrive an old, apparently homeless man sits on a bench with an oxygen mask on his face. He's being cared for by the Atlanta Fire Department that arrived moments before. He's thin, worn, deeply tanned. His grey hair streaks down past his shoulders, aged tattoos color his emaciated arms. He tries to speak under the clear plastic mask that is covering his nose and mouth. "I want to go to the VA", he wheezes out.

"You're a veteran?", I asked him. "Damn, straight", a bit of swagger now in his voice. I look at the EMT and motion to her that I'll take this call. We help him into the back of the ambulance, collecting up his used oxygen cylinder that he's been towing around the city behind him on a little aluminum dolly. It's empty.

In the back of the ambulance I fix his breathing issue and motion to the EMT to drive to another hospital but take our time about it. We set off.

My new friend spent several years in the post-Vietnam era Army, having served in Europe during the Cold War. I introduced myself as a retired "Army-guy" and then the conversation began. We talked about places that we had known, units that we served in, and friends that were all-but forgotten. It occurred to me that my friend probably doesn't get this sort of attention very much. Then he told me… he's been thinking about killing himself.

The conversation turned sad and grave. I struggled with so many things that I want to say to him. I want to help, to listen. In the back of my mind I made a note to let the hospital staff know, maybe they can do something for him.

In the end, I ensure that he's comfortable in the ER room. I shake his hand and give him a subtle, little salute. He smiles and thanks me. Later that night I watched him exit the ER, dragging his new oxygen bottle behind him into the night. I wish him well.

Faces Of The Past

2010-05-15T08:25:00.004-04:00

A Turkish woman permitted me to photograph her. I loved the serenity on her face.

I had this discussion with a physician friend of mine the other day. The great thing about being a paramedic is that we get to see our patients in their natural environments versus having them all packaged up and brought into the ER for those to treat. Almost every call that I get I end up entering someone's home, it's an extremely personal thing and one that I give great reverence to. More times than I can count I've desperately worked on a very sick man or woman while they lay in their own bed; looking over my shoulder I can't help but notice the pictures of the dresser. They are all the same; photos of my patient when they were in the prime of their life, healthy and happy; often times I see images of the loved ones that are standing in the room with me frantic about their sick or dying mother, father, grandparent. For me this is a privilege, something deeply personal not easily dismissed or forgotten.

Medicine Atop A Byzantine Church

2010-05-12T05:50:00.002-04:00

A bin full of plaster faces for sale at a roadside tourist stand.

I toured a Turkish hospital the other day, and as I walked around I spent some time with my feelings. The government-run hospital was crowded and a bit run-down, supplies were short but the staff was doing the best that it could with what little it had. Nasal cannulas and oxygen masks were in short supply, so they lay draped over old, blue O2 tanks waiting for the next customer. The lunch cart made its rounds with pots of colored liquid being ladled out onto trays. Patients lay on ancient looking aluminum beds in the hallways and rooms; it looked like what I envisioned an eastern bloc hospital to look like during the Soviet era.

My initial emotion was something just shy of contempt. I wondered why a modern nation had such an antiquated emergency department. Over time I softened and realized that they were practicing the best medicine that they could given the resources that they had to work with. The Turks are desperately trying to upgrade their emergency medical capabilities, after-all that was the purpose of the conference that I was lucky enough to attend.

I found out later that the construction of the new hospital was on hold because the intended site sits atop the ruins of a Byzantine church. I suppose that's not an issue that we have to deal with here in the United States. I wish them luck.

Random Thoughts From Turkey

2010-05-11T07:24:00.003-04:00

A Turkish woman sells bags of oranges at the site of some ancient Roman ruins. At first I didn't like the fence between us, but now think it adds something to the photo.

I spent the last week exploring parts of Turkey, country where I have very little experience. Most of my time was spent in the south along the Mediterranean Sea, but I was able to eek out a couple of days in Istanbul as well.Here are some general observations as I sit in Paris' Charles De Gaulle Airport (CDG) on my way back to Atlanta.

The first thing that comes to mind is Turkey is the cleanest country I've ever seen. I watched a man collect up a random piece of trash on a subway car, exit the car at a station simply to throw it away in the garbage bin, and then reenter the car to continue his journey.

Turkish is an evil language that resemblances no other form of communication used on this planet. I felt like a complete foreigner, unable to conjure up even the most basic of phrases.

The history of Istanbul is staggering. I should have read "Istanbul For Dummies" before I arrived.

The towns along the Mediterranean are replete with oddly dressed Russian tourists. I felt as if I were thrust back into the 1970's.

Turkish men are oddly pear-shaped.

Everyone wants to sell you something. It's starts off with a innocent shared experience of tea and then progresses to more pricey items.

Turkish Airlines cornered the market on turquoise leather seats.

Turkish food is very good but you may have to struggle to find a good bottle of wine.

Taxis are way over-priced, but in they are all relatively new and painted the same shade of "taxi-yellow".

Turkey is a progressive Muslim country, which I thought would be a good model for others to strive towards. People simply practiced their own beliefs and let others do the same, always being respectful toward one another.

Foggy At CDG

2010-05-11T07:07:00.002-04:00

An Istanbul market, lots of spices and strange foods.

I wrote this post, but failed to post it earlier:

Its a familiar feeling when I travel, but one I readily forget as soon as I return home. I board an airplane, have a meal, fall asleep, and wake up in a foreign land. My mind is foggy, even though the sun is up it's still 1:00 a.m. in my head. I debate whether I should try to sleep some more or acquiesce to my new time zone and start on the local version of caffeine.

Paris - Charles De Gaulle Airport (CDG), a monument to modern, glass and steel architecture. It's a cross-roads and people from all over the world move down the carpeted terminal, stepping over those that are not moving quite so much. I feel as if I'm the only one that does not speak French, highlighting the fact that I should have paid better attention in high school french class.

The French seem intent on selling you either a bottle of wine, cologne, or chocolate, lending credence to their reputations as world-class romantics. Duty Free, I've decided, would be a good place to bring your wife on a weekend get-away. Having said that, it took me twenty minutes and several stops to find a toothbrush. I guess the French have their priorities.

I'm off to Istanbul (IST) in a few hours, more to follow.

The Quickening

2010-05-04T06:39:00.001-04:00

Michael Jordon used to speak of being "in the zone", the perfect game where superior performance came effortlessly, everything just clicked. On occasion I have those workouts where it can only be described as magical. Yesterday's was one of those. A 12-mile run through the woods in the rain, only the sound of the water falling from the trees, the route partially hidden by mist up ahead. Zen practitioners call it being "in the moment", when you're there and there's nothing else, and also "everything else". The senses are alive as you become part of the forest, you are your environment not separate from it. It's an experience that is difficult to put down in words, at least for me, but once you feel it you crave it's return.

Off to Turkey today; Istanbul, Antalya, and Side

Affirmation

2010-05-03T08:08:00.000-04:00

Haitian girl looks back at the camera and smiles. I've said it before, but the Haitian people surprised me in their beauty, resilience, and spirit.

In the Port-au-Prince airport I ordered a Bloody Mary prior to boarding my morning flight back to the States. The Haitian girl at the restaurant wasn't sure of the exact cost, but thought that it was $6.00. I paid and contently walked back to my table with a mediocre Bloody Mary in my hands.

Ten minutes later the girl rushed over to my table, some distance away from the bar and apologetically thrust into my hand the $2.00 that she apparently over-charged me for the drink. I immediately gave her the $2.00 and thanked her for her honesty, a small price to pay for the affirmation that she bestowed upon me.

The Paramedic Process

2010-04-29T18:24:00.002-04:00

Another Haiti photo. I'm not sure if the scale was discarded of not, but it stood alone in the hospital street, seemingly neglected.

I've done eight straight nights on a 911 ambulance, and have spent a little time reflecting on my paramedic sprint. I don't remember their faces, and less so their names, but I remember their ailments. 65-year old man, hypoglycemia and profoundly diaphoretic; 56-year old man, severe asthma attack that I fixed in three minutes flat; 67-year old man with new onset a-fib that I diagnosed by feeling his radial pulse; a twenty something man that I knew was lying to me about drug use just by looking at his dilated pupils. After each run I would review the call in my head looking for mistakes, and there were plenty. I'd see a new medication that I had to look up, a symptom that I didn't catch, a blip on a 12-lead that was significant. Everything got looked up after the fact on my iPhone full of medical applications, mentally filed away for the next time that I see it. I was intent on each run making me a better medic. Being a paramedic is a process, I'm, seeing that now.

Seeing

2010-04-27T13:15:00.000-04:00

Also from Haiti. A woman walks along the street carrying her child closely to her. The little feet sticking our from the blanket make me sad in a way.

In the very early hours of the morning I sat parked in an ambulance at a truck stop and starred into the window of the late-night restaurant. I had little else to look at aside from my watch, counting the hours until I got off from work and could go home to my own bed.

Through the window I watched a very heavy-set African American woman, dressed in the cheap, red uniform, push a broom across the floor. If I were any place else I wouldn't have given it a second thought, but here I was a captive audience and couldn't help reflect on what I was witnessing. Dozens of questions flashed through my mind as I watched the thirty-something woman go about her manual tasks. Was this where she envisioned fifteen years ago that her life would end up? What does she dream of, aspire to, or has she resigned her life to where she is now? I couldn't help myself and tried to recreate her life in my mind, I wanted to project myself into her reality. What were her disappointments, her victories? What motivates her? Where, if at all, would she go back and change her life. Above all, was she happy? The questions kept coming and coming as I watched her through the grimy window.

I suppose my lesson was that everyone has a story, a life, a past, and a present. I for one am guilty of going through my days at times oblivious to those around me. I see people but I truly do not "see' them; the man crossing the street with his young son or the woman pushing the broom late at night. I suppose in many ways this is why I like 911 so much. For a brief moment in time it's just me in the back of the ambulance with another person, a chance to get to know someone on a deeper more compassionate level, other than just simply seeing them.

Not A Good Night For Humanity

2010-04-24T10:23:00.000-04:00

A photo from Haiti. A daughter watches over her father while waiting outside of the hospital "Emergency Room" tent in the heat of the day.

A 911 call came to us last night, respond to a convenience store only a few blocks from where my EMT partner and I were sitting. Within moments as we arrive to find four squad cars rocketing in and out of the parking lot, one of the officers is eagerly motioning for us to come inside and attend to the patient. I remember thinking that these guys are amp-ed up, this level of activity is normally reserved for gunshots.

An older Asian woman sits slumped on a stool with an obvious laceration under her eye. She's in quite a bit emotional and or physical pain. The story goes that a man came into the store, got himself a large cup of hot coffee and threw it onto the attendant's face. He then viciously punched her in the eye, grabbed the money out of the open drawer and fled through the front door.

As my EMT treated the lady I couldn't help but be moved by the degree of violence and inhumanity that had just taken place. Why would anyone do this and moreover, what was going through their mind? A question that I've wrestled with lately is, does everyone in the world consider themselves "deep-down a good person", conversely are there people that simply know that they are at-root evil and devoid of humanity and kindness? How can someone commit such a barbaric act and still view themselves as a "good person"? Sadly, I realized my answer last night.

Transitions

2010-04-21T07:59:00.002-04:00

IV bottles hang from a tree branch. Below, an adolescent boy lays dieing on a make-shift cot. I couldn't bring myself to shoot the the boy.

Coming home from a deployment is often difficult, especially when you wake-up in some desperate third world country and find yourself going to sleep that night in your own bed at home. The shock of abruptly moving between the two environments is often dramatic and catches many people by surprise. Aside from your dusty luggage you arrive home still emotionally invested in your previous environment. For me, I find myself being a bit quiet, withdrawn, hyper-sensitive to sights and smells, and with an overwhelming sense of being "off-balance".

I often counsel people that I work with to spend a night in a place that is in many respects half-way between the two; a place where they can decompress, have a world-class shower, a solid meal, and slowly turn the lights back up. Only slightly in jest, a good bottle of wine is also a great help.

Triage Notes

2010-04-15T09:05:00.001-04:00

Now a common sight on the Haitian streets.

Not all emergencies are created equal. The triage area of the Haitian hospital I've been working at is a busy and often ugly place. An elderly lady is vomiting frank blood into a clear plastic bag, a man has large pieces of his face missing and is bleeding badly onto a filthy rag. Next to them an agitated twenty-something man sits clutching a slightly angulated little finger… I know it was angulated because I looked REALLY closely. Mr. Hurt Pinky is motioning for me to treat his finger, his eyes beam impatience and frustration that he is not being promptly taken care of. "Why am I not at the head of the line?" I don't speak Creole so I point to the lady with the bag-o-blood in her feeble fingers and raise my hands in the international "are you serious?" gesture. He backs down… for a few minutes. This is "triage"… isn't that a French word, similar to Creole, that means bags of blood and missing faces come before hurt pinkies?

Not The Sole Providence Of The Strong

2010-04-13T12:32:00.002-04:00

A mother holds her child in one of the hospital's pediatric tents

Again, last night I worked in the hospital's emergency room, my task was to suture lacerations as they came in; I was certainly not at a loss for work. I trolled the triage area looking for anyone with a bloody dressing; a quick examination and I would usher them into my little work area within the tent.

Sitting on the pew-like benches was a tiny girl atop her father's lap. She held a stained piece of cloth over her forehead with her own hand. She couldn't have been more than 5-years old. As I took a gentle look I silently prayed that I would be able to stick a Band-Aid on it and send her happily on her way. This was not the case, she had a 4 cm "lac" to her forehead that was going to require a few interrupted sutures. I cringed at the thought of having to cause this innocent little girl further pain in her life.

I took them both back into the tent and laid her down on a worn cot so that I could get a better look using my headlamp, often the only light source that we have at night. She was stoic, unafraid, staring at me with a look of curiosity, almost daring me to assault her bravery. I wanted to sit a bit with her before I had to inject her with a syringe of lidocaine which is often the most painful part of the procedure. We smiled at one another, she played with my light, and I patted her on the head. The interpreter explained to her that it was going to sting a bit, but try to remain still.

She closed her eyes as the steel needle sunk into the gaping wound, not so much as a wince. Her face remained calm and passive almost as if she were asleep. Her bravery penetrated me, this 5-year old girl, in the face of something that would make me cringe, laid there determined to be brave.

It took only a few minutes to place the three sutures, but not even so much as a whimper. In the end I touched her forehead and told her "finished"; her eyes fluttered open… a smile from me to her. Little fingers reached up to explore the new dressing. Her father thanked me and he scooped her up in her arms and disappeared down the dark street. Bravery is not the sole providence of the strong.

Moments For The Soul

2010-04-12T11:26:00.005-04:00

A bit of commotion in the ICU tent early in the evening as some of the American staff were scurrying around. A young boy, maybe ten or eleven, had taken a 10-foot fall onto the ground; upon further investigation it became a 50-foot fall. In the center of maelstrom were two Americans, an ex-football player now trauma surgeon and an anesthesiologist; both were desperately attempting to obtain needed laboratory results in order to get the boy into emergency surgery.

An ancient hand-litter was found abandoned in the corner; the surgeon and I hurriedly carried the boy through the obstacle course of patients, beds, tents, and doorways into the operating room. Along side the litter the boy's father struggled to keep up; his calloused hand resting on the tiny chest. A panicked voice in the dark muttered, "son, son, son" over and over again trying desperately to communicate with his little boy.

To describe the operating room would be it's own post, but suffice it to say the only word that I can find is, "medieval"; only a handful of dim florescent lights, stacks of disorganized supplies, and a few pieces of dysfunctional equipment. The boy was dying.

A Haitian surgeon appeared while the boy was being intubated and "put to sleep". The new arrival could plainly see in the American's eyes that he was "assisting" on this one. With only a single patent IV line an incision was rapidly made in the little boy's abdomen, fluid erupted from his belly in staggering amounts. I left, there was nothing more I could do, it was in the hands of the surgeon.

Hours later I learned that the boy had died. The surgeon, standing by himself in the street's shadows, was clearly alone within his thoughts. What struck me was the emotional investment on the part of the burly American, a man who likely had faced death and dying countless times in his life. My image of the quintessential 'trauma surgeon', the gods on earth that are the definition of stoic, precise executors of their science/art was immediately burst. A moment that has become a part of my soul for the remainder of my life.

Rules To Live By

2010-04-11T12:36:00.000-04:00

A young Haitian girl stands outside one of the hospital pediatric tents.

There's an art to living on top of people, one which I suspect actually gets taught in naval submarine schools and fire academies. My existence for this trip to Haiti has been highlighted by the return of communal sleeping conditions to my life, something that I've not experienced since my days in Special Forces. I fear that I've grown accustom to 5-star hotel suites with multiple flat screens and ocean views. Those that know me are laughing right now.

The group that I'm with on this trip is camped out in a small, open room with 15-20 thinly mattress-ed metal frames placed within a foot of one another. My personal space extends from my bunk to 6-inches on every direction; I am the master of my kingdom.

The first and really only rule is to be overly considerate. Here are some things to think about:

No unnecessary banging around of things during sleep hours. Even the slightest rustling of stuff can be annoying to those that are trying to sleep.
iPods can be heard by neighbors, also typing on keyboards. Take it elsewhere.
Be mindful of your neighbor's kingdom… no border excursions however unintentional.
Keep your things packed and neat. You're not setting up house - it's temporary.
Flush the toilet. Even if there's no water in the tank, that's what the big barrel of water and bucket are for sitting right next to it. The water goes in the bowl, not the tank. Also, in most third world bathrooms- the paper goes in the trash not the bowl. Get used to it.
Learn to love cold water bucket showers. Close your eyes an imagine a tropical waterfall. It lessens the shock.
Personal hygiene. It's not a competition to see how nasty we can all be. Wash yourself, especially your hands as often as you can.
Pick-up communal spaces, and especially don't leave stuff for others to have to deal with. Leave it cleaner than you found it. Pack it out baby!!
Pitch in, pitch in, pitch in. Someone has to take the trash out and sweep the floors. You know it needs to get done. Don't ignore it.
Keep valuables secured. You never know who will come strolling though your living spaces, and other cultures look differently upon opportune acquisitions than we do in the west.
Share electrical outlets.

Watching

2010-04-10T15:55:00.001-04:00

I've spent the last several nights working in a Haitian emergency room along side some very talented and caring physicians and nurses. Last night an unconscious man was brought in by car and carefully laid on a stretcher outside our rain-soaked tent. Dressed in mud-soaked jeans and a worn t-shirt he had simply collapsed while crossing the street. His family brought him to us. There was no neurologic function, his blood pressure was very high, and his heart rate was slow; all indications that he had burst a blood vessel in his head. There was nothing that we could do for the man.

The family listened intently as the news was passed through a Creole translator. They asked if there was some machine that we could put him on, some medication that they could procure that might give him a chance to come back to them. "We're sorry, there is really nothing we can do". The family went away to get some other clothes so that their father/friend/husband didn't have to die in wet jeans and a soiled t-shirt.

He lay there and I watched. All night, breath after breath… I watched. I watched as the man took his last breath, nothing more than a small gasp really. It stopped raining; I left the tent to get some coffee.

Happines Has Many Forms

2010-03-28T09:05:00.001-04:00

What makes people angry? Lately I've encountered more than my monthly quota of angry people, and have had to endure their rants and raves about everyone in their life that has caused them grief. I listen to stories of liars, cheats, idiots, and thieves as the tellers recount their woes, blaming the world for all of the ills that have effected them. I attempt to offer counsel, but it's evident that the grieved do not want it. Instead they're happy to wallow in their own mud hole, as if it gives them a raison d'être; their life is defined by their own anger, they don't seek nor even desire peace.

Happiness, it seems, comes in many forms. Maybe to some, attention seeking through anger is their form of true happiness, giving them the peace of being surrounded by consoling and attentive "friends". They reach out with their anger like a fisherman casts a line hoping that someone will pay attention and offer the attention that they are looking for. I can't do it. I can't find the compassion within me yet to allow myself to strike at the line and be netted into their world of drama. Instead I ignore, telling myself that this is truly what they need, my inattention is therapeutic for them. That, it appears, is the lie that I tell myself.

Restraint

2010-03-22T17:12:00.002-04:00

A drainage cover on a Chicago street. Not particularly interesting, but I like the colors.

I know an explosion when I hear one, and that was an explosion. Within a few minutes, a wail of sirens in the distance as the firetrucks and ambulance approach. My neighbor's car has spontaneously caught fire and clouds of black, greasy smoke rise above the rooftops.

My first thought is to drive around the block and ensure that everyone is alright, both my medical kit and my camera pretty much stay in my Jeep just for this reason. When I arrive the fire department is already working on the car, and everyone, it turns out, is just fine. I watch the blaze, instinctively wanting to reach for my camera but 'am halted by the fear of trampling on the sensitivities of my neighbor. I project myself into his place, how would I feel if my car were engulfed in flames and my neighbor was happily shooting photographs of it? Yes, restraint is called for; I let my camera lie.

How is my neighbor any different than anyone else that I take photos of? I make my way into their world, often uninvited, and proceed to shoot their moments of great emotion, loss, elation, pain, happiness, etc. I'm not good at that, I believe that I'm far too sensitive of others feelings to impose myself. This is why I would make a lousy photojournalist.

Coffeebreak

2010-03-19T09:31:00.005-04:00

I'm in "my office" this morning known to most people as Starbucks Coffee, and while this is my office, Barnes & Noble is "my church". I come here to read, write, edit photos, and watch people, the last is my most favorite pastime.

This morning people are lined up three-deep at the counter ordering every sort of caffeinated concoction, feeding the American coffee culture. This fascination with coffee is not something that we necessarily share in large degree with the rest of the world.

Many years ago I was living in Santiago, Chile doing the bidding of Queen and country, and in Chile, like most LATAM countries at the time, coffee came in tiny cups that looked like they were part of a little girl's tea set. The Chileans just didn't eat much of a breakfast so the idea of morning coffee was a bit foreign to them. Coffee was something that allowed them to stay up into the wee hours attending dinner parties.

Down the street from my apartment, not far from the U.S. Embassy (a brilliant idea) a Dunkin Donuts prepared to open for business; this would be the country's first, and I can't describe the excitement that streaked through Santiago's ex-pat community.

On the first day that the shop was open I steered clear because the line was outrageous. Ex-pats wanted a taste of home, and Chileans were morbidly curious as to what the excitement was all about. From all accounts it was an authentic Dunkin Donuts and the Americans, especially those from the northeast, were beside themselves with glee.

The very next day I made sure that I was first in-line when the door opened in the morning. I strode in all giddy and excited to have my first massive styrofoam cup in well-over a year of American-style joe. I placed my order, however the Chilean attendant frowned and told me that the coffee wasn't hot yet, pointing to the urn positioned underneath the brand new brewer. I politely asked him how that was possible, as "The coffee comes out hot", I exclaimed . He tapped the metal urn and said, "No, todaiva no". It then hit me, he had left last night's coffee in the urn and had simply turned on the hotplate and was waiting for it to get hot. Yea, I can see we still have a ways to go.

Past Mosaics

2010-03-17T15:52:00.007-04:00

Oriental rugs for sale

We went on a 911 call last night to a lady that had fallen. I let my EMT partner run the call as it was well-within his scope of practice, and I was content to drive the ambulance to the hospital. Sitting next to me during the 10-minute drive was the patient's brother, an older African American man who struck me as being both very pleasant and very supportive of his sister.

A conversation ensued and I discovered that the gentleman had spent over 15-years working for the U.S. Postal Service, however prior to that he had retired from the U.S. Army after twenty years of military service; that was our common link and became the subject of a short conversation.

What struck me was that my new friend didn't wear his military service nor his time spent in Vietnam on his sleeve. He confessed that it was his goal when he retired to leave that part of his life behind and to look forward to other new adventures and opportunities. My friend did not want to be one of those retirees that spent the remainder of his life in the VFW reliving his past; identifying and labeling himself as a veteran for all to see. He believed that if he did so his entire identity as a person would be contingent on something that he had done many, many years ago and not on who he was today.

I listened to the wisdom of this man seated next to me in the shadows of the ambulance, and it was as if he were speaking for me as well. Like him, it was my fervent wish when I left the military; no U.S. Army Retiree baseball caps, no veterans license plates. It was my life then and now it's not. It's that simple.

This is not to say that people should not be justifiably proud of their accomplishments in life, but don't let them become your sole identity. We're all so much more than what we did in the past. A better measure may be what we are doing right now.

Change

2010-03-16T00:53:00.002-04:00

I've changed the template and the layout of the blog, it's the first time that I've done so since it's inception three years ago. I have no eye for graphic design so thankfully there are templates to choose from.

I was never a huge fan of change, but over the years I've come to almost ignore it. Everything changes; not for the good or the bad, it just does. It's not the change that's good or bad, but rather the qualitative value that people want to hang around it's neck. If we could stop evaluating, categorizing, naming, or judging things I think we all would certainly find greater happiness.

Karma At Barnes & Noble

2010-03-15T10:08:00.003-04:00

As I was walking into Barnes & Noble yesterday afternoon a young African American woman approached the door at the same time from the opposite direction. She was nicely dressed in jeans, a colorful shirt, and knee-high boots. Just as she approached the entrance a voice cried out in a leering tone, "You're awesome! I'm married, but you're just awesome. Come over here for a second and talk to me". A middle-aged African American man was leaning up against the wall, obviously waiting for someone, but the girl just continued on her way and eventually entered the store.

I felt sorry for her and the the fact that she had to endure that sort of treatment from a complete stranger on the street. Why did the man feel it was appropriate or acceptable to speak to anyone that way? I wonder what he would say if someone approached his wife or daughter like that. "Wow", I thought, "your karma sucks." Then I realized that it wasn't just his. He affects how that woman, and probably countless others, view men, of which I'm included. So his karma is now linked to mine. When I realized that, I opened the door for the woman and apologized that she had to endure that sort of treatment. Can we delink our karma from others? I don't think so. What one person does, affects us all. Please smile at the next person you see, because that guy at Barnes & Noble is going to need all of the help he can get.

Random Thoughts From A Himalayan Cave

2010-03-13T16:45:00.009-05:00

Door knocker on the door of a Chicago Chinese restaurant

I've spent the last several days pretty much by myself, which is generally a good thing for me. I'm not a very social person, and would do very well in a Himalayan cave meditating for eight years. To that end, here are some random thoughts.

- I don't like zoos. While I understand the purposes; money, research, and display. I think we as humans can do better.

- BRicks (Bike-Run, ick!) workouts are the bane of most triathletes, and I dislike them as much as anybody, but they're a necessary evil for me this year as my bike-to-run transitions suck.

- I need to go to the zendo tomorrow morning and sit… a lot.

- Matt Damon's Green Zone is a good movie, and I enjoyed it very much. I like Matt as an actor.

- Paramedics need to think clinically and have a good medical reason to "collar and board" a patient. Mechanism alone is not enough.

- Chain sushi restaurants tend to be not very authentic and not very good.

- I like Barnes & Noble's electronic book reader, the Nook very much. I'm an Amazon Kindle owner, but am considering trading up.

- I don't understand why funeral processions have the right of way and are allowed to inconvenience hundreds of people along the route. Certainly this wasn't the deceased's last wish? I want to pass the deceased in my car, not drive over him.

- I need to go fly fishing but the Chattahoochee River is too swollen with all of the recent rains. I'm not a good enough fly fisherman to lure a trout out of a fast-flowing, murky river.

- I need to call my parents.

Just Live A Good Life

2010-03-13T08:04:00.006-05:00

I had a conversation with a life-long city EMS medic a while back and we were speaking about traveling. He told me that during his fifteen years of EMS that his one great regret was that he had never really ventured very far away from his native city, certainly not overseas. We exchanged stories over coffee and he confided in me that he was actually envious of my life; that I spend it traveling from one distant land to another, having the chance to see so many places and their people.

I've been down this road before and cautioned my friend that everything has it's downside. He looked at me quizzically as I pointed out that he has the luxury of coming home every night to his family, his wife and kids, never missing a single birthday, a ball game, or a school play. In many ways it was I who was envious of his life, doing what he loved and sleeping in his own bed every night.

As the morning coffee ended I think that each of us realized that we were both doing exactly what we wanted to do, however no life is perfect. Everything has it's upsides and its downs, and not everyone's DNA is programed to explore the world and conversely not to remain static. Each has it's own goals and aspirations, neither bad nor good, just to live a good life.

Chicago

2010-03-11T18:11:00.003-05:00

Chicago-style houses. What a great city!

I spent a few days in Chicago this past week, a city that I don't have a lot of exposure to. I made it a point to walk around a little bit and explore with my camera. I wanted to shoot in RAW, which is an uncompressed image file direct from the subject right to the data card on my camera. The RAW files are large, but have a lot of detail, and I wanted to see the difference between RAW and JPEG. I also played around with some other settings on the camera, as well as the new version of Apple Aperture to edit. The result was 120 shutter snaps and six shots that I edited and liked, well below my average. Maybe I'm becoming more selective.

I enjoyed Chicago immensely, it reminded me of a much bigger Boston, as city that you really want to walk around and explore. I was impressed with the number of athletes there, the running and biking trails were full of early-morning athletes braving the frigid downpour. I need to come back again.

2010-03-07T16:56:00.005-05:00

My Path

2010-03-07T13:16:00.005-05:00

I got an email from a wonderful friend of mine the other day asking about Buddhism. I typed my response to his questions, and later thought that it may, in some way, assist others that had similar questions. I'm by no means an expert, so your mileage may vary.

Zen, or more generally, Buddhism is many things to many people. For some it's a religion, for others its a personal philosophy. The great thing about Buddhism is that it doesn't care one way or the other. No one will ever tell you what to believe; this is right and this is wrong, this is good and this is evil; Buddhism lets you make those decisions for yourself.

As far as books, there are a plethora; most of which are very ethereal and difficult to understand for the brand new lay practitioner. Having said that, my favorite book in this whole world is Lama Surya Das', Awakening the Buddha Within. I read this book every year, and while Surya Das is a very practiced Buddhist he only uses Buddhism as a framework to find greater spirituality in one's life. So it's really applicable to everyone that is seeking. Surya Das' book serves as a great primer for Buddhism and how it can fit into and augment your daily life. That's my number one recommendation.

As stupid as you may think it is, Buddhism for Dummies or Idiots is a good book to sort of help you make sense of the larger things that you may see or feel. In other words, what is the difference between Soto Zen, Rinzai Zen and say Tibetan Buddhism? It helps you understand the major muscle movers.

I'm just back from Haiti, now working on the ambulances for a few days before I jet off to Mexico for a few months. Good luck in your search.... I hope that you find nothing (Zen koan).

-eric

Los Chilenos

2010-03-04T06:52:00.004-05:00

The jury is still out as to what exactly this is. I saw it buried in the woods as I was driving down an Atlanta country road during a "snow storm". It was like seeing Bigfoot.

Just as I was loading my final dirty clothes from Haiti into the washing machine , Chile happened, and I considered the possibilities of immediately deploying to the new earthquake zone. After five weeks in Haiti the prospect was not that appealing, besides I was on Daddy duty all week while wife attended an out-of -town conference.

I lived in Chile for over a year and have traveled what seems like every mile of that country, from it's Antarctic base in the south (I concede that it's not sovereign territory) to the salt flats of the north near the Peruvian boarder. Chile is not Haiti. The Chileans are no strangers to natural disasters and are well-prepared to respond to them as evidenced by rapid mobilization of it's military and world-class police force. In Haiti, I didn't see any public security on the streets for three weeks, in Chile they are in every media shot coming out of the disaster.

Granted the Chilean quake was of a different nature than Haiti's, but even so the damage was minimized with strong construction techniques, disaster preparedness plans, and superior medical capabilities. I would venture to say that aside from the west coast of the United States, and the country of Japan, Chile is one of the most well-prepared countries in the world to deal with earthquakes. Bien hecho los Chilenos.

In The Blink Of An Eye

2010-03-02T13:17:00.002-05:00

Cameraman captures explosion near Baghdad's Green Zone

A shopping plaza sits just off the highway in southern Atlanta's neighborhood of Camp Creek, an area that is almost all upper-middle income African American families. It's on my way home from picking up my son from school, so we stop into Barnes & Noble to do his homework and maybe a quick breeze through the pet store to look at the reptiles; he's six.

On the way into the pet store a man crosses the parking lot and heads towards the store entrance as well. My spider-sense starts to tingle, this guy doesn't belong. He's white and disheveled looking, two things that make him stand out among the normal cliental. He's not a laborer on his way home from work, and his gait is way too strong and purposeful.

In an instant I switch over, my senses heighten, and I'm totally aware of EVERYTHING. We enter the store and head to the back, moments later the man appears again, brushing past me as I move between him and my son. As he walks up the isle away from me he does an odd little twitch with his right elbow that is a common tell-tale sign of someone that is carrying a gun that is not used to doing so. Time to go. I grab my son by the hand, located the man in the store surveillance mirrors, and find the best way out to the car and away.

In the car I tried to explain to my son why we left so quickly, but it was beyond him. I took stock in how quickly I switched over, all of a sudden I was in Haiti, Baghdad, Colombia . It all came on like a flash of light; skills, senses, angles, egress, contingencies, it was game-on in the blink of an eye.

The Un-Buddhist

2010-03-01T09:04:00.002-05:00

When people find out that I'm a practicing Buddhist they're a little surprised, I suppose because I don't fit their image or notion of what a Buddhist should be like or even act like. That alone is an issue, but not for me to wrestle with here. I normally respond to their quizzical looks with, "What?!! I have the haircut."

People's preconceived ideas of what Buddhism is or isn't is actually a source of great humor for me. Practicing Buddhists are seen, at least in many minds, as peaceful, stoic, and deeply thoughtful, but I'm here to tell you, 'that ain't me'. My wife often chides me about being the most un-Buddhist Buddhist that she has ever known; of course I think I'm the ONLY Buddhist she has ever known for what it's worth.

Being a Buddhist, in my very uninformed opinion, does not make you emotionless, its exactly the opposite. Emotions are very intense and well-felt. When I'm happy, I'm happy; when I feel saddened by something, I'm sad. It's that simple. I think the difference is that I don't carry those emotions around with me for days on end, letting them dictate my thoughts and actions. Emotions are like a house-guest, when they're present they get all of your attention, and when they leave… they're gone.

As far as being 'deeply thoughtful' is concerned… not so much :)

No Straight Lines Before June

2010-02-28T08:59:00.000-05:00

It's time to get back on the bike again, as I haven't been in the saddle since I dismounted my Cervelo back in August during Ironman. At that time I handed my bike off to a race volunteer and quietly bid it good riddance after spending so many long months it it.

My yearly bike training always starts with the same routine; working through Troy Jacobson's Spinerval training DVDs. I've found that there is nothing better to get you to come out crazy-strong in the Springtime than the Competition Spinerval series coupled with some work in the weight room. Of course the issue is that once I finally do get on the road my bike handling skills are rubbish. I'm able to maintain some very high wattage but can't ride in a straight line until June. Let the adventure begin.

Editing For The Future

2010-02-27T09:25:00.001-05:00

A little girl in the hospital in Cange, Haiti. An average shot that I spent some time editing, and now think is fairly presentable.

I've been photo-editing for the past 24 hours or so, playing with an Apples Aperture upgrade from 1.5 to 3.0. It's a nifty piece of software that lets me do things within my editing capabilities, and while I have Adobe's Photoshop, it's just bigger and more robust that I really need. It's been exciting to walk through so many photographs, to venture backwards in time and remember people and places through some of the shots that I'm revisiting.

Photography is doing exactly what I hoped it would do, documenting the things that I've seen and people that I've met along my path of travel. In my past life I never took a single photograph or came home with any memorabilia; twenty years of traveling the globe and I had little to show for it other than memories and some good bar stories. Now that I'm shooting my children and grandchildren will be able to look at some of my shots and see the same things that I did, stand where I stood, and feel the same emotions of the moment. This makes me happy.

Finding My Feet

2010-02-25T19:23:00.005-05:00

I saw this shot and of a girl on the streets of Port-au-Prince and it absolutely floored me

Today was the first time that I've ever come directly home from a deployment to a third-world country, as the normal practice is to spend a day or so someplace decompressing before you introduce yourself back home to your family. I landed in Miami airport today, directly from Port-au-Prince, and the first thing that I noticed is that it smelled of perfume, a foreign smell to most parts of Haiti these days.

Even after arriving in Atlanta I had an overwhelming sense of un-balance, a feeling of being overwhelmed and even foreign. I know that after I get a full-night's sleep that I'll be better in the morning, but in the meantime I'm continuing to try to get my feet firmly underneath me.

Happy Birthday to my 6-year old son today!!!

Aftershocks

2010-02-24T06:04:00.003-05:00

The cathedral in Port-au-Prince; the destruction is immense. Worshipers are camped out around the building throughout the day and night, although I'm uncertain what they pray for.

We've been having a lot of aftershocks lately. I'm not a seismologist, so I can't say for certain that's what they are, but they seem to come at night and violently rip you from your sleep. Night after night they've been getting stronger and stronger making me consider things before I go to sleep at night, like do I have a clear path to the door? How many steps is it to the exit, and what if anything should I bring with me? What are the alternate ways to outside and how do I get to them? I've seen too many flattened buildings, to include hotels, not to have these weigh heavily on my mind.

I leave on Thursday morning.

Fist-Bumps and Missing Teeth

2010-02-22T18:15:00.001-05:00

A long day today, I spent most of it in a hospital west of the city looking at a variety of post-earthquake patients who had lost limbs. One little boy in particular captured my attention. He had recently lost his right leg above the knee and was learning to use his new crutches. From what I could gather he had lost all of his family; he was 9-years old and alone in the world. I saw him and we immediately bonded, he awkwardly shuffled his crutches around so he could return my fist-bump. He got it done; his name was Sebastian.

As we stood there side-by-side in the sticky Haitian heat; he looked up at me and smiled, he was missing his two front teeth. I took comfort in the fact that they fell out naturally and finally there was something that was not a result of the earthquake. I remember thinking, if there were any kid that I would adopt and take away from this place it would be my resilient little hero balancing on a set of crutches next to me. My thoughts went back to the starfish parable; I can save this one.

In the end, we exchanged fist-bumps and toothless smiles. I silently said a little blessing wishing Sabastian well and walked away. I want to go home.

Not Soon To Forget

2010-02-20T16:52:00.000-05:00

I spent the morning in a 77,000-man tent city that was occupying what used to be a country club golf course. The irony of the once manicured lawns now housing Haiti's most desperate was not lost on me.

To describe what a tent city is like is next to impossible, at least for me and my limited literary skills. The heat was unbearable as we struggled up hill after hill making our way down tiny alleys between the makeshift dwellings constructed of plastic tarps, dirty sheets, and sticks. Children played in the filth and dust as parents sold packs of gum or candy in front of their "tents". Inside, behind the plastic, were the family's entire possessions; a mud-covered mattress, a handful of dented pots, and some soiled blankets.

The smell of rotting garbage, urine, and human and animal feces all combined in the baking Haitian sun to form an oder like nothing I've ever experienced in my lifetime. Flies picked at my face and body until I couldn't take it anymore, and I certainly didn't want to think about were the flies had just come from. The children smiled but the adults mumbled the same pleas for help over and over, reaching out to you with dirty, emaciated fingers trying to touch your arm to get your attention. This is a degree of misery that I've never seen before, and have vowed to not soon forget. No words that I can craft are capable of describing the human suffering witnessed today.

Photogs Up Close

2010-02-19T03:37:00.001-05:00

One of the really good things that has come out of my experience in Haiti is that I've had the opportunity to mingle with and observe dozens of professional photojournalists. These guys and gals go out every day and document the thousands of stories, and then come back to the hotel and sit around the bar selecting, editing, and sending their work around the world. It's been an unbelievable opportunity and privilege to watch this process up close.

As I sit here there are several photogs looking over their day's shots on small MacBooks, and editing in Photoshop. They're serious and pensive within the process, and once the work is fed they grab a beer and relax for the remainder of the evening. The ever-present question is how long they should stay, when does the story run out?

Here is what I've noticed from the photog community:

Most use Cannon cameras, normally two, one slung on each shoulder
Photo vests are for PSDs. Security ruined the vests for photogs. Now its backpacks.
They all seem to edit in Photoshop
There is not a lot of sharing or viewing other's shots, but they will show you if asked
Way too much smoking going on during the editing process
NGOs pay better than magazines
There's a difference between shooting art and news
During the moment, hold the hammers down, try to stay in composition and focus
All have agents they send their photos through
Macs are the laptops of choice
Skype gets them back home at bedtime
The average salary is extremely hard-earned. This life comes at a price.

Reality Break

2010-02-18T15:03:00.000-05:00

Incongruent scenes in Haiti

There is a film crew set up at the pool that has been filming a local television commercial all day. The scene depicts a sort of goofy man in pool attire with iPod, sun glasses and drink sitting on a toweled lounge chair next to the pool. Given the degree of suffering in Haiti I find the image almost obscene, completely incongruent with reality. It then struck me that this is how most of us live our everyday lives, divorced from the reality that surrounds us. We are so wrapped up in our dreams or desires of pool-side scenes, or memories of our last vacation that we miss what is going on right here and now. What a great commercial it turned out to be!!

A Little Bit Of Planning Goes A Long Way

2010-02-17T07:58:00.000-05:00

A man waits in the Haitian sun to be seen General Hospital

Yesterday was a lot of waiting around, the bane of the security world. Most of the my productive day was spent at the airport with a client waiting for their Gulfstream G300 to come in from Florida to take them back to Miami. When it finally landed it was full of nine medical people and about a thousand pounds of supplies. What people fail to realize is that Port-au-Prince is a barely functioning airport; there are no ground or baggage services. As a result the nine newly arrived medical guys and their pile-o-stuff just sat on the tarmac waiting to get blown away by the next jet that came by. I had to laugh as it was evident that the group had failed to plan for even this most basic of contingency. I would have helped by my job was to get my client on that aircraft so they could leave... and that I did. When I left the crew was trying to man-handle a luggage cart across the active ramp to load up their 1,000 lbs of bags, boxes, and water as a Canadian C-17 was baring down on them.

Rock Star

2010-02-16T08:18:00.004-05:00

Children hanging out on a rubble pile over-looking the street below

I spent much of the day riding around looking at neighborhoods that I hadn't seen before. I bought a case of Coca-Cola in cool, old-style bottles for $14, and a couple of bottles of Argentine wine for $8 apiece, all of which I thought was reasonable. Weeks ago a case of bottled water ran me $32!

Again, some homes are rubble piles while others are untouched. The locals say that it's because people wanted to have the largest and most ostentatious house at the lowest price, and as a result they skimped on construction materials. I'd like to say that it's karma, but I believe that stupidity, greed, and ego would be a better explanation.

Another common occurrence was that someone would build a two-story dwelling and open a small store on the ground floor while living on the second floor. As the store became more prosperous the family began to add floors to the building, many more than the structure was designed for. It was not uncommon for these buildings to rise seven or even eight floors and house generations of the family.

This shot was just naturally perfect. I loved it the second I took it.

In my travels yesterday I visited a children's mission where I was witness to hundreds of pre-school and school-aged Haitian children sitting in wooden classrooms doing their assignments with stubby pencils. I walked in and was greeted by a thunderous roar from the kids. I asked if I could take a few pictures and broke out my flash. As I snapped the first shot and the flash fired the kids erupted in a thunderclap of glee. It was not long before I felt like a rock star with all of the cheering and shouting on my behalf. So this is what its like to be Sting.

The Difference A Wall Makes

2010-02-15T08:24:00.005-05:00

I'm sitting in the hotel restaurant having just woken up, taken a hot shower, eaten a full breakfast and now seated down in the cafe with a wireless connection and my third cup of warm coffee. Barely 100 yards away, on the other side of the hotel's wall is a massive tent city where there are thousands of inhabitants, living like insects, constructing homes with whatever they can find, washing once a week out of a bucket of muddy water along side the road. At night there are no lights, only dimly flickering candles that cast shadows of sleeping children within the "tents", most laying on torn-up cardboard boxes, covered with a sheet to keep the mosquitoes away.

I stood at the media live-shot position last night that uses the tent city as a back-drop, and could help but be struck at the vast differences in existence; in essence, the difference a wall makes.

One Little Boy and a Starfish

2010-02-14T14:40:00.005-05:00

One little boy sits amid a tent city of thousands

With the immensity of Haiti's destruction, I often wonder if my efforts are futile. A close friend offered the following...

One morning an elderly man was walking on a nearly deserted beach. He came upon a boy surrounded by thousands and thousands of starfish. As eagerly as he could, the youngster was picking them up and throwing them back into the ocean.

Puzzled, the older man looked at the young boy and asked, "Little boy, what are you doing?"

The youth responded without looking up, "I'm trying to save these starfish, sir."

The old man chuckled aloud, and queried, "Son, there are thousands of starfish and only one of you. What difference can you make?"

Holding a starfish in his hand, the boy turned to the man and, gently tossing the starfish into the water, said, "It will make a difference to that one!"

A Compasionate Moment

2010-02-13T09:26:00.005-05:00

A husband sleeps next to his wife's bed as she slowly recovers from her wounds. It's the family members that are providing the vast majoring of the care here in post-earthquake Haiti.

Late at night I walk through the hospital checking on patients as they sleep on stained cots, their family members are laying on the ground next to them. I'm constantly approached by panicked family members begging me in very broken English to come and look at their loved ones. They grab at my hand and plead, "Doctor, doctor...please come. Come please". I fight to be compassionate, but the urge to dismiss their concerns is strong. I follow a "real physician" into the shadows of a darkened tent, a single candle burns on a rickety table covered with medical refuse from the day before. I watch the physician deal with the panicked father/son/brother as it's evident that the cause of his angst was an IV bag that has run it's course. The physician smiles and pats the man's shoulder telling him as best that he can through a smile and a gesture that it's OK. The man relaxes and I'm standing there in awe. Certainly the physician is medically talented, but to be able to muster that sort of focused compassion amidst all of the suffering was truly inspiring for me. Simply awesome.

Making Do

2010-02-11T17:01:00.001-05:00

I've been spending the last couple of days working in a Haitian hospital, needless to say the conditions are pretty desperate. There is an army of healthcare professionals that has descended on this country, bringing with them countless tons of medical supplies. Still the conditions remain austere and physicians, paramedics and nurses must often scrounge around to find the appropriate equipment to do their jobs. It's forcing us to think harder, to make due without, and to improvise with what we have on-hand. More often than not the availability of supplies and equipment dictate what procedures we can and cannot do for the patient. We don't run a lot of labs, only those that are absolutely essential. We may not have the appropriate sized catheter or even the next one up or down: we'll make the one that we have work. No laryngoscope blades? Time to refresh ourselves on digital intubation. This is austere medicine at its finest, and it's challenging our knowledge and inventiveness, and in the end making us all better physicians and medics.

A Shared Existence

2010-02-09T17:02:00.006-05:00

A boyfriend or husband helps a girl place a basket on her head so that she can walk the streets and sell their fruit.

There's a current rush by organizations and companies to get into Haiti and plant their flag, to show that they were here as part of the international relief effort. Some of these organizations treat this as a windfall public relations opportunity, swooping in to grab some video footage for their website or fund raising campaign, and then retreating back to where they came from. Certainly this is not true of every organization working in Haiti, but it is still very prevalent among security companies, recovery organizations, and even some church-based relief. I find this sad in a way, and it angers me a bit, but I suppose it's their karma that they will have to deal with. On some other level it is all of our karma, we reap what we sow, and in the end we are all responsible together.

The Other Side Of The Line

2010-02-09T07:33:00.004-05:00

Two young girls living in a tent shanty-town

I've traveled back to Haiti, this time with my camera and MacBook Pro. I just need to get out and shoot a bit. From what I've seen, this city can occupy a photographer for a lifetime. The street scenes are rich with humanity and color, and there seems no end to interesting subjects.

Everyone asks me what I think of the Haitian people and I always tell the same story, that of every Haitian smiles and waves back at you. Maybe I'm simple, but I really like this aspect of the country; it's something that is becoming rare in the United States. The more jaded of the population claim that Haitians only smile if you have something in your hand. Maybe that's so, but my hands are rarely empty so I can't prove the theory.

I can't describe the destruction, part of me actually refuses to even try. The story here is life; the fact that people, everyone, have lost loved ones and still continue to endure. I have to admit that before coming to Haiti I was pretty down on the country and it's people. How can a single island be divided by an arbitrary line, and one half prosper while the other remains mired in desperation and suffering? Over time I've come to admire the people who live and struggle on this side of the line, they endure, rebuild, and move on.