I chose that to headline for this list of mediation wisdoms that resonated with me while reading A Practical Guide to Buddhist Meditation.
I use it because the list will only make sense if you’ve practiced meditation before, or at least you will recognize the wisdom in them. It is like having someone explain the punch line of a joke to you in a way. If you don’t get it the first time you ain’t gonna laugh the second time.
I am not a serious resource on mediation by any means, but I view my writing as part of a larger “meditative practice,’ so that is my context for the list below. I hope they find the punch line in your meditative practice; however you chose to apply it.
All the elements of a positive sense are already there within us
The wisdom is not to be found somewhere out there; it cannot be learned. It is a direct experience of ourselves and our true nature (Example: I replace wisdom with writing here)
Over time we may become quite different, and this will have repercussions
The less busy our mind is, the closer we are to the truth
A person may conquer a million men in battle, but one who conquers himself is, indeed, the greatest of conquerors
All of us seek happiness, but most look outside ourselves to find it
There is no absolute division between thoughts, emotions and physical sensations
In order to take responsibility for ourselves, we have to realize that we can and do actively create our own states of mind
We should pay at least as much attention to the difficult times of our practice as the enjoyable ones
The glory of life is in its movement and change, its growth and decay, and the new life that comes out of decay
Every morning comes early. So I use my DeLonghi espresso unit to make a doppio to start my day. It starts my body. Next, I start my mind by making a few entries in my journal. I’ve called my journals Sketchbooks of the Mind for as long I can remember. I borrowed it from the poet Lawrence Felinghetti, whom I once saw read live and in person.
It fits my approach to journaling. I see the practice as clearing the mind of thoughts and getting it ready for a new day, much like defrosting the windshield of your car. It is a powerful, simple process. In fact, simply noting the date and time each morning helps release yesterday. I think so anyway.
Below is a more recent sketch- thoughts I’ve written down and released over my morning doppio. See what you think.
A workday may be seen as exchanging a portion of our life force, the essence that has always animated us, for the opportunity to purchase a lifeless object.
Consider not what your coffee can do for you, but what you can accomplish with your coffee.
The issue with pursuing money is that it invariably stays one step ahead.
By the time you settle down to write, the moment has already passed.
Money – you must earn it before you can burn, gather it before you can toss it, secure it before you can consume it.
From your first breath to your last, there lies a vast expanse of gray area; nothing is purely black or white, and little is certain.
One cannot see the coffee bean for the pound it’s part of.
I don’t feel like I write. That’s too restrictive a description. Rather, I unearth thoughts, using an energized, fearless, tranquil, and focused energy within my mind; writing with it is a choice, not an inevitable path.
Anything that is too easy, too convenient to not have an apparent downside cannot have the upside it claims to offer.
For me at least, the midnight oil never burns as efficiently as the early morning coffee.
Had a great time at the Cincinnati Coffee Festival meeting coffee lovers and readers. The intention is to return next year with the next novel in the Trier series.
Today, we raise our cups to one of the world’s favorite drinks—the cappuccino! There’s nothing like the perfect blend of rich espresso, steamed milk, and a touch of frothy foam to start the day or fuel a creative afternoon. For those of us who love coffee and a great story, check out the work of Jerry Vanschaik, the “Coffee Novelist.” His books capture the essence of coffee culture in a way that’s as satisfying as that first morning sip. In The Trier: A Week in the Life and Death of a Coffeehouse, Jerry takes us on a journey through the highs, lows, and mysteries of a beloved coffeehouse. And for a unique twist on self-discovery, Tripio follows one man’s search for meaning, all set against the backdrop of the coffee world we know and love. Curl up with a cappuccino and dive into these books to celebrate the day with a blend of caffeine and creativity. #NationalCappuccinoDay #CoffeeCulture #JerryVanschaik #TheTrier #Tripio #CoffeeNovelist #BookLovers
They say that the issues are in our tissues. As I writer, I’ve found that holds true for all the mental time and energy put into writing a novel. You get up early, work on it for three hours if you’re able to make the time on a weekend day. So what? You gotta do it again tomorrow, even if you have to work and have time for only a line or two.
With either outcome is best let go so you can move on. For my part, I do yoga with the intent of letting the writing release from my body, my tissues, and my mind. I found this captured wonderfully in a journal entry came across. If you know your asanas, I think you’ll like it:
Pigeon to let it go,
Exalted warrior to let it flow
Shavasana so you know.
Practice makes perfect. Not if you’re a human being.
Over the past weekend, I attended via the cloud, the 2024 THE ALLIANCE OF INDEPENDENT AUTHORS Publishing for Profit’ Self-Publishing Advice Conference. I could only attend a couple sessions. One that I felt I had to sit in one was Penny Sansevieri’s presentation on Selling books without Social Media.
Social Media itself does not sell books. I liken it to having a mailbox on your porch or on a post next to your driveway. You have to have one to get letters. You have to have a way to be found. Or ignored. But you have to have one. As a direct-to-reader author I have to be on social media and have over the years learned to use it fairly well, I suppose.
The most useful information, for me at least, from Penny’s hour was the chart below. So much for Tik Tok for authors. I put the numbers here and try to come up with a comparable time measurement with the photos of some of my recent book sign and sell events. Each person spent a bit of their own time with me. They bought a book or two. It occurs to me as I look at each photo now, recalling them in some detail as I do, that the value of each interaction with my fellow human has increased over time. Something that, as one can see, will never happen via the phone.
A few months ago, I began work on the third Trier novel and was doing some reading to help me with the background of one of my characters. The character is a weatherman who works at a very badly run TV station called WONO, as in “Oh-No!”
Anyway, Gil (his name for now) doesn’t have a degree in Meteorology but has one in Native American Studies but gets the job as the weatherman, partly because WONO is a badly run TV station. The novel is set in 1985 before one could easily Google someone.
But a couple lines for the novel became reading the whole book. Most of which was taken from speeches, writings and recollections from before 1900. I read them in the context of global warming, the internet, the presidential election and Instacart. Times have changed but these wisdoms only seemed more relevant.
Native American Wisdoms for today world
The white man does not understand America. He is too far removed from its formative process. The roots of the tree of his life have not yet grasped the rock and soil.
All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth, befalls the children of the earth.
It does not require many words to speak the truth.
Knowledge was inherent in all things. the world was a library, and its books were the stones, leaves, grass, brooks, birds and animals that shared, alike with us, the storms and blessings of the earth.
Without love we can no longer look out confidently at world. We turn inward and begin to feed on our own personalities, and little by little we destroy ourselves.
Native American faith sought the harmony of man with his surroundings; the other sought the dominance of surroundings.
The air is precious for all things share the same breath-the animals, the trees, the man.
Silence is the absolute poise or balance of body, mind, and spirit.
Silence is the cornerstone of character.
All who have lived much out of doors, whether Indian or otherwise, know that there is a magnetic and powerful force that accumulates in solitude but is quickly dissipated by life in a crowd.
The miracle of the loaves and fishes excites not greater wonder than the harvest that springs from a single ear of corn.
All learning is a dead language to one who gets it secondhand.
It has always been our belief that a love of possessions is a weakness to overcome.
Our transition from our natural life to the artificial life of civilization has resulted in great spiritual and moral loss.
I believe that Christianity and modern civilization are opposed and irreconcilable.
When I reduce civilization to its most basic terms, it becomes a system of life based on trade. Each man stakes his powers, the product of his labor, his social, political, and religious standing against his neighbor. To gain what? To gain control over his fellow workers, and the results of their labor.
Words do not pay for my dead people. Good words will not give me back my children.
I hope this was worth it. Damn reading takes a lot of time out of your day.
H.B “”So are you here for work?” Howard Behar asked me. We had stepped outside to sit down at his table of choice.
‘For the week.” I responded with my trademark caution. I had not worked for Starbucks since 1994. I did run one of the first Barnes & Noble Starbucks cafes for about a year after that. Then I officially hung up the green apron. Yet, I was still nervous as I sat down across from him. It was strange for me to feel that way because, I did not recall being intimidated at all by him those years ago at Starbucks. Howard was low key and made the store visits painless. That thought in my head, I blurted out.
“What did you look for on your visits to Starbucks locations, stores, you know, back in the early 90’s in Chicago?”
H.B “Oh, I was never there to see how clean a store was in those days. Or have someone time a shot. I wanted to hear what the customers and baristas were saying about the company. We just wanted to engage with the people. The customers. The baristas. See how people felt about the company”
“The last time I saw you was at my Oak Park store. You were with Stuart Fields.”
H.B-“Stuart Fields. Yes. Do you ever talk to him?’
‘No.” I was a bit confused by Howard’s response for a moment. Then I realized he knew little about Tripio. It took only a couple emails to secure the front cover blurb from him. It was one of the easiest parts of the entire process of getting Tripio on Amazon, of the whole process of getting my “Starbucks novel” out to the expectant world. In fact, I actually didn’t start to write Tripio as Tripio, let alone a “Starbucks novel“. It was started as something called Chicago Days. I had intended it to be my homage to, or version of, Henry Miller’s “Quiet Days in Clichy.” I loved Henry Miller back then and my journals were filled with references to Miller.
I intended to write Quiet Days in Chicago.
But they were also filled with references to Starbucks. I had five or six journals from those four years. All four years that I worked at Starbucks. The Henry Miller novella about a struggling writer was not to be. I could not write Chicago Days after all. I had to change it to a Starbucks centered book, because Starbucks was one of, if not the, center of my life then. The catch was, I did not want it to be! Back then I saw myself as a version of the struggling writer in “Quiet days in Clichy”.
That, 25 years later, became a story line in Tripio. Both of those currents in my life were soon overwhelmed by an unplanned pregnancy. What the hell was I to do? It’s all in there in Tripio. But I can tell you that if you look through all the journals from then you will not find a single entry that says, “I’ll write a novel about this in 20 years.” However, in a very real journal entry from the time I was writing what was becoming Tripio, I noted that “It is a novella for now“. Sitting across from me, Howard Behar, or “H.B.” as he is called in Tripio, had no idea about any of this. I did not pursue it. I answered his question.
“I did put Stu in the book. Do you remember Candace? Ted? Sue?”
Tripio Expert- I smiled and nodded but didn’t feel I could step out of position for another handshake. The end of rush regulars were in line so I thought it best to stay put and get this last line out. That is also why I hadn’t yet cleaned the spilled mocha on the outside door. It was about knee high on the glass. I had noticed it a while ago and saw no urgency in cleaning it up. See reasons above.
Of course, just after the RM (Stan)* made the eye contact with me he turned back to look at the door and the spill, defecated earlier from a customer’s to go cup. The customer didn’t seem to care, didn’t get any on him and so took off down the street. Again, no emergency on my part. Yet, it was obviously tape recorder worthy. Because RM Stan did half turn to get another look at the offending spill and held the recorder to his mouth, and quickly dispatched something into it. But he had to know that I had my reasons. That is why he gets paid, to know things without being told what to do. I was in the trenches. Always have been.
*based on Stu Fields, though not him really
Howard continued, oblivious to the excerpt. “Oh sure, Candace.”
For another minute or so, the millionaire former president of Starbucks and I traded names of a people we had worked with then. We were talking about a Starbucks that very few would recognize today. A regional company of around 450 employees, or partners, as they were called then. And still are.
H.B. ” I started in 1989 and remember not being ready for how cold it was in Chicago. I got sick. I lived close to the Oak and Rush store and remember people would bring me chicken soup.”
“I still have a big winter coat that I bought then. I may have worn it twice since I left Chicago for Indy.”
H.B. ‘So, you live in Indianapolis? Wife and kids?” Howard asked. I had relaxed by then. He seemed to be truly interested. I told him the short version. I was a single parent and had been for some time. Here, I spoke with pride about the grown adults my wife and I had worked to bring up”.
H. B. “Grand kids are even more fun.” Howard responded with a smile and a quick recounting of his own family.
It struck me as we talked a bit more that this was indeed a lot like the times Howard would pop into one of my stores. I remembered one time at a store in Lincoln Park (#206 in Tripio) when I was in back counting down a cash drawer, and he stepped in. We didn’t talk about the money in front of me, or what the figures on the recap sheet said. I remember that we just talked for minute or two. Not even sure about what.
As for today, he took a sip of his drink. I wanted to ask other questions such as what was he drinking and did he pay for it. Then I thought that to be inappropriate somehow. Anybody could do that. Starbucks meant too much to both of us. It meant so much to Howard because he was and always will be a big part of it. Starbucks will continue to be giant part of my life because I am no longer a part of it.
What might have been if I had stayed, kept getting stock beyond the IPO? I know what the math says. Howard and I would be sitting here outside this Palm Springs Starbucks comparing yacht buying experiences. Today, as we faced each other across the table, his day ahead was what it was going to be, and possibly did include a yacht. My day was one of going be one of going to work to pay the mortgage, which was a lot like the thousands of other days since I hung up the green apron for good.
I noticed H.B. scan the street in front of this Starbucks where we sat as customers, most likely looking for his wife and the dogs. Time was running out, so I did not bring that other visit up. After all, It’s not even in Tripio.
‘
I still have this one, though I use it when I am making dinner
“One reason I write so slowly is I try to make each joke work.”
Kurt Vonnegut
This is a repost to Celebrate National Coffee Day 2024
Coffee
My personal history with coffee is very serious and very personal.
I was one of the few people on this planet who was granted hundreds of shares of Starbucks stock options during its IPO. Those shares would be worth well over a million dollars now. I type here today without a cent of it in my pockets or elsewhere.
Years later, I was let go, fired, whacked, terminated by a small coffee roasting company. This happened with three or perhaps even four young children at home to feed, clothe and house. It was such a traumatic event fostering such a bad time, I honestly can’t recall the specifics. Needless to say, it sucked.
Yet, like the Lazarus of latte’s, I rose. Reborn out of the chaff barrel, I managed to find my way out of the coffee business for employment elsewhere.
Black Coffee
I have stayed out of the coffee business since, for reasons obvious and not so obvious. I am still asked why I didn’t go back into the world of coffee and seek employment. There are thousands and thousands of different jobs in coffee now than when I left. I still worked in coffee for years after getting fired. But that has been a while now and this coffee thing has done fine without me.
Indulge me for second. I am pausing here to consider whether all that emotional baggage has kept me from going back into coffee directly. Very possible. This is why releasing thoughts from the mind, through the shoulders, down the arms to the fingers, out of the body and onto the page is so, so important to me. I may have unpacked something just there. What you do with it is up to you. But I found it quite valuable.
How does this take me to yesterday and buying a rubber chicken for three bucks at thrift store? Because one thing I have consciously kept packed away in my mind is that I can’t’ take all this coffee stuff that seriously. Not anymore, at least. Coffee has gone and done it, taking itself way too seriously. For proof, read this informative article from The Pourover Magazine, entitled Capitalism on Steroids.
The coffee industry has come a long way since the days of Folgers and Maxwell House. Specialty coffee is now big business, and the industry is awash with cash.
I’ve been there and am not going to do it again. After depending on coffee for my livelihood and to feed my family, and have it taken away, I’m supposed to care about latte art and randomly crowned barista champions? I’m not saying they don’t have a value, just none for me.
Here is the part where I cover my ass and say all the right things about how I am a first world consumer and have enjoyed coffee via the systemic exploitation of the third world producing countries. You won’t find me doing that here. It would compromise to some degree the times I dialed the Hoosier Helpcard phone number to see how much money was left on it, so that my wife and I could budget on food for our kids. I will always remember the automated voice and the pause before she told me the amount. This is my story here.
Black coffee with humor
I think all this added up to me choosing to make the coffee saint, Kaldi, the bad guy in my second novel, The Trier. In the follow up novel, I have continued to use coffee in ways that may be sacrilegious to the baristacrats, to use a word Robert Downey Jr. has claimed to have created. It is a much safer distance from coffee for me. Tripio was my first coffee novel and in it, I took coffee very seriously. Years later, and farther away from counting on coffee to eat, I wrote The Trier and began to put humor in my coffee. I liked how it tasted. And so, I put more in The Trier Goes to London (working title), with no intention of stopping when I begin to revise that novel in a month or so.
Maybe I’m writing to extract a measure of revenge on coffee. I have created worlds where coffee can make me smile a little bit. I still like my coffee black, no artificial sweeteners, but with a dose of very real, hard-earned and organic humor. It just goes down better much better that way.
Would you buy a book from the guy behind that table? I hope not. I wouldn’t, even if it were me. But it was me at a Half-Priced Books south of Indy back when my first novel Tripio had been published early spring 2019. Yuck.
I look at that photo now and see that I have come a long, long way. But that is such a boring thing to type. Yuck.
What I remember most about that day was my daughter spending the entire time with me. If not for her, I wouldn’t have spoken to or interacted with a single person. She was raised a book lover and browsed and shopped while I sat and stared.
Buying Books
I have a better memory of the two of us in Chicago at the Newberry book festival a couple years earlier. I bought a handful of used books, while I had to carry one of the two boxes of books she bought. When I said my daughter was a book lover, I was not kidding. I’m just happy to know that she loves her dad too.
Not Selling books
Copies of Tripio sold- 0. I have come to realize that bookstores are tough because I feel like you are competing with everyone’s all-time favorite authors.
#NationalCappuccinoDay #CoffeeCulture #JerryVanschaik #TheTrier #Tripio #CoffeeNovelist #BookLovers
Coffee Novelist 
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