Oscar Dreams by d.t. emerson

The Oscars are a truly American event, chocked full of blatant displays of ego, affluence and decadence. The only way I could console myself while watching them was to, at the same time, look away occasionally at my most recent foray into Buddhism: Pema Chodron's book "The Places That Scare You".

I suppose that I was a tiny bit frightened by the Oscars in more ways than I realize. My fear of their affluence is probably better characterized as the envy of it. On some level, I really wanted to be on that stage, wearing those clothes, flying in those jets and walking arm in arm with Nicole Kidman. I have often thought, however, that my first reaction to becoming rich by winning the lottery would be panic. Fame and fortune have a way of turning a person into a target; celebrity makes you "in season" in the human hunting ground.

I imagine I wasn't the only unemployed person tuned in to the prestigious event, feeling sorry for himself, seeing the dreams of others coming true while his own aspirations fall to the curb like drunken, homeless people. What struck me most about the Oscars, besides the fact that much of the content seemed mediocre, was the acceptance speeches. Many of the mini-speeches contained what celebrities must feel in their hearts is an honest effort at inspiring their fellow man to greatness. Many said something to the effect that: "Here's what can happen if you follow your dreams. You can have your dreams. Your dreams are possible. Who would have dreamed that a poor kid, from a broken home would be standing here on this stage today."

At my age, the best dreams seem to be of delicious deserts or of avoiding having my colon scoped. I started musing about what dreams I might have had as a young, poor child in my broken home. Through the haze of time I could vaguely see my earliest dreams: Cowboy and Astronaut. I was a child at the height of the U.S. missions to the moon. I also had a BB-gun; both dreams were possible. The late '60s were a great time to have big dreams.

We tend to forget our dreams as we age; many of them seem vague, like dreams. At some point the Astronaut dream devolved into college professor, I think. As I got older, the dreams got smaller as reality became more and more real. I wasn't inspired by Hollywood stars each and every day to continue following my dream. Somehow dreams seemed farther away while riding a public bus...must have been all the stops.

I was hoping just one celeb might give a speech like this:

"I am very lucky to be standing here today. I had a dream and I followed it; and every tiny little event that could possibly make it come true did. Thousands of people have appeared in and produced thousands of movies who have never made it to this stage or received honors of any kind. I know you have dreams too but not everyone gets to realize them as I have. Life isn't about achieving fame and fortune. For most of the people on this planet, life is a struggle to survive. To learn how to live in peace, to face each day with a calm mind and a soft heart is the dream we can all have, and can all make come true. Live this dream and you will find true happiness."

I must throw aside my jealousy and avoid the perils of not delighting in someone else's joy. According to Buddhism, joy is in part defined as delighting in someone else's success. Rejoicing: A joyful mind, free of jealousy or pride, that takes delight in the virtuous actions of ourself or others. I must also say, however, on behalf of my unemployed brothers and sisters that we have a dream; a dream to have a decent paying job that isn't like clocking in at the gates of Hell each day, to have health benefits and a paid vacation. This dream is lost to many in this country, and impossible to most in other parts of the world.

Too often we practice the art of schadenfraude, taking malicious satisfaction in another person's troubles. I was able to cross over to compassion for a moment, however, when I did some Buddhist style rejoicing during the Oscars. Tears came to my eyes watching Marion Cotillard accept her award for "La Vie En Rose". One speaking in a second language somehow gets to the truth: "Thank you life, thank you love." That's how simple it can really be.

I broke my glasses by d. t. emerson

Yes, they’re only reading glasses but I’m unemployed so it really hurt me. I decided that sitting around the house waiting for a job to call was a little like the proverbial watching water boil so I decided to venture out into the snow and have a coffee. Surely, the phone would ring if I left it unattended. I ambitiously took two books with me prepared for a solid couple of hours reading.

I was headed for McDonald’s, oddly enough, for a latté. Having been recently fired from my job as a barista at a local coffee shop, I thought it was a good way to thumb my nose at the coffee snobs I used to deal with on a daily basis. Coffee snobs’ eyes roll at the thought of Starbucks so I can imagine that the thought of a McDonald’s latté might well throw them into anaphylactic shock. For me it was a way to combine revenge with pleasure without actually hurting anyone. Full of evil intent, I smugly removed the snow from the windshield of my truck knocking most of it onto my sporty sweat pants which I’ve had to wear most of the time recently. My waist is growing: wallowing in self pity doesn’t burn a lot of calories. I threw my two books onto the seat, my exercise for the day, and hopped in for a slippery ride down the street.

Upon arrival, I was pleased to see that at 11:30 am McD’s was nearly vacant. I proudly walked up to the counter and ordered a small vanilla cappuccino. Wow, I was so busy seething with revenge for my former employer that I forgot I wanted a latté. Oh well, only a coffee snob would know the difference anyway. I found a cozy little corner in the back and plopped down on a hard seat nestled between the emergency exit and the bathroom…now, two hours of good reading.

I pulled my glasses out of my pocket and noticed:

a. they were very dirty
b. they were bent

I take care of my slippers like house slippers. If I were to truly enjoy my afternoon of reading Dean Radin’s “Entangled Minds“, I would have to have proper glasses. I carefully wiped them with a spit-dampened napkin then proceeded to bend them back into a traditional spectacle shape at which point they snapped in two just at the spot that rests over the nose. “Shit”, I thought. At this point, in the past, I might have stood up in anger, chucked my cappuccino and glasses in the bin and sped home in a fit. But the new me thought, “I can work around this.”

I started by resting one half in the traditional manner and balancing the other half somewhat like a monocle on the other side. This worked, but only if I kept my head at the proper angle to avoid slippage. I read one page this way until the short side of the glasses fell off onto the table. Embarrassed, I managed to look cool as if this happens to me all the time. “These are special, travel reading glasses”, I said in my head. I read page two with just one half of my travel glasses keeping one hand on my other eye. This worked quite well for a time but it seemed to effect my comprehension. Not more than four minutes into my two hour reading session, I was vexed. I considered asking someone for a piece of tape and reconsidered thinking surely the lunch crowd was arriving by now and I didn’t want to inconvenience a busy, employed person with my silly needs.

By this point, the chair had started to find the nerve endings in my tail bone and I was beginning to think perhaps I should call it a day. In the few moments of reading clarity I had I was able to glean from Dean Radin’s book, which considers quantum physics and telepathy, that our world is a manifestation of our observation. On the level of photons, what happens depends on who’s looking. Hmmm…now I know why my glasses broke. Because I was looking at them!