From the Empirical Archives: Radically Empirical Spirituality by Olav Bryant Smith

Radically Empirical Spirituality

Olav Bryant Smith

PHOTO: Nicolo Corrado

Originally Published in the June 2012 Issue of Empirical

In the first issue of Empirical, I wrote about how we understand this term “empirical” in the radically empirical sense suggested by William James. It is an empiricism that is always open to the full range of human experience, as opposed to self-limiting, inherited narratives. Due to this openness, radical empiricism offers the hope of reuniting the scientific and religious (or spiritual) points of view. Due to this openness, radical empiricism takes no final shelter in received dogmas of any kind—religious or scientific. The essence of this radical form of empiricism, also, is a tolerant and ever-exploratory openness to the diversity of evidence presented in the variety of narratives that come to us from around the world.

Spirituality, like many words, is difficult to define. It means different things to different people. I am using the term spiritual to describe a way of living and being in the world that transcends mechanistic, traditionally materialistic descriptions of the world. Spiritual being is not completely determined by prior causes. Spiritual being is a life lived in an awareness of the interconnectedness of all things. Spiritual being recognizes value and meaning in the universe including, but not limited to, the values and meanings we finite mortals ascribe to it. The spiritual life is lived as an adventure with purpose.

The life of the Buddha offers us one model, amongst many, of the spiritual life from a radically empirical perspective. I do not intend to suggest by using the Buddha’s life as an example, that a radically empirical spirituality is necessarily Buddhist. But the Buddha’s life and teachings are indeed very suggestive of the radically empirical model of spirituality. Whatever tradition you come from, atheistic or theistic, Christian, Muslim, Jew, Hindu, Pagan, Indigenous, or other, if you seek to understand and participate in a world of value and meaning beyond pure self-interestedness and skeptical nihilism, I want to suggest that you either are, or are a candidate to become, a radically empirical spiritual seeker, and that we can learn—if we have open minds from the Buddhist tradition.

PHOTO: Sam Szapucki

The Buddha: A Radically Empirical Model for Spirituality

Siddhartha Gautama was raised in the lap of luxury at his father’s palace in what is now Nepal— at the northern end of India in the foothills of the Himalayan Mountains. It was prophesied at his birth that he would be a great world leader someday— though it was not certain whether he would be a worldly leader like his father King Suddhodana, or a spiritual emancipator.

King Suddhodana did not want his son, Prince Siddhartha, to “flake out” and become a spiritual leader. He wanted him to stay at the palace and follow in his footsteps. So he surrounded him with every pleasure imaginable. He lived in a luxurious palace, ate scrumptious food, drank the finest beverages available, wore fine clothing, and enjoyed the entertainment and attention of the most beautiful dancing girls.

PHOTO: Sham Banerjee

His father arranged a marriage between Siddhartha and the beautiful Princess Yasodhara. And finally, Yasodhara bore him a son whom they named Rahula. Suddhodana was counting on the fact that the empirical evidence presented to Siddhartha would lead him to believe that the world was just fine the way it was. 

The young prince did not want to stay in the palace all of the time, so Siddhartha would venture forth sometimes into the surrounding city. Anticipating every event that could alert Siddhartha to the truth of the world, and destroy the illusion of worldly perfection, King Suddhodana would send an advance party out to clean up the city to make sure there were no disturbing sights. This went on for years, but could not go on forever. At long last, we are told that Siddhartha saw the Four Sights that changed his entire perspective on the world: old age, sickness, death, and the poverty of an ascetic seeker.

Empirically realizing the suffering of the many, Siddhartha was unable to continue on with the illusion of perfection at the palace. His worldview had been altered by this new evidence. The palace was the unreal illusion of the few within the larger sea of universal suffering. Also, Siddhartha realized that his royal family was not immune to this suffering. They, too, would grow old. They, too, could become ill. They, too, would die. Lasting peace, which the liberation Hindus know as moksha, was not to be found in the luxurious palace life. As a result, he realized that his great mission in life was to conquer the greatest enemy of all—the suffering of humanity.

PHOTO: Enkhtuvshin

With this as his aim, Siddhartha left the palace and his family and spent six years in the forest learning at the feet of the most experienced gurus there. It is said that he mastered all that they could teach, and went beyond them. In the knowledge of the gurus, Siddhartha found, there was no liberation from suffering. He then took on the most extreme ascetic disciplines, doing without clothing, shelter, and food. It is said that he reached a place where he ate only one grain of rice per day. It was then, on the verge of death, that he realized—empirically—that this was not the path to liberation from suffering either.

Siddhartha had not found peace in the luxury of the palace. Nor did he find it in the extreme asceticism of the forest. This led Siddhartha to conclude that the Middle Way was best. It is worth noting that Aristotle and Confucius came to the same conclusion in other ways.

PHOTO: Giles Clark

The Middle Way philosophy, or Madhyamika as the great Buddhist philosopher Nagarjuna would come to call it, has had great appeal to many of the greatest minds of the world. It is a simple philosophy, but like many simple and true things, it often escapes the recognition of those who are caught up in the cyclic patterns of suffering in the world. In many situations in life, the goal must be to find the excellence (virtue) between the extremes (vices) of too much and too little.

Upon the path of the Middle Way, Siddhartha soon found that he was on the verge of Enlightenment. He sat down under a fig (peepul) tree in Bodh Gaya and vowed not to move until enlightenment came. He underwent three temptations—much like Christ—meant to deter him from reaching his goal, but Siddhartha maintained his proper focus and achieved an enlightenment that is a model of a radically empirical spirituality.

He did not maintain his focus in the face of his temptations because of pure resolve, or because of a dogmatic belief system. He overcame the temptations because his analysis of experience told him that they did lead him to moksha—the liberation from suffering that he sought.

PHOTO: Akuppa John Wigham

Having attained enlightenment, or what he came to call nirvana, Siddhartha was now the Buddha—the awakened one. We are told that Mara, the tempter, had told the Buddha that he should take his enlightenment experience and go, because no one would understand what he had to tell them even if he tried to explain it. But the Buddha said that some would understand, and so he went forth to preach for the good of the many.

There is truth in what Mara had said, however. No words that the Buddha could say would, in and of themselves, lead anyone to enlightenment. So, the Buddha realized that the trick was to find the words and symbols that would point to the experience of enlightenment. And indeed, if not all, some would understand.

Interconnectedness

Approximately twenty-five hundred years ago, in the clearest exhortation to use critical thinking I’ve ever read, the Dhammapada reports that the Buddha said:

Do not believe in anything simply because you have heard it. Do not believe in anything simply because it is spoken and rumored by many. Do not believe in anything simply because it is found written in your religious books. Do not believe in anything merely on the authority of your teachers and elders. Do not believe in traditions because they have been handed down for many generations. But after observation and analysis, when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and benefit of one and all, then accept it and live up to it.

At the same time that it encourages critical thinking in the realm of spirituality, philosophy, and religion, this statement by the Buddha is also encouraging of a radically empirical spirituality. He begins this paragraph by telling us not to rely on dogmas, and by extension, it is implied that we should not foist dogmas upon others either. “But after observation and analysis,” he concludes, “when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and the benefit of one and all, then accept and live up to it.”

What we believe should make sense, and it should benefit everyone—including, but not exclusively, ourselves. One does not have to be especially “spiritual” to rise to this standard, but it helps to be. There are many people who do not understand this concept of “spirituality” at all—let alone self-identify as being “spiritual”—but who, nonetheless strive to live reasonable and good lives that unselfishly strive for the benefit of their families, friends, communities, and the world at large.

This life less self-centered and aiming toward a more common good—increasingly aware of the dynamic interconnections involved—is a radically empirical spiritual enterprise.

In the East, it is believed that we all, aware of it or not, are involved in karmic processes through which we increase our understanding and awareness over time— if we grow attentive. We act . . . and then there are consequences to our actions. When we do good things, we set up good circumstances for the future. When we do bad things, we set up bad consequences for the future.

It is the growth in our awareness of the interconnectedness of all things, and our participation in that process, that most singularly defines the spiritual experience. This interconnectedness transcends the ordinary and illusory view of the body as a self-contained object in space. The growth in awareness of that transcendence is a growth in awareness of one’s own spiritual nature.

These lessons are not Buddhist lessons alone. This is the universal message of all spiritual traditions. The various religions have their own mythologies and their own dogmas that point to the same universal truths. The Buddha talks of nirvana, which literally means the extinguishment of the ego. This extinguishment is necessary in order to live more fully in an awareness of the interconnectedness of Being. Shiva Nataraj dances with one foot on the back of a little figure that represents the ego, because it is only by putting the ego in its place that one can fully experience what Hindus call lila, or the divine play. Muslims prostrate themselves five times per day before Almighty God, called Allah (meaning “the God” implying “the one God” in Arabic), in order to put the individual self firmly in the service of that which is Greater. It is said in Christianity that Christ died on the cross for our sins. After many years of study and reflection, I have come to the conclusion that this self-sacrifice of the Lord of Christianity is best understood as a high symbol and exemplar of the need for each of us to sacrifice our egos in the service of the greater good of all humanity.

There is one truth. There are many perspectives from which to view that truth. The Buddha told a story of several blind men and an elephant. One of the blind men felt the smooth, curved tusk of the elephant, and described the elephant as such. Another felt the big floppy ears and felt that he had ascertained the essential element of the elephant. Another felt the thick legs of the elephant and thought that this creature resembled the trunk of a tree, and so on. We all come to the essential reality of the immense, interconnected Universe from our own perspective. Let us learn from each other, understanding the limitations of our own perspective, and growing in our awareness of the interconnectedness of all that is.

PHOTO: Ingrid Taylar

Go for the Experience!

There is a final element that must be included in an overview of a radically empirical spirituality, and that is the fundamental importance of lived, felt experience, as opposed to abstract conscious thought processes, or analyses, about that experience.

A famous scholar of world religions, Huston Smith, was permitted as a young man to enter and go through the training of a Zen Monastery in Japan. In the Rinzai school of Zen, riddle-like koans are given to students to meditate on. Huston Smith’s own koan asked whether a dog has a Buddha Nature. The Buddha had said that everything has a Buddha Nature, so one would think that a dog also has a Buddha Nature. But in this koan, the Zen Master, or Roshi, in the story replies “Mu!”—which in Japanese means “No!”

Huston Smith talks about attempting through many days of meditation to come up with an ingenious answer to this koan. Why did the Zen Master say no?

After Smith presented his own Master with a particularly clever response, the Roshi cried out: “You have the philosopher’s disease!”

The Roshi then explained to Huston Smith that he himself had a Master’s degree in philosophy, and that he understood that philosophy has its place. But he directed Huston Smith to set all of that aside during his meditation and to “go for the experience!”

In a radically empirical spirituality, this is crucial advice.

The Tao Te Ching begins with the words, “The Tao that can be named is not the eternal Tao.” The author seems to be saying that “Yes, I’ll write this down, but don’t mistake the words for the experience.”

In the Torah, Moses asks his God in the form of the burning bush what name he should call him. And his Lord simply replied, Yahweh. This is usually translated as “I am that I am.” There is no predicate that can delimit the nature of this ultimate Being of all beings. This seems to signify also that the ultimate spiritual encounter cannot be expressed in words or thought with the mind. It must be experienced.

So, in conclusion, we could say that, in part, radically empirical spirituality involves transcending dogma, the illusory sense of the independent nature of things in the world, and the limitations of words. Radically empirical spirituality embraces openness, tolerance, an awareness of the interconnectedness of all that exists, and a willingness to go beyond words and preconception to embrace the fullness of experience.

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From the Empirical Archives: The Carousel by Dan O'Brien and Olav Bryant Smith

The Carousel: The NFL's Dark Carnival

Dan O'Brien and Olav Bryant Smith

PHOTO: John Martinez Pavliga

Original Published in the June 2012 Issue of Empirical

Joe Montana, Brett Favre, and now Peyton Manning.

For the majority of their careers, these three quarterbacks were synonymous with the cities they carried on their backs every Sunday–through sunny skies and inclement weather. The other thing these hall-of-famers–and all future hall-of-famers–have in common is finishing out bright, record-breaking careers anywhere other than where they had hung their helmets for a decade or more. Some of us who are old enough to remember Joe Montana donning a Kansas City Chiefs’ jersey wonder what the football gods were thinking. The same feeling came when Brett Favre departed from Green Bay–making way for a talented young quarterback–and jumped from the Jets to the Vikings as though he was climbing aboard porcelain horses, faded and greasy, at some mind-bending circus.

A fan imitates the praying posture that Tebow took whenever he reached the endzone. Now, Tebow has been traded to the Jets to compete with Mark Sanchez for playing time.
PHOTO: Alan Light

The house of mirrors that was the quarterback sweepstakes of 2012 was more than a key party gone awry. Teams took gambles, some with untested young quarterbacks–Matt Flynn based on one outstanding game–and others with the future of a coach-quarterback relationship that seemed cemented in stone (Alex Smith and Jim Harbaugh). The landscape of the NFL is a microcosm blown into a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions and personalities that have grown identities all their own.

PHOTO: Matt Martin/Wikimedia Commons

Many of the colors of the current kaleidoscope began to reveal themselves with the decision by the Indianapolis Colts not to re-sign future hall-of-fame quarterback Peyton Manning. Faced with paying Manning (who has undergone four neck surgeries) a $28 million dollar bonus after a season where the team had gone 2-14 in his absence, the Colts opted to seize the opportunity created by the horrible record to draft their possible future franchise quarterback instead. With this decision, a number of quarterbacks who previously thought they were comfortable in their own situations were in the hot seat. The NFL quarterback carousel was turning.

PHOTO: Sharon Chapman

It must be understood that Manning is not just another quarterback. Quarterbacks are often measured in rings acquired, trophies hoisted above their heads, but in the case of Peyton Manning, we need to think critically about being a leader–a coach–on the field. What separates Manning from other quarterbacks–especially for readers who might not be familiar with him–is that athleticism and accuracy are not what make him a great quarterback, but instead his Zen-like philosophy on the field. His intelligence and adaptability is unique among active players at that position. The classic image of Manning is of his coming to the line, assessing the defense arrayed against him, spotting a weakness, and directing his offense on how to attack that vulnerability. He has been more often successful in this than not.

Manning's agent quickly set up visits with other interested teams, and the NFL world watched to see where Manning would go. When it was learned that the San Francisco 49er coaches went in secret to become players in the Manning contest, their presumed quarterback Alex Smith (who had just led his team to the NFC Championship for the first time in many years) was so frustrated by being in the shadow of a potential trade that he visited the Dolphins in pursuit of a new deal for himself. No quarterback, striving as they are to be the undisputed leaders of their respective teams, wants to feel expendable. With Manning on the move, and the carousel turning, the real truth of expendability for a number of these quarterbacks was revealed.

Now Peyton Manning, he of consistency and decade-long loyalty to the Indianapolis Colts, will be donning a Broncos' jersey heading into a season where Tim Tebow had been heralded as the face of the Denver franchise. When we consider how Peyton Manning felt, being shuffled about after a tumultuous season during which he had yet another neck surgery, how does knowing that the NFL is a game predicted on business impact quarterback loyalty to a team?

In light of the media frenzy that was Tebow-mania, this was a startling move. Elevated to starting quarterback mid-season, and leading a then 1-4 team through a first-round playoff win, Tebow earned a certain amount of qualified respect amongst players and coaches. Many fans, and especially Denver Bronco fans, were looking forward to seeing if the Tebow magic would continue next season. With the availability of the phenomenal Manning, however, the would-be hero (Tebow) was swept aside.

PHOTO: Chris Staley

Interestingly enough, it was the New York Jets and the vociferous Rex Ryan who bit and grabbed a player that, in many ways, is a good fit. The Jets have a strong defense–much like the Broncos who used a strong defensive presence to offset offensive failures through three quarters of football–and an offense that likes being physical, perhaps more physical than incumbent quarterback Mark Sanchez is comfortable with. "I'm excited to e here. I'm excited to be a Jet," as espoused by a smiling Tebow amidst a press conference for an alleged back-up quarterback, speaks volumes about what the move to New York means for a team that has struggled to live up to the boisterous expectations of Rex Ryan. How excited is the Jets starting quarterback Mark Sanchez, we wonder, after watching what happened to Kyle Orton (who lost his starting job to Tebow) in Denver? We find ourselves imagining Sanchez sitting in an expensive hotel suite and, upon hearing the news, tossing a double-pump caramel macchiato across his room while sending chairs and tables (overflowing with free merchandise) hurtling to the ground.

What about the press conference for Manning? We seem to recall some photos and stills with Manning holding up a jersey, but no quotes that are traded as comically as Tebow's "I'm excited to be here." In comparison, Manning's arrival in Denver was a quiet affair. But while most quarterbacks are defined by the system of offense they play in or the coaching staff that supports their every move, this is not the case for Manning, who shines regardless of coaching. And this should be most apparent in his first season with the Broncos if he is, in fact, healthy.

So was courting Manning worth the trouble? Denver certainly thinks so as they inked a ninety-six million dollar contract with the star, post neck surgeries. What about the Cardinals? Does Kevin Kolb feel the same sense of commitment and loyalty to a team that would slough him off like so much dead skin if Manning had cleared his throat in their direction? Certainly it would have improved a team with a deep threat like Larry Fitzgerald, but is the anxiety going into the season worth the risk? Does Alex Smith's scare and flirtation with the Dolphins present the possibility of on-field issues for the 49ers next season? Did watching Manning throw passes on the field of the team Matt Hasselbeck is supposed to be a leader of damage Hasselbeck's relationship with his team and coaches next season? Only time will tell.

In the end, though, we are interested in the question of whether or not Manning's flight from Indianapolis was predicated on his being a victim, pushed out as expendable by a greedy franchise, or if it was his desire to be the unquestioned captain of the ship combined with his demand for a risky $28 million dollar bonus that started this dark carnival and carousel turning? Where does the darkness lie? Or is there a bit of darkness to be shared by all sides–the yin and yang of football?

PHOTO: Noel Feans

There is a temptation to see the Colts as the bad guys and Manning as the good guy, but can we really make such a claim? Andrew Luck, who may be, technically and mechanically, a similar quarterback to Manning (without the valuable edge of maturity and experience)–might become the new face of a franchise that was tied so strongly to Manning’s emotional and psychological identity. If the case should be made that football is a metaphor for life and the journey of the self, can we not then imagine a strange but more ideal version of reality where an icon of the game, like Manning, would stick around and mentor a burgeoning quarterback like Luck? Should we not believe that love of the game transcends a bonus that was promised? 

Manning arrived in Denver as a well-paid mercenary. It is true that he is currently the expected savior–a knight in shining armor. But his introduction in Denver did not give us the sense that Manning was thrilled to be there. On the flipside, we have Tim Tebow, a young man who exudes love of the game in lieu of paychecks, smiling about being included on a team that would have him, even as a back-up, not charging for tickets to ride. 

We, in part, want to view this from a distance, to say that these players are paid (or overpaid) vast sums of money to participate in a sport they love and that they have played since being a small child running around with a bucket on their heads. But, as fans, many of us get caught up in the heroic fantasy of their roles in the NFL, and we want to see this heroism bound together with loyalty to a cause, a city, and a people. 

In the end, however, despite how many cameras we shove in their faces, or billboards we erect with their images, these heroes of the gridiron are just people who are, in most ways, like the rest of us. 

The worship of idols by adoring fans, and the belief they are on safe footing, creates egos built on statistics and money instead of dynasties and loyalty to those fans. Manning’s release from the Colts seems to reveal a lack of commitment and loyalty on both sides. Fame and ridiculously high pay scales turn men who love the game into men who talk about themselves in the third-person. On the other hand, Manning was clearly crushed when his demands were not met by the team he had personified for so long. 

Psychological vulnerability is muted, but not discarded, when one reaches the upper echelons of superstardom. While stars titillate and capture the emotions of a captive audience, they appear to be invulnerable and immortal gods experiencing the height of success and happiness. But when the NFL carousel begins to turn, we glimpse the momentary revelation of the humanity of carnival clowns–replete with painted smiling faces and traces of usually well-hidden tears.—Written by Empirical editors Dan O’Brien and Olav Bryant Smith.

PHOTO: Paula Beehner

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Happy 12/12/12!

Happy 12/12/12! What a crazy day! We won’t have another consecutive day like this until 01/01/2101!

Here are some fun facts about this day:

The hills are alive with the sound of Wedding Bells! According to a David's Bridal survey, an estimated 7,500 brides will marry today!

Tonight music superstars, Bruce Springsteen, Kanye West, Bon Jovi, Paul McCarntey, The Who, and many more will play at 12-12-12 the Concert for Sandy Relief at Madison Square Garden. All of the net proceeds will go to the Robin Hood Relief Fund! 

Math: 12 breaks down into halves, thirds, fourths, sixths and twelfths! No wonder 12 is used in so many measurements! 

Happy Sixth Annual World Hoop Day! Once a year this non-profit organization gives children around the world Hula Hoops to promote peace and to promote the fun of playing! Check it out HERE.

In History: 

Smokey Robinson and the Miracles had his first single today in 1970! Smokey was a vital part in Motown Records Corporation and even served as Vice President. Listen Here! 

Could you imagine a world without the Mona Lisa? In 1913, two years after this classic painting was stolen from the Louvre Museum, it was recovered in Vincenzo Peruggia’s (the thief) hotel room in Florence. Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece is currently still in the Louvre today!

From the Empirical Archives: Finding Your Bliss by Tara Grover Smith

Finding Your Bliss

Tara Grover Smith

Originally Published in the June 2012 Issue of Empirical

Filmmaker Pat Solomon began his career shooting extreme sports movies, and for the last twelve years has been directing commercials. His first feature film, Finding Joe, is being released this fall and is, in part, a re examination of the hero’s journey as described by Joseph Campbell, the famed mythologist and scholar.

In Bill Moyer’s interview with Campbell in the “The Hero’s Adventure,” Campbell says he chose to study heroes because “they’re what’s worth writing about.” Campbell, who died in 1987, coined the widelyknown phrase “follow your bliss.” Finding Joe explores how we can obtain the worthwhile lives we really want, and how we can understand ourselves and our place in society through the symbolism of heroes. But Finding Joe is only “a little bit philosophical and a lot inspirational,” Pat reassures. I spoke with Pat over the telephone about his creative process, our mutual Campbell idol, and bliss.

Tara: How did you learn about Joseph Campbell and what made you decide to create a film about him?

Pat: When I saw the Moyers interview for the first time, I really kind of geeked out on it. I thought: I’ve got to learn more, I’ve got to read more Campbell, but I think most people aren’t like that. It’s heavy material. Unless you’re really into it, it’s hard to follow for a long period of time. When I was watching the video later in my life, I thought about using different icons that speak to a broader audience about mythology.

Tara: You say in your blog that the movie is “something almost everyone can relate to and certainly everyone can use right now.”

Pat: That was the start of the process. I wanted to make “follow your bliss” cool or more accessible. That was a goal and a starting point for the film.

Tara: We’re in uncertain and unprecedented economic times. The trailer for the film says, “We wake up to the fact that we’re the hero of our own lives and we get tired of being the victim. What we do with our lives is what makes us heroes.” When did you realize you were the hero of your own life?

Pat: Even now, I’m realizing that. That’s a hard one, you know, because it’s easy to be a victim a little bit. It’s easy to say, “Hey, it’s the economy’s fault, it’s not my fault.” As long as you’re in that victim role--it’s the economy’s fault, it’s my boss’s fault, it’s my husband’s fault, it’s my wife’s fault--you’re kind of stuck. You don’t have a lot of choices.

Tara: Campbell said to put your bliss first, not to follow the money. What would Campbell say about these times when we’re maybe not able to be paid for doing what we love?

Pat: I think it depends first on how important money is to you. Oftentimes I think money is important because other people have told you it’s important. It’s not really money that’s important but that it’s important you have a nice house, that it’s important that you wear really nice clothes, that you drive an expensive car--those are the messages that we’ve got. The money may be important for the wrong reasons. Also I think if you’re doing what you love doing, money becomes secondary to that. Going forward in your own life is a proces —decisions on a day-to-day basis are motivated by what you really want to be doing. Are you happy doing what you do every day or are you miserable?

Tara: I noticed that your commercials are very rousing with much of these same heroic themes, with glimpses of people striving to make themselves better. Has Campbell influenced that work as well?

Pat: Campbell really influenced my philosophy, outlook, my filmmaking. So, yeah, those processes are in my commercials. I’ve shot a lot of very masculine, machismo themes with modern-day dragon-slaying- -man against big wave or big mountain.

Tara: Are you following your bliss?

Pat: This movie is such a joy. It’s really opening doors to people who have never heard of Campbell or don’t know what “follow your bliss” means. And so, yeah, I feel like I’m definitely following my bliss.

Tara: Great! I love your frank blog about various issues coming up that you hadn’t anticipated with the making of the film. You can’t use any of the footage of Jerusalem or Indonesia although you spent months there and thousands of dollars. You write, “It’s a big gamble if it doesn’t pay off. Of course, if it does, ‘I planned it that way’.” You say that no matter what, you have to try because you don’t know what’s going to happen. Your lesson from your blog says to keep taking these steps forward, don’t be idle. You said earlier when first seeing the rough cut, it was like seeing a diamond but it was still embedded in coal. It takes a careful hand to coax out the diamond, and you write about having to have this faith that: 1) you indeed have a diamond and 2) you’re not going to overcut and ruin the potential beautiful shape it could have. Can you tell us a little about the process there?

Pat: The process there is I shot all this footage and spent tons of time, money, and energy in one direction and then I realized it wasn’t going to work. I was hanging on to it because I’d planned on it and then saw my plan going up in smoke. I had to be able to step away from the process and say, “Okay. It’s not working.” But I also saw that there was something there. I knew there was a little diamond, little inklings that there was something special there.

Tara: In a more recent blog posting you’d said that it wouldn’t have been the same if you hadn’t gone through that process, even though you couldn’t use some of that footage.

Pat: Yeah, the movie definitely wouldn’t have been the same for several reasons. One is it has a lot to do with the way that I viewed the process. My process and the process in the movie are one and the same. When you watch the movie, it’s very classic hero’s journey arc structure. The hero’s journey you see on screen is reflective of the journey I was going through. Had it been easy, the movie would have reflected that. It wouldn’t have been as deep of a movie. And it wouldn’t have touched on those core issues. And because of the struggle—and by struggle, I don’t mean I wasn’t having fun, that it wasn’t joyful—I took a step and knew it was the right step. The movie wouldn’t have been the same if it had gone according to plan.

Tara: You have spent the last several years working on this film. How do you find balance in your life?

Pat: I think balance is hard to define. We need to find balance between our work and our play. That’s a very classic, very American way to put it. But it’s more complicated than that. For instance, I’m sending out this movie, and it’s taking up a lot of time. I love the process and I’m learning a lot, but I still need to take time to do the things I love to do. I love surfing. So, there are times when I just have to say: I’m going to go surf. I make time for that activity. I’m married and have a child, and have to balance out time spent in those relationships. I guess when we talk about balance we have to look at all the things important to you. It obviously means time management (laughs).

Tara: Do you feel like you have another feature-length film on the way?

Pat: Yeah! I think there’s a bunch of them. I have a lot of ideas about the next one and I’m not sure what it’s going to be yet, but there are 4-6 ideas I think will really be cool.

Tara: We’ll have to be on the lookout.

Pat: This one’s not really done yet. It needs to get out in the world and then I can take a breath and concentrate on the next one. It’s kind of like a golfer has made a really long putt. I’m just watching the putt, and I’m like, “God, just go in the cup!” That’s where I am right now. “Get in the cup, get in the cup!” I can’t think of a real relaxed way of stepping back and looking at the next project until the ball goes in the cup.

Tara: Is there anything else your audience would like to know about your film?

Pat: I love the idea of people who don’t know Campbell going to see this movie. Most people while watching it put their own baggage up there on screen. I just want people to watch and be surprised and take away from it what they will. This film is a real eye opener.

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Writing Tip of the Day: Common Errors Part II

I know it has been a while, but we are back with some more basic advice about common writing errors. We recently hired some wonderful folks here at Empirical and are marketing the magazine a little more. To that end, we would appreciate it if you were to follow us on all of our social media platforms. 

Follow Us On The Blog

Like Us On Facebook

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So ends the marketing push (after all, we need to observe the 80/20 rule).

Here be some more commonly misused words:

1. Data/datum
• The difference is that one is plural and one is singular
• The data in my thesis was quite robust and supported my hypotheses. 
• A single piece of datum made the analysis of my research difficult
2. Elicit/illicit
• One is a verb and the other is an adjective
• During counseling sessions, psychologists ask open-ended questions to elicit an emotional memory. 
• Cheating on an exam or plagiarizing someone else's work is considered an illicit activity by the university. 
3. Lay/lie
• Both can be used as verbs, but only one can be used as a noun
• I lay my keys down on the table when I get home from the office. 
• I lie on my couch when I watch football on Sundays. 
• I told a terrible lie when I said this class does not count toward your GPA. 
4. Personal/personnel
• Adjective use versus noun use
• I try to not talk about my personal life in professional situations. 
• I do not have the personnel necessary to complete my research project in a timely manner. 
5. Precede/proceed
• Both can be used as a verb, but only one of them can be used as a noun
• I precede my friend on the roster because his last name is Patrick. 
• I proceed through the checkpoint after a short chat with the TSA agents.
• All of the proceeds from the event went to charity. 

From the Empirical Archives: Street Corner Bequest by Cake!

Street Corner Bequest

Cake!

Originally Published in the June 2012 Issue of Empirical

Later, I would remember this place just as I would her breath on the back of my neck. We always got along so well, perhaps it was our collective predisposition to being unhappy, perhaps it was because all we had ever known was nurtured by vice and daring: wilted gratification. But we were still young then at the height of our youth, before her cancer, before collapse. The orange glow of the street lights buzzed behind us, illuminating our halos. White noise spilled over the viaduct, and we basked in its waves of calm. And now, years later, I cannot recall it exactly as it was, simply serene beyond anyone; who upon trying to recreate these moments of industrial tranquility, could begin to conceive. I inhaled a hit of nitrous, held my breath and looked to the sky, feeling her next to me, providing salvation like evening prayers.

Exhale, and again.

I gratified my ego there amongst the docks, amongst the sea gulls, the drunks. The child within me giggled with delight as my grimy surroundings transformed into a sparkly playground of fleeting bliss. We sat there, motionless, allowing ourselves to be rocked into periodic sleep by our only constant friend - the Seattle city streets. Desolate on a Monday past midnight, we smoked cigarettes. She turned to me, flushed in rosy artificial light, and said: “Load me one.” Smoke rising from her fingernails, she looked away; as an

afterthought, she added “No, load me a double.”

I laughed sincerely, stating: “I was going to anyways….”

And so I did, and she did as I had done, both of us hopelessly lost in the oceans of our heads. We were beautiful. We were the essence of 21st century youth; doomed and elegantly degenerating, lowering ourselves into our graves dug by hypnotic media, manic preapocalyptic supermodels starving for culture, substance. Passion. We wore it in our hair and stitched it into our clothing. And our guises of combat boots and fairy wings effectively deterred the drunks and tweakers who moved amongst the shadows. Everywhere we went, heads turned and eyes followed our flowing skirts around corners, up escalators. We danced through crowded rooms of rambunctious sanctity as little wisps of seemingly innocent bliss, often stirring sophomoric woes of those who neglected to see the divinity within us. Her and I, sitting on the old park bench, overlooking concrete and childhood, waving goodbye with each empty nitrous canister we emptied into our souls.

Forever, goodbye. And so we sat together alone, and asked ourselves questions: of life and love, where we were going and where we were from. But we never did find any answers, just options. And so, we sat, welcoming each artificial breath as we would a second chance at ignorance. Graciously, she rocked herself steadily to the beat of some internal struggle. We laughed, we talked, we loved. We were all each other had really. Save some external vice factory, dripping fulfillment down our welcoming throats. It was beautifully imperfect, disastrously miraculous. Searching for validation amongst the stars, what very few I could see, I exhaled and gratified my ego there amongst the docks, the drunks, the gulls.

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Flash Fiction Writing Prompt

In the spirit of encouraging writers to write and readers to read, we are starting a new tradition here on the Empirical blog. Each month we will have a writing prompt, and from this writing prompt we will select the best one and post it on the blog for all the world to see. 

There are, obviously, a few rules:

1. This is flash fiction, keep it short. (Less than 1000 words)

2. Seriously, short is the name of the game; the shorter the better. 

3. Try to keep it light while being substantive. 

4. No limitations on genre, but it must be about the prompt. 

Well, without further ado, here be the first official Empirical blog writing prompt:

Write a humorous holiday listing for an eBay auction. Include the history of the item you are selling and why you are getting rid of it.

Send your submission to dan@empiricalmag.com!

From the Empirical Archives: Hush by Mikelle Gaines

Hush

Mikelle Gaines

Originally Published in the June 2012 Issue of Empirical

Mitch took me off the street less than a year ago, gave me a place to stay that was mostly my own except for him and took my virginity as payment. But that was okay, ‘cause I wasn’t usin’ it anyway, and it was better than givin’ it up to my stepdaddy who wasn’t really my stepdaddy at all, but my mamma’s newest live-in boyfriend. At least Mitch was only in his early twenties and had all his teeth. And, he didn’t smell like beer, piss, or old sweat. When he found me huddled under the bridge in Seattle, far from home in Idaho, he promised me nothin’ but some dinner and a safe place to sleep for the night.

And I said yes, ‘cause it was late November and I was wet and cold and hungry and scared of everythin’. And so I stayed a lot of nights and days and I slept on the sofa and had food to eat, and then Mitch gave me some really pretty clothes and some makeup and told me to make myself up pretty, but to make sure that I didn’t go makin’ myself look older, ‘cause he had a client that liked ‘em young.

So I did what he told me ‘cause I didn’t see that I had a choice. I put on that little girl dress and knee highs socks and Mary Jane shoes and powdered up my face and smeared fruity pink gloss on my lips and then Mitch decided that he was gonna take me for a test drive before sendin’ me out to spend some time with his client. But, I never saw that client or any others, ‘cause Mitch kinda decided that maybe he liked what I had between my legs and so he kept it for himself instead of makin’ me work. And ‘cause I hadn’t bled yet and he knew I didn’t have any diseases, he didn’t use protection, and so now he got himself a baby that he said he didn’t want but wouldn’t let me get rid of.

Baby cried the day he came home. Hush, Baby, hush. Mitch picked us up from the home of an old woman who lived out in Granite Falls. She was some sort of back street doctor-midwife woman that owed Mitch a favor so he sent me to her the minute I started crampin’ up. He tossed me in the back of his pimped-out, purple glitter, hardtop Caddy and drove me out to her place and left me there for two days. And from the moment that Baby slid out from between my legs, he cried almost the all the time, never stoppin’ and the old woman said that he was healthy and that babies just cry sometimes.

On the afternoon of the second day of stayin’ with the old woman, Mitch showed up and he brought us home in the back seat of his Caddy and Baby cried. Hush, Baby, hush. He helped us into the apartment and pointed to a canister of infant formula on the countertop and told me to get Baby onto the formula and to get back into shape because he was done givin’ me a free ride and I had to start earnin’ my keep and nobody wants to be with a whore that’s leakin’ breast milk. But then he changed his mind and said that there were clients who prob’ly would like a whore that leaks breast milk and he took the away the infant formula and left for the day.

And Baby cried. Hush, Baby, hush.

Baby cried and cried when Mitch came home. And Mitch said he was stressed out. Hush, Baby, hush. Mitch couldn’t stand the cryin’, said he couldn’t sleep with Baby cryin’ all the time. He said that not gettin’ enough sleep could get in the way of him runnin’ his business. And did I think that drugs sold themselves? And did I think that lazy whores would work if he wasn’t out there makin’ them work? He started shovin’ me around, but only after Baby was put down in his little bassinet in the corner of the bedroom ‘cause Mitch said that he didn’t want to damage his future money maker ‘cause some clients like baby boys the way some clients like little girls.

Baby started cryin’ again. Hush, Baby, hush. At least Mitch had gone out to sell drugs at the university in Seattle and for a while I didn’t have to worry about gettin’ knocked around because I couldn’t get Baby to stop cryin’. I’d already changed his tiny little diaper and I’d offered him my breast to see if he was hungry, but he didn’t want that. I’d taken his temperature with that thermometer that the prostitute three doors down gave me after the state had taken away her toddler but he didn’t have a fever. He just kept on cryin’. Hush, Baby, hush.

Mitch was late. That meant that he stopped in for a couple drinks. He’d been drinkin’ a lot the past week, ever since Baby came home. Mitch don’t usually drink, but when he does, he gets mean. I asked him why he didn’t just use his some of his product instead of alcohol, and he said dealers don’t use their own stuff. And he said that if Baby didn’t cry all the time, he wouldn’t have to drink. And then he said that maybe I’d better figure out how to make Baby stop cryin’ if I knew what was good for me.

Baby kept cryin’. Hush, Baby, hush. Baby, what’s wrong with you? I patted him on the back as I walked the floor, wearin’ down a path in the already thin linoleum between the kitchen and the front door. Baby kept cryin’ as I walked back and forth. Hush, Baby, hush. I gently pressed Baby’s tummy against my over-full breasts that were covered in a thin tank top soggy with breast milk and held his head tucked into the crook of my neck. Step and pat. Step and pat. Step and pat. I was so tired. And the headache that I had since Mitch had hit me yesterday, and the black eye and the split lip and the broken nose, they all throbbed at the same time, too.

I wanted out of this place. I had made such a mistake runnin’ away from home. I was only thirteen when I left, and now I’m fourteen and I’ve got myself a baby. I wanted to call home, to tell my mamma that I was sorry for sayin’ what I did about my stepdaddy, and that I wouldn’t tell the cops that he’d touched me a couple of times and I wouldn’t tell them that he touched himself while he did it. I wouldn’t tell anyone, because that would have been better than this, but I couldn’t call ‘cause I didn’t have a phone. And I would have packed up Baby and me and we would have left, but we couldn’t ‘cause Mitch had locked us up in this tiny apartment with its bars on the windows and its deadbolts on the door and I couldn’t get us out if I tried. Baby kept on cryin’. Hush, Baby, hush. Upstairs, a door slammed and I jumped. Baby startled and cried even louder than before.

Hush, Baby, hush. I could hear the television of the nasty pervert next door, charged for multiple counts of sex with a minor and just released two months ago. Him and his pornography. Moanin’ and groanin’ all day and night while he touched himself. And then I heard it.

Outside the apartment door, heavy footsteps thudded on the landin’ and a heavy key ring jingled and I held my breath. Hush, Baby, hush. I held Baby to my chest as I backed away from that door. The key slid in the first lock and it snicked open. I took Baby and we scrunched down in the corner of the room between the arm chair and the loveseat and Baby kept cryin’. Hush, Baby, hush. I pulled down my tank top and milk was leakin’ from both breasts and I held Baby to my left one. Hush, Baby, hush. And he stopped cryin’ for a minute and suckled and then he coughed and kinda squirmed against me. Hush, Baby, hush. The keys jingled again and the second lock snicked open. I patted Baby’s back and pressed him to my breast again. Hush, Baby, hush. He started cryin’ louder and squirmin’ harder, and I started thinkin’ ‘bout how mean Mitch would be after drinkin’ and that if Baby and I didn’t make noise, maybe it’d be okay, maybe Mitch wouldn’t hurt me again. And I pressed Baby harder against me. Hush, Baby, hush. He squirmed some more. And then the keys jingled again and the third lock snicked open. Hush, Baby, hush. Baby stopped squirmin’ so much.

And I realized that I was cryin’ and I tried to stop. And Baby, he stopped cryin’ and then he was just sort of whimperin’ and I was too, because it was better than cryin’ and quieter, too. Baby was finally quietin’ down and it was just me whimperin’ when the keys jingled again. The milk was still leakin’ from my breasts when the fourth lock snicked open and the door flew open, crashin’ into the wall and Baby stopped doin’ anythin’ at all.

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From the Empirical Archives: Chalk Talk by Marc Shapiro

Chalk Talk

Marc Shapiro

Originally Published in the June 2012 Issue of Empirical

Chalk bites into the street,

Flaking crumbs as it travels,

To the elbow,

To the muddied Air Jordans,

Past blue jeaned bent and twisted leg,

Past a raw, bloodied pulpy spot,

Around a body twisted in half,

Finally coming to outline at the head,

Eyes closed,

Mouth open in silent scream,

As blood and brain matter dot a horrid I.

The sheet comes up,

Over legs,

Blotting out a future,

Over body,

Cutting short conscience,

Over the head and gone,

As the world dies screaming,

Leaving only chalk.

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From the Empirical Archives: Bienvenido a la Ciudad de Guatemala by Jeremy da Rosa

Bienvenido a la Ciudad de Guatemala

Jeremy da Rosa

Originally Published in the June 2012 Issue of Empirical

Guatemala City sits around 6000 feet above sea level, and is built on the tops of mountains and highland plains. The land is wrinkled with elevation and streaked with valleys and throughout this high green landscape, volcanoes rise higher still and continually send smoke into the sky.

The city stretches out on a plateau, with innumerable fingers of mountain running out all at once in as many directions, forming hundreds of barrancos where thin muddy rivers and streams trickle through dense foliage gathering dirt and garbage. Houses and shacks crowd together and rush out to the very edge of the highland peninsulas, and some tumble over the upper edge of the ravines and lean on or stack haphazardly upon each other, stepping down toward the vertices of the nameless and numberless valleys.

Here the houses are made of concrete blocks or corrugated sheets of iron fastened to wooden frames with rusty nails Families live in single or two-room dwellings, and often the kitchen or eating room doubles as the family bedroom or sitting area. Out on terraces in the concrete houses, or in paneled yards beside the sheet metal shacks, clothes are stretched along rope or wire clotheslines, and slowly fade in color in the heavy, quick-drying sunlight and hot wind. When temperatures drop and thick clouds roil overhead, the clothes and lines are stretched out indoors in salas or in cool, open-air jardínes within the concrete houses.

Block and earthen steps and walkways lead down to the lowest of the houses from the streets above, and everywhere, uncared for and unwatched, dusty dogs, one with three paws, another missing an eye, wander in and out of the alleyways between houses and yards, muzzling through bags and piles of trash awaiting pickup from weekly trucks or skittering across streets. During the night, a fight breaks out over a discarded stew bone between a black mutt with matted fur and a brown hound missing half an ear. From inside the shack across from them, a brown one-liter Gallo bottle, Guatemala’s national lager, is thrown from a square hole in the iron and lands in the side of the black mutt. It yelps and jumps off into the dark, while the hound picks up the bone and moves on toward the road.

These roads stretch and weave around from the edges of the barranco, passing tiny corner stores with barred windows and doors, or, in other areas, corrugated tin shacks with banners and signs posted outside. Panaderías offer fresh bread and cakes, and in dim rooms with hard floors of dirt, dark women wrapped in colorful fajas shout or murmur quietly in their native Kaqchikel or K’iche’ tongue around hot comales, vigorously slapping and forming clay-like masa into tortillas to sell to hungry passersby for five per queztal. The hound streaks through the lot around the tortillería and wanders off into the thick undergrowth with his prize.

The concrete and block houses and buildings continue to spread evenly through the city, creating a layer of cream, orange, or another mild hue over the entire area. Here and there the houses are left unfinished at the top, with four uneven pegs of rebar reaching through at each corner of the buildings, waiting for another heavy level to be laid when the dueño has money to spare. Streets are spotted with holes and grooves deep enough to scrape the hard underbellies of automobiles and throw the wheels out of alignment. Vendors walk the concrete and earth medians, hawking roses, plátanos fritos, phone cards, and other necessities to drivers. On the corners sit simple tienditas with names like Abarrotería Occidental, Almacén Jordan, or Tienda San Pedro, each with brightly colored packages of chips, cookies, crackers, and nuts hung on plastic ribbons around the barred storefront opening, making a sort of edible curtain to entice potential buyers. Boxes of milk, cereal, and cooking supplies sit on metal shelving deep in the back of the small rooms, and aguas are stocked in old reach-in, glass-door coolers by the front of the store: juice, cold tea, Coca-Cola (Guatemalans prefer this over Pepsi almost nationwide), and various cervezas, each in file by size and flavor.

Auto shops and various hardware and domestic talleres, featuring hand-painted signs on concrete store fronts, are cluttered with the respective work of the trade, creating consecutive blocks of new tires and wheels, or a wide street lined with trophy and plaque manufacturers. Moving toward the southern central point of the city, the roads become wider and the pavement improves slightly. In all areas of the city are exclusive gated communities where the wealthy reside, but east of the airport, in the banking district, the concentration of these colonias privadas increases drastically, as do the appearance and price of the goods and services near them. Multi-floored glass buildings layered with banks, embassies, and offices stretch and straddle ample tree-lined boulevards alongside immense, westernized shopping centers and car dealerships, and fast-food chains. Grassy park-like areas stocked with monuments to each Latin American country lay between the oppositely routed traffic of the Avenida Las Américas, which culminates in a large, crescent shaped park with a view of the receding city limits. Far beyond them, the ring of mountains and valleys continues endlessly. The traffic on the main boulevards ribbon and billow in a rough T-shape through the southern end of the city, with the northwest side of the crossbar heading to Mexico, and the southeast to El Salvador.

Traffic in this highway is heavy nearly all times of day. Flamboyant and flashy, and equally dilapidated and derelict, red buses curl thick diesel smoke into the air and stop frequently to receive and release hordes of riders at every street corner. Fumes from the buses drift into open windows of well-worn Japanese automobiles missing a fender or bumper here or there, with red or white tape across tail lamp bulbs and innumerable scratches, dings, and dents. Throughout this jerking body of traffic whip late-model BMWs, Mercedes, and Jaguars, which quickly and mercilessly overtake the slower masses, while large SUVs with chrome grille-guards and black-tinted windows (often followed closely by gray pickups carrying at least three bodyguards) edge the smaller or more timid cars into the margins. And continually, among the endless gridlock of cars and buses, motorcycles fearlessly dart in and out of traffic, over low medians, zipping down sidewalks and along shoulders, or splitting lanes and narrowly avoiding an outstretched hand asking for space to change lanes. The bikes are small, and the 100cc or 125cc motors create a low- to mid-pitch whine, which serves as a backdrop for the scene. The motos, Bajaj, Shineray, Suzuki, Yamaha, and a spattering of other lesser-known brands often carry small propane tanks, plastic delivery boxes from Pizza Hut, McDonald’s, or another fast food or goods retailer en-route to or from the delivery destination. Near this river of gleaming metal and dispersing exhaust fumes, La Aurora International Airport stretches north to south, with one end of the tarmac capped by the aforementioned boulevard, and the other abruptly cut short by one of the barrancos which cut through the city.

Here, the intense contrasts which spread through the city are compacted along the fenced-off reception area outside the terminal. Taxis and shuttles sit patiently throughout the day, the taxistas mildly haranguing arriving travelers with rides to La Antigua Guatemala, Tikal, and sharp hotels in the city’s banking district, while cleandressed charter bus drivers and expectant parties shift their weight and hold signs with travelers’ names in large letters. Far more common are the wealthy, “Americanized” families, friends, or known business associates, glancing occasionally at watches or cell phones and leaning, with impatient eyes, toward the glass doors whenever a group of passengers exits. These are the descendants of Spaniards, or other European immigrants and indigenous Guatemalans, who have become firmly entrenched as the ruling elite in Guatemala. These are the owners of the Audis, BMWs, and Porsches, and those who have expensive U.S. or Japanese cars imported to their westernized homes in the banking districts and guarded colonias.

Mixed among them are the ladino Guatemalans, those who may still own multiple cars and send children to private schools, but do not live in the wealthy, internationally influenced areas and are outside the materialism of the ruling class. Up against the fence, and usually in subdued groups, wait the indigenous Guatemaltecos. The women come dressed in bright, durable, handmade ropa típica, and the men with white cowboy-style hats, dungarees or vaquero slacks, and leather boots. While the elite walk loudly in stylish clothing and flash cell phones and imported luggage, the short, dark couples wait by the fence and speak in low voices sometimes Spanish, sometimes in Lengua—and go largely unnoticed by the two other groups, their place in history and importance to the culture rapidly leaving them behind—and seemingly almost forgotten.

As the friends and their long-awaited guests weave out, waiting for buses, calling taxis, or merging through traffic in their personal transportation, the largest concentration of Caucasians in Guatemala outside of Tikal and Antigua are injected into the mainstream like farm-raised trout and are quickly separated and dispersed throughout the endless streets and calzadas and subsequently lose each other.

With the hurrying in and out of cars, buses, slim motos and waves of tourists, internationals, and Guatemalans, the airport, and, by extension the city, throbs and heaves with emotions and contradictions, which at once define and confuse its identity.

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From the Empirical Archives: Mother by Hazel Quigley

Mother 

Hazel Quigley

Originally Published in the June 2012 Issue of Empirical

I made a point of watching her

In the kitchen.

She prepared fruit,

And set it

On a bed of cream

Meticulously.

I joked that grapes are grapes,

But failed to break her concentration.

As she labored over little berries

I thought myself the smallest in a long line of Russian dolls.

But I’ll grow yet

A matryoshka dynasty.

Hollow but for each other

Faces painted.

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