It’s finally time for us to move on, LiveJournal.

You and I had a good run together. Twenty years, in fact, since our relationship started back in 2002. 1,350 journal entries, between my general and cycling blogs.

But boy have you changed. In 2007 you were bought out by a Russian company, but I stayed loyal to you when most of my friends left for your alter-ego: Dreamwidth.

Since then you have: fired your American staff, broke a promise by relocating your servers to Russia, adopted partisan Russian censorship policies in your terms of service, prohibited other blogging platforms from crossposting to LJ, and made it difficult for users to export their existing blog entries to other systems.

I don’t know at what point your behavior crossed the line, but it obviously has. At this point, my earlier choice to distinguish between LJ’s policies and those of the Russian state seems naïve.

With that distinction removed, it becomes much harder to pay for a service hosted in an authoritarian country that is engaged in a clandestine hacking war upon the United States, and an unjustifiable invasion of neighboring Ukraine.

Between LiveJournal’s own policies and those of the Russian state, things have finally gone too far. So after 20 years with you, I’ve finally joined Dreamwidth, who will host my general and cycling blogs going forward.

Yup. Twenty years, beginning on February 16 2002 with this post, where I shortsightedly stated, “You shouldn't expect to see very much in the way of public postings.” That was the first of 1,350 entries (so far).

I found it telling that I observed that 20th anniversary by posting a status update on my Facebook, rather than LJ. Previously, I’d written about my feelings on the fifth anniversary and the tenth anniversary of my blog.

Henceforth all new postings will appear on Dreamwidth, where I’ve imported all my old LJ posts and settings. As you might expect, a few things didn’t come across perfectly, but I’ll try and iron those out over time. If you notice anything missing, broken, or ugly, I’d appreciate if you let me know.

As a reader – however infrequently that might be – you can expect my blogs to continue as they always have, save for the obvious change of domain name. Hopefully the only change you’ll notice will be a return to posting more often.

Blogposts per Year (stacked) chart

In their recent marketing communications, the Cambridge Insight Meditation Center has published brief interviews with some of their regular practitioners as a kind of “get to know you” feature.

Although I haven’t made an appearance at CIMC in years, I thought it’d be fun to answer some of those questions myself, especially since today marks the 15th anniversary of my first visit to CIMC (or any meditation center).

CIMC meditation hall

CIMC meditation hall

CIMC: Tell us about yourself.

I discovered Buddhism around age 40, while seeking a way to live in closer accord with my inner values after a divorce, moving, and changing jobs. The teachings resonated with me, and I found CIMC’s non-sectarian method pleasantly approachable.

I was a CIMC regular and volunteer for eleven years, during which time my practice matured rapidly. In 2015 I moved to Pittsburgh, where I now support and occasionally teach two vipassana sitting groups.

CIMC: How did you learn about CIMC? When did you come to CIMC for the first time? And what program did you attend?

I first checked out a Tuesday night Beginners’ Drop-In sitting in April 2004, and followed up with a two-day Beginners’ Workshop with Maddy Klyne the following month. After that, I started going to all the Wednesday evening sitting & dhamma talks—enthusiastically absorbing everything I could—then joined some standing practice groups; formed a kalyana mitta “spiritual friends” group; and undertook retreats at CIMC, IMS, and the Bhavana Society to begin putting all those teachings into practice.

CIMC: How has CIMC or a teacher transformed or benefitted your life?

More than any single teacher, I benefited from the unbelievable diversity and expertise of the guest teachers CIMC brought in to lead weekly Wednesday night sittings and dhamma talks. In addition to our own esteemed guiding teachers, CIMC provided a rare and precious opportunity to learn from many of the most respected teachers in the world.

I knew almost nothing about Buddhism when I arrived at CIMC. The teachings I received there—combined with my own meditation practice and independent study—have transformed how I relate to every element of my life, thereby addressing my original desire to live in harmony with my values, and gave me the confidence and depth of knowledge to begin advising and teaching others.

CIMC: Are you a member? If yes, why?

Although I left Boston in 2015, I am still a member at CIMC. The urban center has immense capability to bring the Buddhist mindset to a mainstream audience who would never engage with this path of wisdom otherwise. Having received so much benefit from CIMC, maintaining my membership is how I continue to support the center, the teachers, and the mission of offering the dhamma to others.

CIMC: What’s your favorite way of supporting or engaging with the CIMC community?

I always used to stay for tea after the Wednesday evening dhamma talks, having detailed discussions about practice in the dining room with other attendees right up to (and sometimes well beyond) the center’s official 10pm closing time. The conversations were always thought-provoking, and helped me feel like an integral part of the center and supported by a community of engaged, like-minded practitioners.

For more than a decade, CIMC was one of the most important elements of my life, and I continue to benefit from the time I spent there, even though I’m no longer a familiar face at the center.

Beyond that, there isn’t a lot for me to say in observance of today’s 15th anniversary of practice; I covered most of it in my 10th anniversary blogpost.

In the five years since I wrote that post, there have been two major developments in my practice.

The most obvious has been establishing my practice here in Pittsburgh, where I have been fortunate to find two local sitting groups, and was able to sit a retreat with venerable Bhante G. at the Bhavana Society in nearby West Virginia. These have provided regular prompting for my sitting practice, as well as the continued support of like-minded practitioners.

In addition, on several occasions I have led sittings and dhamma talks for these two groups, which has been a major change from how I practiced in Boston. After a decade and a half, I now find my practice transitioning from absorbing and practicing the dhamma to sharing it with others and offering instruction. This has been a major shift, and—as I mentioned above—one I would not have undertaken without the confidence and depth of knowledge I gained during my time at CIMC.

On my recent trip to North Carolina, I was able to sit with two large, thriving groups: the Triangle Insight Meditation Community in Durham and the Insight Meditation Community of Charlotte. Unexpectedly, the leaders of both sittings claim CIMC’s founders as their primary teachers.

That experience prompted me to drop a note to CIMC’s guiding teachers, wherein I shared the following. Speaking about the teachers I met during my trip:

They provided very visible examples of how important CIMC’s teachers have been in spreading vipassana practice throughout the US. It’s a noble legacy that will persist for decades and impact thousands of lives.

This experience was an unexpected reminder of how indebted I am and how much I miss CIMC. Now, as my practice transitions from absorbing the dhamma to sharing it with others, I realize how blessed I was to have spent so many years at CIMC and learned so much from such eminent teachers.

I wouldn’t say my mother was a natural cook, but she was willing to try anything that struck her fancy. While building her repertoire, she used an old typewriter to commit her favorites to index cards that she stored in a hinged wooden recipe box.

Over the years, I sifted through her recipe box countless times, looking for her instructions for sour cream cookies or nisu bread or the family’s traditional spaghetti sauce.

After she died—a year ago today—my brother and I sifted through her belongings, finding homes for all the things she left behind.

Naturally, I went through that recipe box, intent on preserving everything I wanted before passing it on to other family members.

At the back of the box, hidden behind everything else, was another unremarkable index card, yellowed with age like all the others. It looked like this:

A Testament

Although she didn’t note it, those lines are the final stanza of a poem called “A Testament”, published by American sculptor and poet William Wetmore Story in 1856, a hundred and sixty-two years ago.

As you can see, the index card is old and hand-typed… It had clearly been sitting in the back of that recipe box for years and years, although I had never seen it before. Perhaps she wrote it back in 1991, after her dramatic multiple-bypass surgeries, or then again, maybe some other time.

And yet why keep it there, of all places? If she had intended it to be a parting message, she could have left it in her home safe or her bank safe deposit box with all the rest of her important papers.

But if it wasn’t an intentional message, then why was this poem stored in her recipe box? That might have been a good place to leave a hidden message to her husband, but my father passed away twenty years ago.

Irrespective of whatever her design was, finding this note shortly after her death was startling. It remains no less moving, a year later.

Ten years ago today I took what turned out to be one of the most important steps of my life: I attended a Tuesday night beginners’ drop-in session at the Cambridge Insight Meditation Center.

The story actually begins two years earlier, in 2002. I was in my late thirties, and had achieved great successes only to discover that they weren’t very fulfilling, and experienced immense joys only to learn that they were surprisingly ephemeral.

I remembered how French Existentialist philosophy had given my life a context as a teen; I still agreed with many Existentialist assumptions, but I wondered if I could find a way to lead an ethical and fulfilling life based on those assumptions.

Twenty years after high school, most of my understanding of Existentialism had faded, and I wasn’t even sure that Existentialism was right for me anymore. So I very consciously embarked on a general overview of philosophy and Existentialism in particular.

That was in early 2002, which was also when I began this blog, which has served from the start as a repository for my philosophical meanderings.

About a year into the philosophy project, I came across William Barrett’s “Irrational Man: A Study in Existential Philosophy” which contained a passage that described Buddhism as having a similar starting point as Existentialism, but promoting a more compassionate and loving way of being, rather than a jaded and pessimistic one. That sounded like exactly what I was looking for.

Mere days after finishing Barrett, I was in a bookshop and fortuitously stumbled across Alan Watts’ “The Wisdom of Insecurity”, which is an incomparable introduction to Buddhist philosophy for westerners. Where Barrett had planted a seed of curiosity, Watts nurtured it into a thriving line of exploration.

I spent another year reading about Buddhism, before April 27 2004, when I found myself entering a meditation center (CIMC) for the first time in my life. That short Tuesday night drop-in group—led by Madeline Klyne -- was interesting enough to convince me to sign up for her six-hour beginners’ workshop the following month.

From there, I started downloading dharma talks from well-known teachers and attending CIMC’s Wednesday evening sittings and talks. Surprisingly, it all made really good sense. I took the Buddhist refuges and precepts for the first time, sat my first retreats, began hanging out with other like-minded folks, and so on… for ten years now!

It would be easy for me to celebrate this anniversary as a personal accomplishment: I have ten years of meditation practice under my belt, wow! But like any title or medal one receives, the award isn’t what’s important; it’s merely a symbol, pointing to the real actions that were taken and the results that were produced. In my case, the results are to be found in the emotionally fulfilling and ethically-aligned life that I’ve enjoyed in recent years.

I don’t think I can overstate the value of the fundamental changes I have benefited from. I’ve gone from a very selfish, reactive, immature person who was unconscious of the harm he was causing to a more compassionate, thoughtful, fatherly person who is much more aware and in control of his thoughts, speech, and actions.

I am deeply amazed by this transformation. Yes I’m proud of it, but also very grateful for the essential assistance of the people who have guided and encouraged me. I couldn’t possibly be more thankful for my ten-year association with CIMC and the constellation of amazing teachers and fellow practitioners I have met along the path. I will always be in their debt, and this is a good opportunity to acknowledge that.

Twenty-five years ago was my wedding day. I wasn’t going to write anything about it, but I suppose a few off-the-cuff thoughts would be appropriate.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times: our relationship was the proverbial two-edged knife. I’ve always tried to treasure the amazing joys it provided; and these days I look back on the intense pain it ended in with a lot more compassion, both for myself and for the woman who accompanied me.

Lord knows neither of us were emotionally mature enough to manage that relationship very well. In that sense, the marriage was a crucible of self-learning. There’s nothing that will reveal your own faults more starkly than sharing your life with another person. But it also showed us our potential and our worth, as well.

Marriage caused us both to experience a lot of growth… it’s just sad that so much of it came as a result of our relationship’s unforeseen and rapid collapse.

memorabilia

For me, one of those lessons was that some questions will never have adequate answers. Why did it fail? How much was my fault? How much hers? How much was real and how much was fake? After the divorce, I found it difficult to deal with not having any answers; as a child I had wanted to live forever just so that I could see and know “how it all turned out”. With my marriage, I saw it and lived it, but I will never fully know what happened.

Another lesson has been that you can’t go back. I daresay we both lost a lot of our innocence when we separated. Many years have passed since then, but although time heals, deep wounds also leave enduring scars. The simple, complete faith I had in her—and she in I—isn’t something that I could ever extend again. You never love as deeply and vulnerably as you do before you’ve had your first heartbreak.

Looking back, the flaws we never saw seem obvious now, and trivial when compared to the connection and potential that we shared. If I were to remarry (an extremely unlikely event), would I make better choices now and avoid the mistakes that destroyed the most precious thing I ever had? I’m wise enough now to know that, no matter how much I’ve matured emotionally, it’s impossible to say. But certainly I’ve stopped believing that any woman is Snow White, and no man—even me—is Prince Charming.

The joys… they were amazing, fulfilling, and I will treasure them every day of my life. They haven’t invented words to describe how happy I was on that day 25 years ago. But those few years of joy came at the price of many more years spent bearing the pain of the breakup.

You might find it unsatisfying that I can’t resolve those two extremes and synthesize them into a single emotional state—positive, negative, or neutral—but that too is the complex nature of marriage and divorce. There is no unambiguous “bottom line”. It was what it was: the most amazing, the most painful, and possibly the most educational experience I’ve ever been through.

And that’s really all I can leave you with.

I’d like to preserve and share with you an email I sent yesterday to the DargonZine Writers’ List, in observance of the 25th anniversary of FSFnet’s founding.

DargonZine

Twenty-five years. Two and a half decades. A quarter century.

I’m not sure how well you remember December of 1984, but here are a couple mental snapshots that I recall.

One is taking my friend Murph aside one quiet afternoon and asking his opinion about starting a fantasy magazine that would be distributed over BITNET. It would be modeled after the handful of other newsletters my friends were sending out by email, as well as the annual literary journal I once produced for the regional Tolkien fan group. He liked the idea, as did all the friends I mentioned it to.

The other image is set a week or so later. I recall sitting in the University of Maine mainframe computer terminal cluster after a particularly egregious blizzard, composing the eight-paragraph announcement and appeal for submissions that I called FSFnet Volume 0 Number 0. Between Christmas 1984 and New Years Day 1985, I emailed it to 100 people who listed fantasy or science fiction as interests in the primitive user directory called the BITNAUTS LIST. Two thirds of them would subscribe to the zine, and submissions would begin trickling in.

Thus was DargonZine born, twenty-five years ago this week.

Some of you have been here since those early days, and some joined somewhat later. Whatever part you’ve played in our shared history, you have my deepest thanks, and my heartiest congratulations. Or if you’re really new to the project, I look forward to the contribution you bring for our future. New writers are absolutely critical for our survival and thriving, so I encourage you to be an active, vocal participant.

While I was editor, amidst the urgent pleas for submissions and critiques and mentoring work, I probably never talked enough about how proud I am of what we’d accomplished. This is probably the best opportunity I’ll have until 2034, when DargonZine will hopefully observe its 50th anniversary, and I’ll hopefully be an overripe 71 year-old. So indulge me for a few moments.

When I founded FSFnet, I was a solitary 21 year-old writer in the woods of Maine, seeking focused exchange with other aspiring writers. I wanted to grow and learn as a writer, and to share that path with people who were similarly motivated. One of the things that brings me the most pride is observing the exchange of ideas and the quality of discourse on our email list. If I look back across our time together, it’s incredibly easy to see how much each of us has developed and matured as writers. I take great satisfaction in our having done so well in accomplishing my initial goal.

What I didn’t expect was how deeply people have valued their association with DargonZine. Many of you have been here one, two decades, or more. It’s humbling and very rewarding to have built something that other people value so highly. Your dedication is visible in the time and hard work you put into your stories and critiques, your tenure here, and your willingness to contribute your time and energy to keep the project running. Many of you have made DargonZine an important part of your lives, and that’s an amazing compliment to receive.

Another thing that actually took me by surprise was how important DargonZine was for me. While I was in college, FSFnet was a fun diversion, but it was also a way to do something meaningful that other people valued, which gave me a real sense of satisfaction. I guess it was natural that would be eclipsed when I left school, began a career, and got married, but it resumed even stronger than before when I returned to the zine after my separation and divorce.

Resuming control of DZ in 1994 helped give my life focus and meaning when both career and marriage were in the shitter. Its longevity (at that time ten years!) became a major source of pride, and as my career rebounded, DZ also became a place where I could practice budding leadership and motivational skills. I suddenly and unexpectedly found myself describing DargonZine and its mission of nurturing aspiring writers as my life’s purpose. While other causes have taken priority in recent years, I really appreciate the comfort, direction, and meaning DZ has given me throughout the years.

Let me talk about those years, because many of you should take pride in our shared creation. As you know, we’re the longest-running electronic magazine on the Internet by a huge margin. In 25 years we’ve sent out approximately 200 issues with about 500 stories, totaling over 14 MB and close to 3 million words of prose. We’ve fabricated a consistent shared world with over 12,000 references to over 3,500 named things, with a complete encyclopedic reference database. These might just look like numbers until you start thinking about how much work any one of them takes to accomplish; then you really begin to understand the magnitude of our shared achievement. But more importantly than any of that, we’ve published stories from five dozen aspiring writers, all of whom have come away from that experience with valuable learnings that have made them better at their craft.

Looking back, there are particular events that I’m proud to be associated with. Naturally, the creation of the Dargon Project itself, back when FSFnet was foundering, is a major one, along with its early development. Printing the Talisman epic and several other exceptional stories were others. But out of everything, I think the pinnacle had to be going from conception to the final printed conclusion of the huge Black Idol story arc, since it involved so many writers, required such close coordination, was such a long and grueling process, and finally produced such a memorable and noteworthy result. But all our collaborations—the conspiracy, the war, the comet contest, and others—are all highlights. It was an honor to participate in and preside over many of them.

I take a little pride in my ability to twice walk away from the zine, leaving my most prized creation in others’ hands; that’s not easy. But the real pride comes in seeing people step up to the challenge and keep the thing going out of sheer appreciation, since the other editors did not have the same sense of ownership and obligation and personal ego involvement that I did as founder. Leadership of DZ isn’t the most comfortable mantle to wear, but those who have taken on leadership duties—and not just the titular editors—have done us all great honor by helping the zine survive.

And, finally, the personal relationships. I have met about three dozen of our writers, both at our Summits and outside of them, and I’m delighted to have befriended most of them. While creating a network of social bonds wasn’t even on my radar back in 1984, it’s by far one of the project’s biggest and most pleasurable results, and another source of pride and honor. The people who have written for DargonZine are family, and one of the biggest and least-expected treasures of my life.

It’s been a surprisingly long and rewarding road, my friends. We’ve seen a lot, done a lot, and accomplished a lot. You’ve made me very proud, and I hope you take as much pride and joy in DargonZine as I do. Not just in the world-record longevity which we celebrate today, but in all the good it has done for so many writers. I’m honored to have shared the journey with you, and I look forward to many years and more adventures to come.

DargonZine can, of course, be found at http://www.dargonzine.org/.

As DargonZine’s founder and former editor, I was asked to make a few comments as they completed their 24th and began their record 25th year of online publication. I thought I’d share my responses here, in case anyone is interested.

Why did you start Dargonzine?

DargonZine, which was initially called FSFnet, really began out of my desire to exchange ideas, tips, and techniques with other writers. I was attending college in the backwoods of Maine, and there really was no one I could have those kinds of focused conversations with.

At that time, BITNET was just coming into being, and several of my peers had founded electronic magazines that focused on computers or humor. But at that time there was really no online forum for fantasy and science fiction fans.

Having edited a fiction-based magazine in high school, I immediately recognized the value of combining this newfound communication technology with my personal needs as a writer. I could attract people like myself, who sought a serious, focused online writers’ group, while entertaining hundreds of fantasy readers by freely distributing the writers’ output online.

Twenty years before the term “social networking” was coined, we realized the power of bringing aspiring writers together and sharing their works with supportive readers, and that formula has been the basis for DargonZine’s success.

Did you ever imagine it would still be running, 25 years later?

During the early years, obtaining enough submissions was a constant struggle, and it wasn’t until the mid-1990s that DargonZine had enough writers to ensure that issues came out on a regular basis. So for many years our focus on getting the next issue out superceded any inkling of how long the magazine would survive.

However, as the few older e-zines folded, by 1995 we had clearly become the longest-running electronic magazine on the Internet. At the same time, we had an established core group of long-term contributors who were willing to do whatever was necessary to keep the group alive. Only then did we start thinking about DargonZine having a future beyond the next two or three issues.

What were the early days of Dargonzine like?

Most people don’t realize how primitive the Internet was in 1984. This was ten years before the first public Web browser was developed, before IRC, predating even commandline FTP. The only service available was text-only email.

The “Internet” was limited to a couple obscure places that would pass email between two incompatible networks. The only sites on the Internet were major colleges and large government contractors, and the only people who had both access and the technical knowledge to use it were computer science students and computer center staff.

At that time, there were virtually no public gathering places on the Internet (pun intended). One of the only ways to find people was to register your name, email address, and interests in a central text file that listed a few hundred “Bitnauts”: tech-savvy Internet users. DargonZine’s first two mailings were sent to users on the Bitnauts List who had listed science fiction or fantasy in their interests.

Back then, when connections between universities rarely exceeded 9600 baud (15 minutes per MB), sending a couple hundred emails at once could bring the entire network to its knees. FSFnet was one of the first users of Eric Thomas’ Listserv software, which addressed this problem by multiplexing email and file distribution to make more efficient use of BITNET’s star topology and slow network links.

What advice would you give to others who want to start a long-lived webzine?

There are two crucial elements in making your e-zine work: the subject matter, and your dedication to it.

Because you’re competing with everyone else on the planet, your e-zine needs to be the single best source of information on your topic. If you intend to put out a magazine about Star Trek, your zine has to be really exceptional in order to stand out among all the other sites already out there. That’s incredibly difficult, but I’ve seen it done.

The other option is to focus on something newly emerging, like steampunk fiction or digital video recorders or GPS phones. If you’re the only zine that deals with your topic, it’s much easier to become the recognized authority in the field. This is what DargonZine did back in the early days of the Internet, when there were no other writing groups or fiction zines online. If you do this, you just have to make sure you do it well enough to discourage anyone from starting a new zine to compete with you.

The subject matter is what will get your zine off the ground, but your dedication is what gives it longevity. I’ve see hundreds of zines and newsletters fold after putting out four to ten issues. Usually there’s a honeymoon period when there’s lots of content and both the editor and contributors are very motivated. But in short order the editor discovers that the pipeline of submissions has run dry and there’s actually a lot of technical drudgery in preparing and distributing issues. It’s here where the editor’s passion and devotion to the subject matter makes the difference between a zine that quietly fades away into obscurity or survives and goes on to enduring greatness. And, really, if you’re not working on something you love to do, you shouldn’t be wasting your time on it.

And if you’d like to impart any anecdotes or anything else, please let me know!

Although the Internet allowed DargonZine’s contributors to work closely together in a virtual sense, our writers have always been physically isolated, spread thinly across the globe. In fact, during our first decade we didn’t see any value in meeting one another in person. Even when that changed, we spent two cautious years meeting in small groups before inviting all our writers to our first open DargonZine Writers’ Summit in Washington DC in 1997.

The ensuing DargonZine Summits cultivated lasting friendships and generated an unexpected amount of enthusiasm among our contributors. Since 1997, we have held annual meetings each year in different cities around the world. The Summits are a balance between working sessions focused on improving our writing, fostering personal connections between writers, and sightseeing in the host city. Although we were skeptical of their value at first, the Summits have proved to be one of the most rewarding, inspiring, and effective activities we’ve ever provided.

Frequent topics