Sometime in 1967, I went to the Garrick Theatre in New York City to see Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention perform a sparsely attended show. It was a rainy day and Frank wore a rain hat which brought a few streams of sweat rolling down his face. After the show, I went backstage to meet Frank. My sole question was: "What do you look like without that prophylactic hat?" To which Frank responded: "Like a real man." Frank was a real piece of work; not one of infinite copies or an overpriced fake.   The following year, Frank produced a song, some of whose lyrics have ever since resonated with me as funny and profound:   "What is the ugliest part of your body? Some say your nose Some say your toes But I think it's your mind."   Nothing to the eye is inherently ugly or beautiful. However, the mind, by comparing things, deems some things uglier or prettier than other things. Hence, the mind is the ugliest part of the body, for it's the only part that makes things ugly....

In the last year of my mother's life, she was mentally clear but otherwise incapacitated. Living in a nursing facility, she couldn't do much but be carted around to group entertainment activities like movie watching. Her days must have been intolerably long, as she had little to do to kill time until time killed her. Yet, her perspective was otherwise. I once asked her if she was often bored, to which she replied, "Oh, I am busy all day; barely have time to do anything." What was she busy with? "Thinking about my life." My mother traveled to the land of her memories. Her memories must have been happy as she never complained and had no regrets. That's how my mother transitioned, living in her memories until she became a memory. For me, only a happy memory....

In January, 1990 I went to trial in U.S. Federal Court for "insider trading." Prior to trial, I went to Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the spiritual leader of the Chabad-Lubavitch Hasidic Judaism dynasty, to ask for a blessing. The "Rebbe" as he was commonly referred to was renowned for his wisdom, compassion and connection the the Almighty. As there is a good deal of randomness determining the outcome of a trial, I had hoped the Rebbe would put in a good word for me and bring me some luck. Some days after my visit, the Rebbe sent me a message: "Hopefully, the Messiah will arrive before the trial ends." I took this message to mean I would lose the trial which three months later I did. Now, 34 years hence, the Rebbe's message still resonates with me. Life is a trial. Everyone is executed at trial's end. Yet, there is hope for reprieve before execution. The coming of the Messiah will bring reprieve. In the "Messianic Era" there will be peace, harmony, abundance and prosperity. God will be universally recognized and communicated with and evil will cease to exist. Moreover, the dead will be resurrected; that is, you will realize no one dies. Essentially, all will be enlightened. Looking around the world today, it seems a far cry from the Messianic Era. Yet, Messiah is here for those who open their eyes. The Rebbe's message did bring me luck. The luck to realize the Messiah is here. "Hap" means luck. Hap is the root of happiness....

Lester Wunderman was a successful advertising executive, renowned as the father of direct marketing which he created in the late 1950s. Lester was also an avid collector of Dogon African art, having amassed a "world class" collection which now resides at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and Musee Du Quai Branly in Paris. I knew Lester as an investor in my hedge fund in the late 1980s. However, as we both had an interest in tribal art, we spoke more about art than investing. Lester started collecting Dogon art from Mali in a chance view of a figurative object at a gallery in LA. He didn't quite know why this artwork stirred a passion, but "it spoke to me." After much time and money spent on amassing his collection, Lester visited the Dogon people who lived at desert's edge and for whom sourcing water was often a preoccupation. Warmly received and aware of the water issues facing the Dogon, upon his return to NY, Lester contracted geologists and engineers to drill several drinking water wells for the Dogon. He later returned to visit the Dogon and was initiated as a shaman, with a animist festival highlighted by singing and dancing at a village where he had connected the Dogon to a water source. The singing and dancing resonated within him. It was then he realized the artworks in his collection were essentially empty; for what he was seeking was not artworks, but the singing and dancing connecting him and all in the community as one. Soon after, Lester distributed his collection to museums for those less fortunate than himself to experience the life of the Dogon vicariously....

Merton Simpson was a black man born in 1928 in racially segregated South Carolina. Merton was a musician, painter and, after settling in New York, a world-renowned tribal art dealer. As a collector of tribal art, I met Merton in 1991 and over the years purchased a few objects he had on offer. More significantly, we became friends; that is, we were completely open in our talks; taking vicarious joy in each other's tales and perspectives, without judgement. I did much of the talking as Merton was not a man of many words or paragraphs. Yet, Merton conveyed his feelings by laughing which is what he did much of our time together. Merton loved the physical experience of being alive. He loved looking at art, listening to music, eating and fucking. I could appreciate that. While in his day Merton was considered a top tribal art dealer, in his later years there was much talk about some of the objects he had on offer being of dubious authenticity. (Authenticity is the foundation of the collectible art market, without which art prices could not rise to as high as the sky. For if art was simply a visual experience, high quality "fakes" would be as valuable as authentic artworks.) Some in the field of tribal art collecting suggested that Merton's "fakes" were not offered with malintent, but perhaps Merton with age lost his critical "eye" for identifying artworks that were "real" or "fake." However, I suspect Merton evolved beyond these artificial categorizations. Merton came to simply enjoy and appreciate art things, as well as things generally, as there were, not as a function of how they were categorized or relative to other objects. He saw things not as this, that or another, but as is. In one of our many get-togethers, we looked at an African Nkisi figure, commonly called a "nail fetish," to consider whether it was "real" or a "fake." After some minutes, I asked Merton what he thought, to which he responded: "It is what it is." That's as God self-identified to Moses: "I am what I am." Simply, Merton delighted at the light from the "Burning Bush."  ...

Sometime in late 1988, I found myself on a hundreds long line of people awaiting to ask for a blessing from Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the Chabad-Lubavitch spiritual leader. As customary, the Rebbe gifted everyone on line a crisp, new US dollar bill. The gift was a sign of humility; the great Rebbe expressing gratitude to those who ventured to his house. As well, it suggested the bill recipient treat others likewise; that is, on every occasion, treat others with kindness. I imagine all those dollar bills are still around, in wallets and places of safekeeping. They are sacred mementos. My dollar I've kept in my wallet. Now, 36 years later, it has virtually disintegrated. What a loss! It would have been more valuable had I given it to someone soon after receiving it; more valuable to both me and the recipient....

When I was 16, living in Brooklyn with my parents, one summer night I drove to Brighton Beach and sat on the rocks along the shore. Reflections from the moon danced on the water, the ocean breathed in the surf and breathed out a roar. The night sky was a black blanket with pinholes to unknowable worlds on its other side. Lights and sounds vibrating the air, every-thing teeming with aliveness; unique, unlike anything experienced before.

I wondered why the ocean, expressing itself with motion and sound, was not considered as alive as are plants and animals. What did it mean to be alive? The "alive" classification made little sense. Classifications, descriptions and thoughts generally felt artificial, man-made; helpful for organizing and communicating, but otherwise empty of aliveness.

Who am I in all this?

...

When I was 13 I didn't need glasses but marveled at the experience of those who did. I thought people with myopia could see things two ways, with and without glasses. Poor eyesight seemed like a blessing that could lead to interesting insights. This might be the case. With myopia, one realizes they don't know what they are looking at. This arouses curiosity which exercises the mind. A well-exercised mind is fitter. Statistically, people who are myopic have a higher IQ than those who are not.  ...

The mind can make the most pleasurable things unpleasurable. I was recently informed by my sister that my father, an orthodox Jew, was angry the night he consummated his marriage to my mother. Their lovemaking turned from pleasure to anger when he realized my mother was not a virgin as she had claimed. I thought it funny that his mind distracted him from the pleasure at hand; that she had bed others before him and mislead him seemed besides the point. I don't know whether my father was upset because he felt my mother's deception compromised the foundational trust upon which a solid relationship is built upon or perhaps my father felt that marriage was a significant financial commitment on his part for which he expected to have first dibs on certain bedroom benefits; yet, apparently, others received the benefits for free....

Some 25 years back, in the “old city” section of Jerusalem, I stepped into a shop selling antiquities. As I looked at various objects in glass cases, the owner of the shop introduced himself and said he’d been an antiquities dealer for more than fifty years, had dealt in very fine and desirable objects and was sure he had something I'd like. I told him I’d been collecting antiquities for some time and wanted to look around. He then asked: “What are you looking for.”  I replied: “I don’t know what I’m looking for until I find it.” To which he said: “In that case, you’re looking for nothing.” While not apparent to me at the time, ultimately he was right. Now, after many years of collecting antiquities and tribal art and generally living to pursue personal desires, eureka: nothing. Looking for nothing, desiring nothing; not because I have everything, but as I am the everything....