Get A Grip

I will make a statement here that may rile some, but in the arena of common sense let’s assume for the course of this discourse that I’m right, or, at least, somewhere in the ballpark. ...How can anyone with a logical, rational mind not look at the way this planet is designed in conjunction with all the creatures who inhabit it, looking carefully at the magnificent design that each of us possesses and how they relate and depend on the other, and think that there isn’t a supreme intelligence who’s formed all of this wonder? I can’t imagine anyone who has a speck of intelligence who would dare think otherwise! So, I will make my stand and state that being this Earth was created by God, as we were, and with that thought in mind, is it too far out to think that this planet is too, a living being and has an intelligence, a consciousness, so therefore, an agenda of sorts?
With all the ill will we’ve forced upon it has the Earth finally had enough and is now systematically striking back through the only means at its disposal? Take a look around, something’s up, that’s for sure...
An abstract thought, but a plausible theory which has a certain amount of validity in my mind. Man, wildlife, and the Earth were built to rely on the other, and for some time now, man has completely disregarded his end of the deal, intent upon raping this planet at his will.
This theory more than implies a certain amount of expanding one's mind to grasp that such a thing could be possible, but I routinely scale beneath the surface of scientific data and have no problem giving the theory credence. We are here for each other, man relying upon nature, and versa visa. So why is it so impossible to grasp that nature might indeed exercise a will as we have?
Simply, and bluntly put, take a look around... man is full of shit and is reaping his own reward in ghastly, horrific ways. Deservedly so, way I look at it.
We’ve been given some pretty heavy lessons in the last few years that should've awakened us, made us realize what’s really important in our co-existence in this world, but sadly, man is more than a little full of himself, acting like the drunk who thinks the party will never stop, the world his personal toilet, and just like always, when he sobers up as the crisis hits, and it does, mankind looks to God for answers, then conveniently casts him aside once the life cycle returns to its normal pace. And it is through this immutable interaction that the lessons issue forth, yet we still refuse to see the forest for what it is.
We've lost our way and think ourselves impervious. Man is so shallow. So smug... Despite all of the amazing accomplishments of mankind, we’ve regressed in so many ways, disappearing up our own assholes, and we’re stirring up a shit storm that’s gonna take us all by surprise, and by then, it will be too late.
Bling Bling that.

Bah Humbug

It’s all I can do to stomach Christmas. And every year, my disgust grows exponentially. Not my favorite time of year, to be sure. The crass commercialism that has overtaken this holiday we call Christmas nauseates me to no end as I watch people fighting over articles on sale, ratcheting up their personal debt to all new highs, raising their stress to stroke levels, and for what? Some pathetic need to buy someone’s love with exorbitant gifts that mean nothing in the long run?
We as a peoples are truly a lost cause. We’ve lost the plot. We’ve become slaves and don’t even know it.
What’s happened to love? Family? Friends? Kindness? Empathy? Compassion? What’s happened to contrition? Redemption? Absolution? Things that cost nothing, just time?
There is much more in interpersonal relationships and the long term gifts that can be exchanged in reaching out to love and understand one another, appreciate the other for what they are and what they represent, and what you can get by giving them your attention, a hug, a kind word. What finer gift is there anywhere on Earth? Just ask the countless thousands who lost loved ones in the recent tsunami disaster in the Indian Ocean. They’ve lost loved ones that they will never be able to hug or see or talk to ever again. What about the ones who lost loved ones in 911? They, too, will never be able to tell their lost loved ones how much they meant, how much they cared. Forever. A long time. Do all the gifts they ever exchanged mean diddly in the big scheme of things? What would they give to have that person back? Would they treat them differently, if so?
We still don’t get the messages we’re being given to wake the fuck up and realize what’s really important in this world and fuck all the rest! I grow weary...
But, by God, we’d better lavish ridiculous amounts of money and purchase -by any means possible- shiny new toys and gadgets for one another rather than having a conversation and really listening and really discussing what all we can do to make not only our lives, but anyone we come in contact with to have a better understanding of why we’re here in this big cosmic experiment called life! It really is that simple, And so much more important than a shiny wrapped bauble; a giving soul, a listening, understanding ear, a hug, an embrace, all which costs not a dime, only time.
This year I received some of the finest gifts a man could ever ask for, and none of which cost anything, only time and consideration from friends, some of whom I barely know.
The first gift came from a newfound friend, someone whom I’d not said two words to in high school, but someone whom I re-met at a recent high school reunion, the spark of which proved to be fruitful. I’d written a piece for a magazine for which I contribute a bi-monthly article, a piece I’d received many compliments as it really shone a light on several ills that face the human condition. I was truly shocked when the piece was rejected for being politically incorrect. I mean shocked! I’d written to my friend, slightly despondent, and was more than willing to just walk away not wanting to censor myself or my thoughts, and I told her as much. She wrote back several days later, pointing out the obvious problems with the rejection, all of which I knew and understood, but she then wrote, “I’m not sure why I’m writing this, but I hate to see you burn that bridge”... a sentence that gave me pause, a sentence that kept reverberating through my consciousness until a chord was struck and I eventually reached down deep and wrote a most profound story, a story which I wouldn’t have attempted without my newfound friend’s unknowing prod. And there it was... this gift, this wonderful gift from someone I barely know, but a gift that made me a better person, a better writer, and the story I wrote might indeed touch people in a way in which they’ve never pondered, too. And I was able to thank her for this precious gift, this gift which cost nothing, just time.
The second I received came from an old friend with whom I’m working on a most unique business. We’ve been working on this project for a year and a half now and the association has proved to be beneficial on several levels, all for the good, both internally and externally. And it was during this holiday season he and I met to have a face to face as we’d both been busy on separate entities for some time, not having the time for personal visits. I thought this would be just a “hello” and a quick conversation, but short shrift isn’t what I got. My friend pointed out our surprise meeting some years back, when we’d reconnected after a thirteen year vacancy in our long standing friendship, realizing at the time that we both represented the ying to the others yang, seeing there was strength in our alliance and a potential for making something really incredible, then the work began. He pointed out our initial meeting and also pointed out that here we were several years later and in that time, we’d accomplished what we’d set out to do, no easy feat as this project is way outside the box. And his unveiling this nugget warmed my heart like nothing I’ve had for many years. What was his gift? Friendship. Caring. Understanding. Celebration of several years of many wonderful gifts exchanged which have made both of us better people in the grand scope of things. And he presented it to me in a true gesture of friendship and happiness. The greatest gift. What did it cost him? Nothing. Just time.
So, a great Christmas season was had by me by virtue of these two gifts, and there were others too, small acts of kindness that just warmed my heart beyond belief. Could it have been any better? Yeah. I could’ve had someone to share it with. But I know by building character through these two exchanges will make me that much more worthy when I meet that special someone.
Time. Such a precious commodity. How we spend it, another.
The gift I have for you? Take time to listen to friends, family, loved ones. Really listen. Really care. And then, in turn, mean what you say. Give where you can. Be there. Really be there. Better the human condition. The ripples will continue to fan out and touch many more than you can believe. What will it cost you? Nothing. Just time.
My gift to you.
And what did it cost me? Nothing. Just time...

Goldie

Our troubled history is there to teach us, especially if we’re committed enough to reach out, and with conviction, grasp the bigger picture in hopes of advancing mankind.
I was fortunate enough to have been vicariously raised through the tender care and mercy of several women of color, as my Mom and Dad both had to work to make ends meet in a day and age that seems almost impossible to have ever existed, and over time I’ve come to appreciate the tireless efforts of these women, who, despite what racial incongruity existed in the day, gave their all to make sure that we -and others like us- received the best of care, a love supreme.
Goldie was one of these women, and one of the sweetest people of any color I’ve ever had the privilege to have shared this experience we call life. A loving spirit that knew no bounds, Goldie was selfless and gave her all to make sure that we kids were well fed and taken care of while Mom and Dad were out in the world making a living. Goldie’s spaghetti alone was to die for! And the hugs and laughter we shared bore no price tag. I loved Goldie, plain and simple. And despite the passing of time, the love I feel for her has never diminished, only grown, if anything, knowing now as I do the wall her back was against.
One day, I forget the reason why, but riding in the back seat with my sister -my Mom driving Goldie home to be with her family- me and sis got into an argument and in the heat of battle my sister’s infamous temper cut loose and she unleashed the “N” word.
Afterwards, there was a prolonged silence in the car, and I will never forget the look on Goldie’s face when she finally turned and faced us, the both of us stunned and in shock over the unexpected outburst. The look of profound hurt that masked Goldie’s face haunted us for years and years thereafter. Me and my sister and my Mom have never forgotten that day, and we’ve touched upon the moment in embarrassed tones since.
Goldie didn’t deserve the ugliness she received that day.
But Goldie was a most serene woman, filled with an all encompassing capacity for goodness. Even after that horrific day, she continued to be there for us as if the incident had never happened. Goldie loved us unconditionally with every beating ounce of her heart.
No matter the color her skin, no matter her lot in life, Goldie was love incarnate. There exists an adage which states that true love is color blind, and I can personally vouch that statement to be true. The cherished memory of Goldie has forever burned deep into the very roots of my soul.
God had a special place for Goldie in the next domain when she left us, and for that, I’m happy. She deserved that and more, much much more.
Times have changed, but have we embraced all that can be? The past is gone, nothing we do will ever change it, but we can do something about the present. Love, tolerance, compassion and understanding can truly change everything that stands in the way of racial equality and respect. In the immortal words of John Lennon, “All we need is love”. And one can only imagine the depths of what Martin Luther King truly meant when he bravely uttered the immortal words, “I have a dream”.
The tools are in our hands. Isn’t it time to sweep in front of your own doorstep, try a little harder to mend this bridge that divides? With wounds this deep, the work is never done. However, with love guiding your way, anything and everything can change for the better in a single, solitary moment of clarity and acceptance. Just like Goldie showed us, even in the dark days of overwhelming oppression and dogged, blasphemous ignorance, love can and will triumph.
Goldie’s humble legacy is blazing bright enough for all of us to learn, to grow, to share, and to give freely, like she would’ve wanted, like she exhibited, day after day after day after day after day. The quiet dignity she possessed should be a beacon for us all.
Today is a new day. All things are possible. With God’s grace helping to cleanse our souls, we shall truly overcome. And what a great day that will be!
Take that first step. Encourage your fellow man to to join the crusade. What power we have to be able to at any moment, realign our minds, change our course, and because of our actions, the world becomes a better place by the sunshine brought forth to cast into nothingness the shadows that were once there.

Pickle-A Love Note to Someone

I have willfully and unknowingly shaped myself into something of an anomaly. I don’t fit into any one particular social strata. I'm a walking talking dichotomy. And for this I’m alone.
I’ve pushed myself so far in so many directions, dangling as far over the edge as I’m able, I truly don’t think there is any one woman who can fully appreciate, much less understand me. And for this I’m alone.
Too much emphasis is placed on first impressions in this day and age, so much so that many miss golden opportunities, ones that don’t come in traditional, visually acceptable packages. For instance, I’ve been told I look fierce, but underneath I’m eminently peaceful. I wear sarongs, but only for sartorial flair, as I truly only have love for women, despite what the public at large may believe when they see me dressed thus. I harbor no desire for material possessions, nor the lavish spending of money to acquire them, yet I fully appreciate fine craftsmanship, and will spend what I have when I have it to be able to enrich my life, or others, uncork some pressurized pent up steam when needed, too. I routinely take wild externalized risks which give me a sense of expression and purpose in an all too square and conservative world. And for this, I am alone.
My choice in the arts is completely contrary to the type person with whom I relate. I am insatiably curious of darkness. Yet I seek and demand light. I am both shadow and sunshine, the duality of nature in full bloom. And for this, I’m alone.
My spirituality goes well beyond any boundaries of organized religions. I seek and find truth, faith, and wisdom from a myriad of beliefs, both historically recognized and not. I am an island in this respect, and because of it, I am alone.
I am a confusing mix, even to me. But I don’t necessarily choose these pathways, I am only curious and gravitate to things that uniquely appeal to my id, a bit here, a bit there, oddities that somehow fit together in this cosmic collage of my own design. Woefully, mankind blindly follows trends, stays cloistered in like minded packs with very little flexibility, much less understanding. Everything about me is because of stretching the norm to the point of breaking, not to make a statement for the sake of making one, only to live my life as I see it, as I choose, choices that make my heart beat loudly and give me the feeling that not only am I living life full bore, but the more I challenge myself the more I’m liable to discover which gives me the courage and the strength to dive off of cliff after cliff after cliff after cliff after cliff. always growing wings when I need them, new landscapes and vistas over each new horizon. This peculiar lifestyle scares most everyone I chance to meet. And for these choices, I am alone.
Is this how I envisioned my life? Hardly. But the farther down the less traveled path I journey the less people I meet along the way; the higher the altitude, the thinner the air. My back is turned to the audience and I’m leading my own band. And forget walking to my own drummer, I am the drummer. And for this, I’m alone.
I stand firmly on my own two feet, confident, assured, entirely comfortable in my own skin. But, I am flesh and blood. I have a heart full to bursting. I need love. I need tenderness. I need compassion. I need support. I need understanding. I need a sweet caress. I need.... I need... I need... you.
Only a pittance for what you’ll get in return...

Caught Between Heaven and Hell

As my sensibilities become more acute, I’m more aware of how sounds can affect you in any given situation. Living in the country, completely devoid of any man made sound, I found myself to be more in touch with my thoughts, internally in tune with myself and the world around me. Peace. Calm. Is it any wonder in the cities people become disenfranchised with themselves, given over to the hustle and bustle that thrives there, progress by any other name? A dangerous proposition for the mental health of the city dwellers, even though most would initially poo poo the idea caught up in the daily grind they’ve become accustomed to; sociological addicts, like rats on speed in a lab experiment. More and more I find sound waves are a force to be reckoned with, and can make the difference between sanity and insanity, calmness and befuddlement, clarity and confusion.
Never was that more clear than the day before when a trip to my local grocery store gave me a glimpse into the divide between heaven and hell, and the effect was most startling.
Stepping from my truck and walking towards the store, I was met by a topiary of bird songs. Everyday at sunset, thousands of birds gather around this store, parking themselves on anything possible. The power lines are full. The trees are full. And their songs are ubiquitous and soothing, melodious and comforting. As I walked to the front doors the gentle melodies washed over me and life took on new meaning. Heaven on earth. Bliss.
As soon as I walked through the doors to the supermarket I was met by eternal hell. The chinging of the cash registers, voices distorted on the public address system, all manner of ringers on way too many cell phones, just an assault on the senses, and none too pleasing either. No matter where I walked there was incessant noise, all geared toward enlightening us, keeping us in touch, directing us. Blather Blather Blather Blather Blather!
It was all I could do to get what I came for and leave as quickly as possible before I lost my mind!
The first thing I hear when I depart the store is the mellifluous tones of the birds warbling their songs. Ahhhhh, bliss again.....
Next thing I know a car pulls beside me and I hear the entire vehicle shake and rattle with a booming, crushing bass note, then I hear a voice in the soundtrack shouting for all the parking lot to hear, “Shake that ass, bitch! Dip it low, dip it low dip it low dip it low!”
There isn’t any escape.
Give me space. Give me quiet. Give me nothing.
I’ll leave the madness to the rest of you; progress by any other name... Dip it low.

Discombobulated

A voice from over my shoulder said, “You need to mist. The mist makes it come alive.”
I turned and there was a woman standing next to me, a woman who I didn’t know, smiling and pointing at the Christmas wreath I held.
“If you want it to stay green and healthy, mist it” she said again.
Only later while lounging by the lake did this woman’s seemingly innocuous words have their unintended effect. After allowing my thoughts to flow for several minutes, tuning into the rustle of the wind through the dry, fragile, multi-colored leaves, my dogs panting and slobbering, the nursery rhyme calliope of a street vendor enchanting youngsters and oldsters alike to come and purchase his ice cream, did my random thoughts coalesce.
Mist it to keep it healthy, eh? Then consider me the gardener holding the world’s most powerful mister -words- doing my best to spray the world at large, trying to make it healthy in any way possible.
We are in a war. A war with evil. A war rife with violence that is off the scale. The bad news is, evil is winning.
Never in my life have I ever felt such negative vibrations distorting our natural harmony. There are rampant, marauding square waves driving the human race into a murderous froth. What unnerves me the most is we currently have a leader who is espousing this vitriol, stirring up the dredges of the worst that mankind offers, and all in the name of God, using fear as a means to keep yon sheep in line, and the lost and befuddled are responding with even greater negative energy, gnashing their teeth and lashing out at the foreigners, the homosexuals, the killers of babies, while they kill untold number of innocents overseas, frying death row subjects like their Sunday barbecue, ignoring the genocide in Sudan, the killing rage in Chechneya; the negative waves driving a citizen to kill a musician onstage, hell, even sports icons are now attacking their fans! and there are countless other heinous atrocities spurred by the onslaught of this negative tsunami, just pick up a newspaper and prepare to hang your head in shame. In the middle of this massacre, has anyone ever taken the time to reflect on one of our most high on high commandments? Last I looked, there exists a dictum from God that plainly states, “Thou shalt not kill”. And to add a bit of spice to that, “Violence begets violence”. Period. No misunderstanding or misconstruing those words, eh?
Meanwhile we, the human race, pursues this madness whole hog, full tilt, shaking fists at any who might disagree, spitting vile hate and flexing barbaric domination over ones who dare to think differently.
Realize this recent election was a battle. Not the war. And that is the one thing that we who seek evolvement and brotherhood must never forget. This evil is too big now to stand toe to toe and duke it out. We’d be forced to resort to their methodology, which we know only begets more of the same. No, we must chip away, fight every little battle we can to the teeth, and as their foundation crumbles, and it will. we can finally push to win this war with tolerance and love, and isn’t that what’s important? To win the war?
Heed these words and reflect: “The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up.” - Paul Valery
This war can be won. Scars will run deep. Blood will be spilt. Lives will be lost. But in the end, victory will be claimed without another shot fired, the enemy of peace and freedom splintered to ruin, defeated for the most part by his own vain ruthlessness.
For those who know and seek, the orders are simple; persevere.

Magic

Magic. Not Houdini. Not even Copperfield. Much less Ricky Jay. No, I’m talking about that undefinable dip into the shimmering cosmos, sticking in your thumb and pulling out the unexpected life-changing plumb.
I grew up in a day when magic was due course. Happenstance meetings with those with whom you commiserated and understood and admired took place with due diligence and chance. Trips around the world occurred because of word of mouth and dalliance. And because, women flocked to your doorstep and the phone rang incessantly with good news, golden opportunities. If you dared, life backed you up. Greatness was there for those who dared. And the more you dangled over the edge, the more likely you were to strike pay dirt and swim to all new depths.
Today is another story altogether.
Today we champion mediocrity. Today we rely on “knowledge”. Today we exhibit brute force and wallow in lies. Today we respect the bottom line. Today we accrue too much useless information and act like we're enlightened. Today we're all thinking too much and consider ourselves impervious, omnipotent, arrogantly dismissing such a willy nilly, hobgoblin notion as real life magic. Today man has flippantly traded all encompassing wonder for stoic reason. We've lost the plot.
I miss the days of magic. And wonder.
I’ve not given up. Never will. And one day... one day when least expected, magic will once again show up on my doorstep and demand to be recognized. On that day, I will french kiss her. I will bowl her over with unrestrained ardor. I will continue to maul her like a long lost lover until she rests her head on my shoulder and weeps.
Magic. Only for the few. And we who know it, who live it and breathe it, are challenged to be stewards of the holy manna. Otherwise, what’s the point? I, for one, ain’t gonna give in 'til she shows her face again. Life is for the living. And I gotta handful and ain’t gonna let go for shit... cracker motherfuckers.... and when I reappear, imbued and re-illuminated, you folks are gonna gape and shit. You will know me by the beatific look on my face, a clarity and focus that you can't even fathom, much less understand.