Nine Eleven 2010

9/11. This day has become a symbol. A political symbol that has been used to mute our true feeling of grief and horror for that day, and ignite in this nation a national terror, a political terror that was then used by Bush and Cheney to advance their perverted political ideology that otherwise would never have been accepted. The terrorists could not have hoped for such success. I remember President Double-yuh saying with fist pounding emphasis: “This will not stand!” and he was right. It did not stand, but was advanced by him and his puppeteers. I watched in disbelief as people were jumping from the windows of the towers and falling to the pavement like stunt doubles in an everyday Hollywood movie. But this was no movie. Then the collapse of the buildings, like hot wax melting and the dust clouds that seemed to have been released for the purpose of covering, finally, the horror of the scene. I kept saying, in my profound American ignorance, What do these people want? What are they so pissed off about? I was ignorant and detached, just another cookie-cutter Ugly American picking his nose in disbelief.


As a nation, we had a chance on that day to wake up and smell the stench of our selfishness and ignorance. Sadly, we blew it. Instead, what is now called 9/11 has become a call for our deep seeded bigotry to rise to the surface. Hate, hate, and more hate. Us and them. Axis of Evil. How many innocents killed since then in the name of American Freedom? The rise of a frightening nationalism (Nationalism is always frightening!). Religious zealotry. The invocation of God’s fucking name to somehow justify our pitiful anger and fear. We are a nation of morons. Tens of millions of us voted for Bush – the SECOND time around, and we are about to do it all once again. Why? Because we are angry. Angry that our pillows have not been fluffed properly. Angry that a black man is now the President of the United States. Angry that our greed and stupidity is finally catching up with us. Angry that our “I’ve got mine, and fuck you!” attitudes are no longer paying financial dividends. Angry that our precious, polluting, greedy, selfish nation is in deep decline, a decline from which we will not ever recover. The poor are angry because they want it all. The rich are angry because they can’t have more. The sick are dying. The children are ignorant. The hard working are unemployed. The wise are silent. The singers are mute. And the masses are pointing fingers at one another. Hate is our touchstone. Fear is our god! We worship fear and will kill for it. Why? Why, all this? Because we are not alive. Because we are not vital. Because we are not singing with the birds and swimming with the fish – the few that remain. Because we are all stuck in the spinning mantra: Make a living. Face reality. Do your duty. Pay your dues. Suck it up.

We have but one job in this life and that is to live. LIVE! Live our vitality. Live our dreams. Live in each moment. Live together as the brothers and sisters that we all are. Live the truth. Share the wealth of all this life provides. Help those in need and ask for help when in need. Don’t want for anything; accept everything. There is enough on the earth for all of us. Everything is provided. There is no need to hoard out of the fear of not enough.

This day can be transformed into a day of thanksgiving – thanksgiving for the moment in time when we, as a nation, turned away from the darkness of fear and into the light of hope and trust. This day can be transformed into a holy day, a celebration of life. It takes only our will and our dedication to joy and our renouncement of fear and our acceptance of the abundance of life of which we are an integral part.

Don’t worry, be happy!

Peace and love.

THUS BEGAN MY DAY

Walking back from Yvonne’s, having discussed the new day’s weather, on my porch two skinks, six to eight inches in length, prehistoric legs with tiny toes and claws, lizard heads, cold patience, one’s mouth open and clamped onto the head of the other, their bodies erotically side by side, eyes open, frozen in mid-gesture, obviously in the throes of passionate reptilian intercourse when interrupted by the clomping feet of my arrival.

I stopped to stare.

In a synchronized flash, one jaw still latched to the head of the other, they dashed in perfect unison across the deck and leaped off the side onto the grass beneath an oak tree. There, again frozen in reptilian time, open jaw still clamped onto the head of the other, side by lizard side, they waited. I, flustered for having interrupted their passion, paused and then stepped inside and closed the door quietly.

The Living Universe

The first thing God had to do when he decided to create the universe was to sacrifice himself. He needed the raw materials to do the job. God is the matter of which the universe is made. God is the living universe, all the various forces of energy, including spiritual, and all living things, and things inert.

And each individual part encompasses the whole. That is the miracle. When you pray to God you are praying to yourself and to everything else, so listen carefully.

We have a job to do. Our job is to live. Beautifully.

Thich Nhat Hanh and Henry Miller

I’ve been reading both Thich Nhat Hanh and Henry Miller at the same time. They speak the same language in different tongues. They sing of life with exuberance, skill, and clarity. The force of their honesty cannot be ignored. They oppose fear and all of its extensions: anger, greed, authoritarianism, power lust, denial, dependency, ambition, materialism, boredom, inadequacy, failure, self incrimination, disrespect, selfishness, hopelessness, in short, all the common qualities of politicians, lawyers, cops, military generals, university officials, bureaucrats, and most school teachers, priests, and business leaders as well. They opt for life in the moment with the fire of love in their eyes and peace in their hearts. They refuse to kill for any reason, especially patriotism. They open their hearts to everyone without exception, reaching across the great divide of ignorance to the forces of fear on both sides while refusing to take sides. They speak with everyone in mind, including the Hitler’s and Bush’s of our life and times, because they recognize that we are all here together in this wonderful moment, and they sing with forgiveness and grace in their hearts. Their goal is peace on earth in this singular, beautiful moment.

YOU ARE NOT DEPRESSED. YOU ARE DISTRACTED.

I ran across this posting today on a blog that I have been following for a few months. Check it out. It will make you feel good. I promise!

http://gravitando.wordpress.com/2009/03/24/you-are-not-depressed-you-are-distracted/

The blog is written by a young jewelry designer who lives in Costa Rica. I found her when I did a Google search for the writer Anais Nin and followed this link:

http://gravitando.wordpress.com/2008/03/10/winter-1931-1932-from-the-diary-of-anais-nin/

To see the whole blog, click on the blog title, AL GRAVITAR RODANDO, at the top of her page.

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GOD BLESS THE CHILD

Scene from my morning walk:

As I approached Bird Park, a small neighborhood park near my house, a small white Chevy pulled up to the curb and a full-sized lady of about 50 emerged after cranking the radio up full blast, rocking the quiet morning with some grooving R & B. She was wearing a bright orange pant suit, her hair up in style with flowers, as if she was on the way to church. There was a plot of blooming iris's of orange color with red and black spots planted along the sidewalk, really quite lovely. The lady broke into a boogaloo to the music, dancing before the flowers, arms in the air and then reaching for the flowers, large body shaking, huge smile on her quite lovely face. In her dance she was bowing to the flowers and as I approached her I could see that she was kissing them, straightening up, arms in the air again, bowing and kissing the iris's. As I got near I smiled and said Good morning. She looked at me beaming with joy and said, "You gotta be happy some time!" "I heard that!" I said. "I just had to stop and thank the flowers for being so beautiful!" I gave her a slight bow and a hands together "I honor your spirit." She said "Thank you!" and continued her dance. I moved on, beaming with joy in my soul. When I returned about ten minutes later I was hoping she was still there, but no, she had driven off. But I smiled anyway as I passed the iris's, for in my heart she was still there, still dancing, still filling the morning with joy. "God bless the child that's got her own."

Have a beautiful day!

Buff


GOD BLESS THE CHILD

Them thats got shall get
Them thats not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own

Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets dont ever make the grade
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own

Money, youve got lots of friends
Crowding round the door
When youre gone, spending ends
They dont come no more
Rich relations give
Crust of bread and such
You can help yourself
But dont take too much
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own

Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child thats got his own
Thats got his own
He just worry bout nothin
Cause hes got his own

Billie Holiday

You can hear her sing it here:
http://www.last.fm/music/Billie+Holiday/_/God+Bless+the+Child

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JOURNAL ENTRY 02/24/2004

Just rediscovered these notes from five years ago.


022404-022704
Notes and fieldwork for the next CD: The Somnambulist.


THE BOTTOM OF THE RIVER
Time to move on now facing this glistening universe of possibilities. I'm at the river with the sun on my shoulders, hopping from rock to rock without a plan. It's nice if you know where you are going, as Gene would say, up stream, or down. I'm going up stream, to the falls, where the water is deepest and the cliff face seemingly impassable. Here I will climb as high as I can reach, and dive so deep that my ears will be filled with music never before heard. Here I will glide easily into the shadows of imagination where inspiration is given freely to those who refrain from seeking it. One sees when one stops looking. One hears when one stops listening. It is deceptively simple. The river bottom is the place of metamorphosis, where worms are transformed into butterflies; where dreams become music, and music becomes the dream.

If you have important questions and want to consult with the forces of the universe directly, you must go to the bottom of the river and sit quietly for a while with nothing on your mind. Bide your time as if you were waiting for a bus. Whistle a little tune if you care to. Cool your heals. When it is quiet the mist will lift and there it all is, everything you ever knew; everything you ever wanted to know and more, beyond wonder! This is the place of perfect peace where the vagueness of dream and the harshness of reality dissolve in one another’s arms like lovers, becoming a merged and new form of consciousness. This is the realm of inspiration where thought without thought begins taking a physical form. Here, the process of amalgamation is set into motion with but a flick of the mind. It is a wonder indeed, to turn the wisp of an idea into a physical object, to take something from the shadow of imagination and to bring it into the sensual world. It is a deep and fulfilling process. A transaction with God.

So now, as I hop along the river from one sun warmed rock to the next, heading steadily toward the deep pool beneath the falls where I will submerge, the only thing I know for sure is that I am a mayfly taken a wing on this sunny afternoon, drifting where the breeze will take me, and landing where I may fall. Halleluiah! Here, I am a mayfly gliding on river air, shedding my skin in the warm sun. Halleluiah! Here, we bathe together in the silence that always comes just before the moment of birth, and just before the moment of death. Halleluiah! Here, there are no bombs. Halleluiah!

Time to move on.

Halleluiah!



022404
Standing here along highway 20 in the mist of a rain storm watching the logging trucks and motor homes whiz by every few moments going either east or west, making a long sizzling sound that fades away.

The artist’s job is to shed the cloak of doubt. The universe takes over from there.

Everything worthwhile begins at the bottom of the river where the sound of one heart beating defines the silence; where hellgrammites go to sleep.

Title for a piece: Dance of the Sleeping Hellgrammites.
Title for a piece: Here, There Are No Bombs
Title for a piece: Don't bother me now. I'm dreaming.

Sleepwalkers don’t always walk alone.
I will try some collaborations.
John Deaderick and I are talking about working together on a piece. A dream piece. (Heartbeat. Sudden changes. A radio in the distance. Whispering.)
There are no limitations.
I am The Somnambulist, dreaming within the dream.
Now I have shed the cloak of doubt and walk without fear across the flaming hot coals.
I never could figure out how they did that without burning their feet. Now I know the trick is hidden in the truth of the smile, the smile that covers the heart, the smile, as Henry said, at the foot of the ladder, where the first step is also the last step.

The smile of innocence.

My mother is teaching me now about innocence.
Innocence is hidden beneath the cloak of self-consciousness (doubt) and then revealed again in death.
Innocence, though smothered, is never suffocated.
Innocence is our motivator.
Innocence is the Muse.
Listen for the sound of innocence in everything you hear.