Darkness & Light.

Cloudy winter-like days.

This is the time of year when you learn degrees, grades of darkness. You awake to a kind of dull darkness, there are patches of light, or a faint lightness seeping around the edges, but the dullness predominates. Later in the day, it may lighten up a bit, but not for long, a deeper darkness descends. Think pitch-black dark. These are days you learn about darkness.

The light comes from inside. What you know. What you think. What you decide to do. There are the beliefs, the dreams, the wonders you carry inside. There's an "inner light," illumination, a flame, or a flash-point in your solar plexus.

Darkness & Light. They are always dancing. Inside. Outside.

"Don't Be Denied." - Neil Young

You have be careful what you choose to listen to right before you go to sleep. The music stopped and then I read a few chapters of The Brothers Karamazov. And then, a long sleep. I tossed and turned. Neil Young's voice was ringing in the air around me, rattling around my head. He was insistent, persistent, persuasive. This morning I find the bed sheets twisted, the pillows bunched up. The bed looks like a war-zone, like there was major battle. What was that Neil Young phrase running thru my head all night long? "Don't Be Denied." 

In the Moment Plan...

I was talking off the top of my head to my friend last night. I never know what's gonna come out of my mouth.

Me: "You know, I just need to always 'give it' to people. Open heart, give them love and validation. Always."

My friend: "You have always been like that."

Me: "Hah, maybe, but now I just think I have to do it more intentionally."

Note: This  always "giving it" to people is not some "saintly" thing, it may be from my need to be loved by everyone. I have learned that isn't possible. Still, sometimes I give too much, but it's a personality quirk, probably not a strength, but a weakness. The key is to give with a pure, needless intention.

Yes, He is Orange, Not Pretty...

I think it has been obvious for much of this man's public life, that he is not very intelligent, he is incurious, prejudiced, he thinks he knows more than he knows. He is a World-Class Idiot of Epic Proportions. He is truly a racist, misogynist, toxic clown, a blight on the nation, the world. It's a true debacle and embarrassment that he stumbled into the Presidency. Funny. The GOP thinks he's doing just fine.

What the Fuck? Really.

Someone sent me this paragraph of our President's latest brain gook this a.m. The headline: Ladies and Gentlemen, Here's Your President.

Let me editorialize for a moment. I am a bit tired about writing about this fucking idiot. So many words, brain-cells, time wasted on such a fucking black hole void of a being. Still, you can't make this shit up. Think of our greatest novelists, playwrights, satirists: Vonnegut, Heller, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Nabokov, Shakespeare, Shepard, Dostoyevsky, Beckett, Ionesco. None can match this fucking word salad coming out of this man's mouth.

Oh my Lord... this man's mind is total fucking mush... ok, I mean, he did say something truthful... yes, he is Orange... not pretty.

So Suggestible.

Yeah. This is how things work in my life. I start reading Dostoyevsky, and then everywhere I turn, there's Dostoyevsky. For instance, Brain Pickings has a morning post about him. Never fails. I've also started wearing my "Russian style" hat. I just picked it up, put it on unconsciously. My friend took one look and said, "Russian." Yes. I am so suggestible. And there are invisible strings connecting everything in the Universe. That's what they say.

I'm thinking of having borscht for lunch. Hah!

Dostoyevsky faced the firing squad, he looked into the abyss of an early death by execution, and then was pardoned and sent to Siberia. Reborn. In a letter to his brother, Dostoyevsky pours his heart out, and his new born knowledge:

"Brother! I’m not despondent and I haven’t lost heart. Life is everywhere, life is in us ourselves, not outside. There will be people by my side, and to be a human being among people and to remain one forever, no matter in what circumstances, not to grow despondent and not to lose heart — that’s what life is all about, that’s its task. I have come to recognize that. The idea has entered my flesh and blood… The head that created, lived the higher life of art, that recognized and grew accustomed to the higher demands of the spirit, that head has already been cut from my shoulders… But there remain in me a heart and the same flesh and blood that can also love, and suffer, and pity, and remember, and that’s life, too!"-  F.D.

Life. For the Living.

You just need to put your head down, and live.

I mean, stand up, stand out, speak up, be all you can be. Totally inhabit your body. Be awake, aware, alive. To the maximum. Be ready to be challenged, be ready to be disappointed, to be attacked, dismissed, laughed at, poked and prodded, whatever. Damn the torpedos. Those torpedos will come. Damn them.

There are reasons to live. You must power through. Just because. Life, likes life. Maybe you won't figure it all out. Maybe you won't know all the reasons, maybe there will be great mysteries surrounding you. It's ok.

Life. It's for the living.

Same Heart, Same Soul.

Yes. It is instructive. Go back to a text, a novel from 1880, written by one of the great, world-famous  novelists. Time-trip to a time before phones, computers, cars, airplanes, TVs, movie theaters. A time before the great World Wars. Before Stalin, Hitler, FDR, Lenin. Before Vietnam, Iraq, Kardashians. Before Warhol, Picasso, Mao, Elvis, Beatles, Dylan, bell-bottoms. Before Summer of Love and the apotheosis of Pop Culture. Before 9/11 and the Holocaust.

Burn off all that hoo-hah. Eliminate all that 20th and 21st century hurly-burly. Go back. Distill it down. To another time and place. What are you left with? Human Beings. Living. Thinking. Loving. Hating. Suffering. Dying. Dealing with unimaginable tragedies at every turn. Staring into the dark abyss. Looking for answers. Reaching to skies, worried about the flames of Hell.

Folks asking, wondering, How to Live? What to believe? What is best? What is worst? What the Fuck?!

It's all pretty compelling.

You know these people. You live with people just like these people. Their problems are your problems. Their questions are your questions. We think we have progressed, evolved, and it's true, certainly our technology has branched off in so many ways, so many more toys and diversions. Lots more hurly-burly.

And there are no so many more of us. And we are crowding into each other. Connected globally 24/7. And we are burning up our beautiful little blue planet. Destroying habitats and ecosystems, and species at an alarming, accelerating rate. Pushing against the bounds of health and sanity.

So new problems, new worries, new unimaginable tragedies. But the same questions today: How to live, what to believe, what is best, what is worst, what the fuck?! The same human heart, the same human soul. The same pain, suffering, tragedy, death, uncertainty.

We want and need answers. Always asking, always searching, always praying, looking to a new day, a new way. Human.

The Prayer of Release...

From Interview magazine, the great actor Anthony Hopkins speaking with Brad Pitt: 

"I once asked a Jesuit priest, 'What is the shortest prayer in the world?' He said, 'Fuck it.' It's the prayer of release. Just say 'Fuck it.' None of it is important. The important thing is to enjoy life as it is. Your life today, it’s fantastic."

"Fuck it" was also the official motto of the now dead and gone The Abbie Hoffman Died for Your Sins Festival.  Fuck it, a short, multi-purpose prayer. Keep it close to your heart, and in your tool-box at all times.

Monday Morning Questions...

My long-time friend, companion, co-conspirator, she knows me about as well as anyone on the planet, walks into the kitchen while I am opening the aspirin bottle, I accidentally drop it on the floor, and all the little pink tablets skitter across the tile. She watches as I scoop them up and put them back in the bottle, I slip one into my mouth too. We silently decide to just forget those tablets landed on the floor. Co-conspirators.

My friend asks: "Why are you the way you are?"

I think for a moment and reply: "I don't rightly know."

It's true. I don't. I do think we are all here to figure that out. Why are we the way we are? And what are we gonna do about it? How will we occupy ourselves while we are here? Big questions for an early Monday morning.

I think back to yesterday, Sunday afternoon, laying on the couch with my headphones on. A mix of CDs on the box, on random play. I actually fell asleep in the middle of Neil Young and Crazy Horse blasting thru an epic version of "Fucking Up," on their live disc "Weld." How is it possible? To fall asleep during that bravura, sonic assault? I don't rightly know. I woke up somewhere towards the end of the song, I too was stupefied. It was just a brief episode of unconsciousness maybe 7 mins or so, but still, dozing off during that crazy mayhem? Prophetic? And "Why Do I?"

Existential. Essential. Questions. Monday. Morning. WTF?!

Into the Now.

A post-Thanksgiving holiday meal at the Asian restaurant. The fortune cookie tells me: "You don't worry about the Future." It's true. I don't. I think the future is unwritten, and basically doesn't really exist. We can imagine it. but really, this moment is it. This might be a flaw in my thinking. I don't really plan for the future either. So when I get there, hell, I don't know if I'll be prepared or not. Probably not. I figure I will cross that bridge when I get to it.

Lately, I have been swimming in the past. As the saying goes, "you may be through with the past, but the past isn't through with you." Right. Musically, I am back to my favorite go-to artists: Dylan (of course) and Neil Young, both solo and with Crazy Horse. I am swimming in music from the 70's, 80's & 90's. I also watched Jim Jarmusch's great movie "Year of the Horse" (1997) a couple times over the last few days.

This music, these artists are in my bones. My DNA. Two of the finest artists of our lifetimes. The Jarmusch movie is transcendent. Watch Neil Young become a wild stallion on stage. Watch 4 musicians become one powerful, overwhelming, ragged and raging vibe. It is fabulous.

I am also reading an old novel, one that I initially read in my early 20's. Going back. I look at my library and realize I have forgotten so much more than I have ever learned. I am about 20 pages or so into a fat book: Fyodor Dostoevsky's "The Brothers Karamazov" (1880). I remember that it was a profound novel, about big and great things. I am only about 20 pages into it now, and I realize it's also really, really funny.

Huh. I don't remember it being funny. But I was laughing at the boisterous, debauched father. I realize I don't know what I know. I don't remember what I used to know. Maybe re-visiting is essential. That's where I am at right now. Swimming in the past. Bringing it forward into the now.

21st Century Druid Music.

This is cross-posted at whitewolfsonicprincess.com

Chalk it up to the Fomorians.

We played the Montrose Saloon last night. A late-night, Black Friday show at one of Chicago’s funkiest, friendliest, music-meccas. We were on a bill with acoustic opener Rollo Time and one of our favorite bands Flapunco – think flamenco inspired shredding/Led Zepplin-like/Dark-Cabaret/Punky-Rock/Power Trio fronted by Freddy Krueger’s Daughter. Freaky-cool.

We played last. Our 7 piece band over-flowed across the stage. We have a big, nuanced, layered sound, maybe too much for that little stage. Lots of sound issues. Feedback, weird over-tones, at one point the vocal mics died.

Chalk it up to the Fomorians. Our favorite Shamanic Practioner, Joan Levergood was in the audience, she had past battles with those freaky beings, and well, we surmised that those ancient Irish creatures, “hostile and monstrous beings from under the sea or the earth” came out on Black Friday to mess with us. Shopping be damned!

It was an intense and frustrating show. You can’t expect perfection, but you do always see it out there dangling in the golden abyss. The highlight of the night? An audience member who usually exclusively listens to classical music, sat through our set and really took it to heart. Afterwards he remarked our music was “21st Century Druid Music.” What to say? Yes. Fabulous. – Jammer

Drawing by:  TipsyRA1d3N @ Deviant Art

Damn the Torpedos, Pie!

Usually I eat for fuel. The essentials. The basics. Usually one meal a day. Don't want to overdo it. I am careful of what I put in my body. Food is medicine. I do believe. Probably the most important medicine we put in our bodies. Look at the maladies of the human body, most of them can be traced back to a poor diet. Science now tells us we should be very aware of our biome, our "gut bacteria." There are millions of little critters living inside our digestive tract. They are our friends and allies. How we treat them, what we give to them for sustenance, is key to their survival, to their health, to their character and quantity. You are only as good as your colonies of bacteria. Might sound icky, but it's true. Much is riding on how all you take care of your gut bacteria. So, yes, I usually eat for fuel, not so much pleasure. I am careful about consuming too much sugar, fat, salt, I avoid meat. I am a vegetarian. I view not eating meat as good for me, for the planet, for all those pretty creatures trapped in the clutches and horrors of the meat industry, and those icky little creatures in my gut. This is a long-winded way of saying yesterday, was a celebration of food. Vegetables: potatoes (scalloped, mashed, sweet), Brussel sprouts, corn-bread stuffing, asparagus. 3 platefuls. It was glorious. Thanksgiving, indeed. And then, an act of pure pleasure: Apple/Cranberry pie. Oh my. I am hoping my gut bacteria were as pleased as my taste-buds. Who knows?! Anyway, damn the torpedoes. Pie!

Thanksgiving 2019!

My life...

Thanksgiving Day 2019.  Living with two dogs, a boxer, and a little bug-like breed unknown, in a big old mansion by the lake. I am the caretaker, taking care. Turns out if you are nice to the doggies, feed them, take them on walks, give them treats, pat them on the head and ocassionally shout words of encouragement, they will be your loyal friend for life. Or at least, looks like a good bet they won't maul you and eat your sorry carcass when you have your guard down.

There's a lesson there.

Easy morning. Reading about politics. Our political foes are showing "willful resistance to the facts." Yes. That's not for my team. We want to know the facts. We want to root out the truth. And look it square in the eye. We want to know the truth, intimately, and damn the torpedoes.

I'm drinking a coffee brew I've never had before, "African Roots" - "complex & bright with exotic fruit." Yes. Add in a bit of oat milk and you have a potent, delicious, brew. It's got a kick, I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my body as I type these words onto this page. Coffee really is my drug of choice. It agrees with me. So glad I found it.

I have a delicious r&r soundtrack on the box this morning. Blasting music in this big old mansion on a fabulous, classic, old-style, stereo system. There are speakers located all over the place: living room, kitchen, entertainment room. It's glorious. The whole place is rocking & vibrating. It gives the place a whole different vibe.

Right now it's an odd, random, CD mix I'm spinning: Buffalo Springfield's "Again," Nick Cave's "Skeleton Tree," ("they told us our gods would outlive us, but they lied..."), Neil Young's "Harvest," ("searching for a heart of gold...),  & "Zuma" ("what a killer..."), and The Trees a British folk rock band (1969-1971). I just "discovered" them. I own two of The Trees albums. Both are fabulous. British freak-folk. A bit old English, a bit "prog-rock," a bit trippy and odd. You might think Fairport Convention, but really The Trees have their own unique vibe. Two guitar players, one acoustic, one electric, very nice, captivating, mesmerizing. Right now I have their 2nd disc in the mix: "On the Shore." I actually really love both of their records. One of the great "lost" bands. Seems they re-emerged and their records were re-released after a band name Gnarls Barkley sampled one of their songs.

The perfect soundtrack for a sort of gloomy morning. Nowhere to rush to this a.m. No sunshine, except the supernova blazing in my heart and head. I suppose that will have to do. An easy day today. Food, family, friends... furry, and otherwise.

Hair Travel.

Life is like a movie...

Talking to my friend on the phone this morning. It's a windy day here in the Heartland. My friend asked me: "What about air travel today?" I replied: "What about hair travel?" So windy. You just know your hair is gonna go a million ways at once.

Hair. It's a big topic. A major concern. A good hair day? A bad hair day? I am happy just to have hair. Even my good hair days are bad hair days, but having hair is good, better than no hair.

Why is that?

I don't know. I grew up thinking the long-hairs were the cool ones. The Hippies. The Freaks. Rock & Rollers always seemed to have hair. Of course, over the years, there have been some cool bald guys. I think of the basketball icon Michael Jordan. He made bald cool, for sure. Guys started shaving their heads.

But really, you know, Jordan is one of the exceptions. I try to imagine myself bald and it's not pretty. Cue ball. Hair. It's a hairy topic. I have almost always kept my hair long, thinking there's some mojo in those follicles. Probably not true, it's all just vanity, a little bit of madness.

In high school I had more hair on my head than any other boy in the whole school. I actually got kicked off the basketball team in my sophomore year because I wouldn't get my hair cut. I was a hair rebel. Funny. It turns out I wasn't very good at basketball, especially sophomore year, I was sort of short and pudgy, I didn't have growth spurt until Junior year, so really, the team, the coach didn't miss me. I disappeared into my own little world.

Hair, it actually seemed to help me be invisible. At least, I thought so. Most of my high school days I spent reading, playing guitar and trying to be invisible. Hiding behind long clumps of hair.

My life, the movie: Hair Travel. Travels in Hair.

Don't Forget Soul

Soul. You know, "the immaterial essence, animating principle, or actuating cause of an individual life."

Soul. Don't forget Soul. It's another one of those invisible essential essences, one which we often forget, overlook or pretend doesn't exist.

Soul.

I came across this Alice Walker quote, while I was looking for something else, it's from a letter she wrote to Barack Obama when he became President in 2008. It seems appropriate and of the moment now, too.

"I would advise you to remember that you did not create the disaster that the world is experiencing, and you alone are not responsible for bringing the world back to balance. A primary responsibility that you do have, however, is to cultivate happiness in your own life…

Because, finally, it is the soul that must be preserved, if one is to remain a credible leader. All else might be lost; but when the soul dies, the connection to earth, to peoples, to animals, to rivers, to mountain ranges, purple and majestic, also dies. And your smile, with which we watch you do gracious battle with unjust characterizations, distortions and lies, is that expression of healthy self-worth, spirit and soul, that, kept happy and free and relaxed, can find an answering smile in all of us, lighting our way, and brightening the world." - Alice Walker

Show Up. Stand Up. Stand Out. Speak Up.

Show up.
Stand up.
Stand Out.
Speak Up.

Don't hide.
Don't give up.
Don't pass the buck.

Today.
This day.
This moment.

We can all
do our part
be responsible
be aware
be awake

The past can teach us
the future can beckon to us
the present is where we act.

We can live
with heart
love
soul.

Every day. Every moment of every day.
It's required.

Stuttering...

I heard an interview with Atlantic writer John Hendrickson this morning on NPR. Hendrickson wrote this article about Joe Biden's stutter, and Joe's battles trying to "overcome" stuttering. Hendrickson is also a stutterer.

The article might make you re-think some of Joe's verbal stumbles. You could listen to the way Biden speaks, and the success he has had in politics, in a new way. Maybe Joe's story is really a story of triumph and overcoming, a story of disability and adversity, and powering thru? I think that's how I will think about it going forward.

"Biden regularly characterizes stuttering as “the best thing that ever happened” to him. “Stuttering gave me an insight I don’t think I ever would have had into other people’s pain,” he says."

I did want to mention, Hendrickson's interview destroyed me this a.m. His difficulty speaking on the public airwaves was so different and jarring. Not what we usually hear on radio. It reduced me to a pool of tears. I don't exactly know why it hit me so hard.

My heart blew wide open. Can't explain it. A huge well of sadness came flooding thru my body.

I cried like a baby this a.m. I was hit in the solar plexus. It is amazing how much we all take for granted. I have no problem speaking. I come from a long line of talkers. Words roll off my tongue easily and with volume; the gift of gab. I come from a long line of gifted gabbers.

Still, when I was a child growing up, I was painfully shy, I was shy as teenager too. Growing up with the Nuns in Catholic school was a terrifying thing, and I remember having real difficulty speaking in class, reading in public. Doing any kind of public speaking in a classroom or auditorium was a world-shaking, harrowing thing. Getting words out took effort. My shyness was a great source of embarrassment. It's funny at home, and in small groups I had no trouble speaking up. I was kind of a quick talking, smart-ass.

The shyness is something I kind of put behind me.  Or let's say I put in a compartment. Taking acting classes and doing theater really helped me over that hurdle.

Early in my life, I had a friend who had a terrible stutter. Maybe that was what was resonating this morning? I don't know. I do remember kids picking on other kids. I remember seeing kids being picked out from the crowd, being picked on for faults, flaws, disabilities. It is amazing how mean human beings can be to other human beings.

Anyway, tears. They flowed out of me like a river. Crying for my fellow human beings. Why can't we all be just little bit more gentle and kind to each other? Not one of us is perfect, and maybe our flaws are really some kind of badge of honor or courage? The flaws are what make us unique, and beautiful? Maybe our suffering makes us more open and forgiving and helpful to others who suffer too?

Do You See What I See?

I must admit I lost a bit of my mojo yesterday morning when I realized that some of my fellow citizens just refuse to see what I see. I do believe in truth (see previous post), truth is not Democratic, or Republican, it's isn't left wing or right wing, it's just plain truth. Facts are facts. Sometimes it takes a bit of work to get to the basic facts, but it's not impossible, it's very doable and necessary.

So yes, obviously, the President abused the power of his public office for his own personal, partisan gain. Here in Illinois we have a long sordid history where Governors have done the same thing, both Democrat and Republican Governors who have abused their office for personal/partisan gain. Those Governors went to jail.

This is not hard. This is not confusing. This does not require believing some vast conspiracy. Our Little Baby Man President is guilty of high crimes and misdemeanors. He even released a summary of a call documenting his crimes. Indefensible.

Easy to see. Easy to understand. Next steps? Full-on Impeachment. That's the essential, necessary, and patriotic thing to do...

Believe in Truth!

I'm reading Timothy Snyder's little book: "On Tyranny - Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century."

Highly recommended.  Essential. Of the moment.

This rings loud and true this A.M.

Chapter 10: Believe in Truth.

"To abandon facts is to abandon freedom. If nothing is true, then no one can criticize power, because there is no basis upon which to do so. If nothing is true, all is spectacle. The biggest wallet pays for the most blinding lights."

Gordon Sundland - Burning Down the House!

I live with a clairvoyant.

It's not easy. I went to "psychic" (actually a misnomer, let's say meditation and creative visualization), school too (I have a diploma somewhere around here), but my partner is an extraordinary spirit, uncommon. I would say she exceeds me in the clairvoyant realm.

Both of us do our best to stay grounded, to find our calm center, to practice meditation and to employ creative visualizations.  The goal is always clear-seeing.

Yesterday my clairvoyant friend woke up singing "Burning Down the House" from the Talking Heads. The perfect soundtrack for the day. This was before we tuned into the Public Impeachment Hearings to mainline the latest testimony. I am a longstanding political junkie.

We listened to million dollar donor to Trump, current U.N. Ambassador, Gordon Sundland burn down the house. Funny. He named names in a quid pro quo conspiracy.

Yes. Gordy's testimony was a bit squishy, he didn't remember everything you'd think he'd remember, and some of what he didn't remember is probably pretty damn damning, but what he did remember is pretty damn damning too.

What did he remember? There was an extortion/bribery racket going down. Yes, Trump and all his co-conspirators knew about it. Yes, it's plain as day our President abused his power for his own political purposes and gain.

How are the Impeachment Hearings going for the Democrats, for the Country? Just peachy!