All We Have...

"All we have is Love, All we ever had is Love."

Death crowding in from all directions...

You know it is undeniable

You can't argue with it

or reason your way out of it

It is part of the human process

part of the Universe

things live & die

transform

energy

entropy

chaos

random chance

fate

destiny

life & death

every moment

balanced on a knife's edge

what to do?

live as best we can

moment to moment

all we have is love

we must cultivate 

and honor that

love

A Feather...

Sunday morning...

a few tears this a.m.

not all because of sadness

although certainly

a few are dedicated to

the sad

but also crying

because I can

it feels good

and seems 

supremely human

my companion

greets me in the 

kitchen 

she points to a

beautiful little

feather laying at my feet

on the floor

"did that come out of you?"

we both know it once

belonged to

little lonely dragon

but I play along

"yes, I sprouted it this morning.

isn't it amazing?"

we both marvel 

at the feather I created

she exclaims:

"yes, it is amazing."

Shocked and Not Shocked...

I'm not shocked that not everyone in the world agrees with me. I'm not deluded enough to think that I hold any monopoly on truth. I am just feeling my way through a long dark, hallway, just like everyone else. If I review my permanent record, I can see that I've made lots of crazy decisions, stupid mistakes, and wasted lots of my precious time over trivialities thru the days of my life. I've made some good calls too. But you know, it's truly a mixed bag. I'm not the smartest person in world, probably not the dumbest either. I'd put myself somewhere in the great middle of the human herd.

An Earthling, a Human Being, doing my best to live a fulfilling life. 

Still, I am sometimes gobsmacked that some people don't see the world the way I see it. For instance, the vaccine. I cannot fathom why anyone would resist or refuse getting vaccinated against Covid-19. Once we got vaccinated, we were able to breathe a great sigh of relief. We joined the "community of immunity," and it felt wonderful, necessary. Lately we've been able to play music in a room with other vaccinated musicians, we dined out at one of our favorite restaurants and dropped our masks briefly to eat a fabulous Thai dinner. There is a bit of getting back to a fully engaged life once again. How could anyone not see the beauty and common sense in that reality?

How can anyone refuse to see the benefits of a vaccine? Having anti-bodies against a deadly, contagious virus? Seems like the easiest call one can imagine.

We know some hold-outs. Conspiracy-Kooks. Recalcitrant folks. In denial. Funny. Ridiculous. It is shocking. A mind is a terrible thing to waste. I am shocked, and not shocked. Human Beings truly are a Tricky Species...

Visions, Beliefs, Dreams, Nightmares, Realities...

I do believe we live in a world of signs and wonders. Science tells us that the iron in our blood and the carbon in our bones originated in stars, The Hippies told us we were "stardust," and it seems that they were correct. I mean, get your head around that, Pilgrim.

So yes, our visions, beliefs, dreams, nightmares and realities are all mixed up together, like in a damn Waring Blender. We must parse and ponder, and draw conclusions at our own peril. What to believe? How to believe? What do we base our lives upon?

These are fundamental questions. Always with us. And the answers are ever-shifting, morphing, darting out of reach like wriggling little tadpoles. So if I tell you Jerry Garcia, Captain Trips, long dead leader of the The Grateful Dead has been speaking to me lately, do you think I'm freaking Loco?

What is Jerry telling me? He made his presence felt loud and clear, a few weeks ago, when we passed thru the cemetery gates to visit a long-gone fellow traveler. The tombstone at the grave we visited has a quote from a Dead song written in script: "Fare you well, fare you well, I love you more than words can tell..."

Just before we reached the grave, the song playing on the radio was "Fire on the Mountain," Jerry was singing: "Long distance runner, what you standin' there for? Get up, get out, get out of the door, Your playin' cold music on the barroom floor, Drowned in your laughter and dead to the core, There's a dragon with matches that's loose on the town. Takes a whole pail of water just to cool him down, Fire! Fire on the mountain..."

I know, a coincidence. Right? The Universe works in mysterious ways. You say random luck, I say synchronicity. Like I said, signs and wonders. So lately I have been spinning some of my old Dead records. "Live Dead," "Live in Europe, 1972." Hearing old tunes with new ears. I hear a sparkling clarity. A light, graceful, fluid touch. Improvisation. An open-headed, open-minded-ness. A buoyancy, an urgency.  An aliveness. Sort of magical.

Anyway, no time to waste. Right? Fire on the Mountain.

Shimmering, Flickering Flash...

Yesterday, here in the heartland, there was a shimmering, flickering flash of "endless" summer. No such thing exists, of course. There is no "endless" anything. Everything ends. Summer pops up and then fades quickly around here. It was just a day; glorious, warm, sunny, perfect in every way. 

How does it happen? One day, everything in its right place; no humidity, blue sky, gorgeous blue-green water, overflowing life, flowers, trees, birds, and a flurry of human activity. And what of us? We were totally in tune, keyed into the flow. A lightness, a graceful fluidity ruled the day. We made our appointed rounds easily, with no effort. The day caressed us. It was all so validating. Life. 

It's cool this morning. A different day, a different season. That is how it goes around here, one day to the next can be so different. We carry that lightness and fluidity with us still. We hope can hang onto it, even as we know these moments, these days are like mercury, not something we can hold at all.

Not a Hipster...

Conversation in our kitchen yesterday late morning:

Me (reflecting on the previous post): "I don't think I qualify as a Hipster." 

My Companion (named after a hurricane): "No, Jammer, you are a Wild Dog."

Me: "Woof, Woof!"

Funny Sentence...

People say the Darnedest Things to Me...

Yesterday afternoon, I was cutting across the backlot behind our apartment building, a big empty jug in hand, heading over to the local micro-brewery to get it re-filled with Kombucha.  That my friend is a very Progressive, Blue Bubble-type activity.

A woman was out walking her little black dog, a Boston Terrier (his name: "Shadow"), she took one look at me and declared:

"You are the Epitome of Summer Cool." 

Yes, it's true, in my neighborhood folks often use words like: epitome.

What do you say to something like that? I smiled and muttered: "Hah!" Not exactly pithy, but it seemed to fit the scene. That is the first time in my life I have been accused of being the epitome of anything!

A Major, Major Influence...

Dylan is 80 years old today. Amazing. My Mom turned me onto Dylan...

"If my thought-dreams could be seen, they'd probably put my head in a guillotine." - Dylan

Yes. I am a Dylan-Freak. Have been ever since I went to a "folk-mass" as a little, snot-nosed kid, and found out that the song they were singing, "Blowin' in the Wind," wasn't an old folk song passed down over the ages but was written by a wafer-thin kid in 1962. Blew my mind. Then I discovered "Bringing it All Back Home," "Highway 61 Revisited" and "Blonde on Blonde."
"How does it feel?" Freaking amazing! Happy Birthday Bob!

No Syllabus...

Living. It is a teacher. No syllabus. There is an arc, a moment by moment improvisation, with luck, randomness and mystery embedded in the bones and cells of a life. It's hard to know where it's all going, there are so many of us, so many competing narratives and imperatives. There's conflict and competition and sometimes cooperation too.

Maybe best to just keep our eyes peeled, our heads and hearts open, and let it all come down. There is a flow, a big, rushing flow of life, we are in it, of it, and swimming along with it. We know it will all end sometime, but we don't know what "the end," really means. Everything is energy. Everything is transformation. Everything is everything.

Weird Math?

Some days, I

feel extremely lucky

also sometimes

not so lucky

it depends

on the day

I don't know 

why things work out

when they work out

I don't know 

why things don't work out

when they don't work out

Maybe some kind of 

weird math

or

strange alchemy

I think maybe

it's all about

vibes & chemistry

& barometric pressure

& expectations

& perceptions

& dreams & realities

& random access memories

Yes, Super-Precious...

News of a death

and deaths
near and far

a reminder

do we need 

another 

reminder

that life is 

super-precious

can't hold on

can't hold out

can't stop the

spinning of the 

planet

still need to do

the things we do

empty the dishwasher

brush our teeth

make our appointed rounds

better to

grab a sunbeam

inhale a flower

ride a cloud

hold the lightning

in our hearts

tears streaming

down

Elevator Going Up!

A conversation on a sidewalk in my neighborhood yesterday afternoon. 

A Nice, Well-Dressed, Worldly, Sophisticated-looking Man, slightly older than I, looking me up and down, from head to toe, like a hungry cat sizing up a little birdie as it's next meal or plaything:

"I used to teach at the Art Institute. You are the kind of person I would often see in the elevator."

Me, lost in the funhouse of my own head, thinking to myself: "The Elevator Man?!"

Funny Things...

It's funny. 

If you find yourself close to "the street," you are more grounded. Gravity holds. Paying attention to the little things: one step, one step, one step. I find that wearing heavy boots is helpful. Yes, since they are heavy, it takes a bit more effort walking around, but heavy boots give you a solid foundation. Less falling, tripping, twisting ankles. I can testify from "real-world" experience a good pair of boots is a solid investment.

It's funny. 

The lower you are on the totem pole, the closer to the ground, the less shit you have to put up with. I find that I can pretty much "be my own boss." Do what I want to do, and not do what I don't want to do. I work harder physically, in my low-level, low-paid occupation, but I do not have to suffer fools. I can earn an honest buck, and feel good about what I do without having to tolerate the intolerable.

It's funny. 

You have to have a bit of an "ego" to do pretty much anything. But to do anything really, really well, I think it's clear you need to "drop the ego." I think this holds in business, in creative pursuits, in relationships, etc. It's another one of those funny human things. To make a mark, you have to make a move, you must think you can do something, but then, the best of the best of the doing is when you find out it's not about you. You give yourself up to what you are doing.

It's funny.

A Wave...

She said to me: "Your body is a wave."

I replied: "Hmmm..."

She continued: "The wave is a gentle wave, it flows from side to side. It's inside you; moving depending on how you move."

I had never heard anything like that before, but it sounded true to me, true to my experience. I know my heart beats, and that my blood flows thru my arteries and veins. Sometimes I can feel the beat and the flow, sometimes I can feel and hear the thumping and the flowing. Sometimes I can't hear or feel, I'm listening to, and feeling, other things.

I know when I meditate I can minimize the wave, I can slow down the beat, I can control the flow. Those are times of rest, contemplation, grace and beauty. And then there are times I lose control. I'm like an electrified monkey; jumping around, flopping, slipping, sliding, sloshing around. I lose my bearings. It happens often out in the world, especially when confronted with other human beings.

I may not show it. But you know, as they say, "still waters run deep."

Sunday Communion...

Communion...

Sunday afternoon. Free. I put my super-cool, high-fidelity headphones, pop a CD into my Walkman, sprawl out on the bed, and let the music flow. It's almost a religious experience. Not just "listening to music," I am wrapping myself in the deep vibrations of a recording, submerging myself into another reality, a total sonic landscape. This is not entertainment. It is nourishment. Enlightenment.  Close-listening taken to the extreme. 

My choices seem significant to me. There is a story in the choices.

I started with Nick Cave and Bad Seeds' "Murder Ballads" (1996) Dark stuff. Gothic. I think of Edgar Allan Poe. Nick is a dark balladeer, reveling in the gruesome details of murder, betrayal, bad blood, bad acts, the conflicted human heart. Nick and band are having so much fun.

I fell asleep (how is that possible?), after the 3rd track, Nick's duet with PJ Harvey on "Henry Lee." I didn't wake up until the final song on the album, Dylan's "Death is Not the End:" 

"Oh, the tree of life is growing

Where the spirit never dies

And the bright light of salvation shines

In dark and empty skies"

There is a message there. It comes in loud and clear.

The next CD I put in the walkman was The Flaming Lips' "Embryonic" (2009). Weird. Unique. This records sounds like nothing else. A sprawling double-album, some kind of a stone-cold masterpiece. These Okie Freaks are on a journey of discovery, mining the weirdness for all its worth.

I stayed awake for the whole record. All the lyrics resonate. One of my favorites, "The Sparrow Looks Up at the Machine:"   

"What

What does it mean

To dream what you dream

To believe what you've seen?

Why

Why do we feel

To try to find real

Underneath a machine?

What

What does it mean

To dream what you dream

To believe what you've seen?

Why

Why do we feel

To try to find real

Just to meet the machine

To meet the machine" 

Like the Clay People Emerging...

"Vaccine Hesitancy."

I Don't Understand It.

"Anti-Vax Sentiment."

Nope. Don't get that either.

Did you ever come down with Polio? Me neither. 

Polio Elimination in the United States. "Thanks to a successful vaccination program, the United States has been polio-free since 1979." That's just one good example of what a vaccine can do for the Human Herd. 

The last few days around my town there is a real feeling of optimism and sunshine. Seems most of the folks in my Progressive Blue Bubble are now fully vaxxed. Things are loosening & opening up. Folks are out and about, outdoor dining, hanging at the local micro-brewery, active on the paths and walkways. Folks have their masks handy, but now we are starting to feel confident and safe around other folks who have been vaccinated and we are letting our masks, and guards, down.

We are like the Clay People from the Valley of Desolation, emerging from our caves, emerging from the walls out into the sunlight. We have lately seen folks who we haven't seen in over a year. Amazing. Lots of smiles and tentative hugs. 

We know that the pandemic is not over. There will be spikes and there are malicious variants loose on the planet. We hope our Blue Bubble continues to be a safe bubble. We hope the rest of the Human Herd joins the Community of Immunity. It would be nice to leave Covid-19 behind and move forward into a Brave New Reality.

Keeping Up With the Neighbors.

Folks flaunting their wealth. 

It is a thing. In our neighborhood, the closer you get to the lake, the bigger, more elaborate, gaudy and frankly mind-boggling are some of the residences. I've have been to a few, up close and personal. By no imaginative leap can I come up with a reasonable way that I could own and live in one of these places. Unimaginable wealth.

How can anyone afford some of these places? I have no idea.

Me and mine? Hell. We come from a long line of working stiffs.  Folks just trying to make it, day to day. Nothing to be ashamed of. My reality is about scraping by, paycheck to paycheck. Counting pennies. Slogging thru, and somehow, maintaining. Happy to have a roof over our heads and a good meal in our future.

We live in an incredibly wealthy neighborhood, but we are on the margins, marginal characters. We don't really belong here, we are lucky to be hangers on. Yesterday, I met a person who really, really wants to impress the neighbors. He's built an enormous place, he's a loud-talker, a "big man." No doubt.

It was funny. I  played the humble guy, just doing a job. The "big man" did his thing: flaunting, boasting, talking down the neighbors. So transparent. A bit silly. And pointless. It must be a full-time job just being the big man. Not for everyone. I am happy to walk the humble path.

Serpentine, You Lusty Old Goat!

The scriptwriters over here seem to be frantically working overtime. I thought the script was going one way, and well, there has been a late rewrite.  Funny. That is the way the story goes. Not sure if I am stuck in a rollicking comedy with tragic undertones, or a full-blown tragedy with comedic overtones. Or maybe something in between? A road-movie short on grand adventures, with no roads, no cars and lots of walking, talking, eating and kibitzing?

Two classic movie scenes resonate in my head this morning...

The first scene is from "The In-Laws" (1979), I see Peter Falk and Alan Arkin running thru a parking lot, seemingly evading an imagined sniper's bullets. I think it is Falk's CIA agent character who shouts: "Serpentine! Serpentine!"

Right. The crooked path. Sometimes it is the only way to survive.

The second scene is from "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" (1948). One of the all time great movies. I see Walter Huston dancing around in the dust like a crazy, lusty, drunken old goat. He is laughing his ass off, because "the treasure," the gold that has been the deep obsession consuming the characters in the film for so long, thru greed, death and bad blood, has blown to the four winds. 

Sometimes the fragility and futility of the Human Thing is pretty damn funny.  Serpentine, you Lusty Old Goat! All that glitters is not gold.

A Phrase...

You hear a phrase on the radio this a.m and you just can't shake it. You think, it defines pretty much our human condition. It's a bit ridiculous, frivolous, but super-pervasive and all-consuming.

"Whack a Mole:" "The term "Whac-a-mole" (or "Whack-a-mole") is used colloquially to depict a situation characterized by a series of repetitious and futile tasks, where the successful completion of one just yields another popping up elsewhere."

Right. "Repetitious and futile tasks." See the "Myth of Sisyphus." It's whack a mole all over the planet.  Roll that boulder, Mr. Sisyphus.

Stories...

We are left with stories. Stories we tell ourselves, about ourselves, and about others. It's really the only way to "make sense" of our lives. Everyone has a story. There is the grand over-arching narrative, and then, there are all the individual narratives. Billions, upon billions of narratives. Uncountable billions. Some of these stories fold into each other, some of them majorly conflict with each other. 

Every one of us has a story, and it always starts like this: "Once upon a time..."

Take it from there.