Tips...

I'm sort of serious...

Tips for better living:

1. Show up, don't be late.

2. Do what you say you will do.

3. Always be moving.

4. Humility and Grace in the forefront of your mind.

5. Be "Certain of Nothing," except Love.

6. Expect Fuckups, they will visit you often.

7. Do the hard things first.

8. Don't forget to play, and to laugh.

9. Don't forget that every moment is precious.

10. Don't forget it can (and will) end in an instant.

11. It's OK to cry once in awhile.

12. Greet the day, it's your day.

Living in the Dark & Light...

Glimmers of sunshine, after a few days of clouds and rain. You know the weather is the weather, we are NOT the weather, but no doubt, the weather has a major influence on our heads, our hearts, our emotions,  feelings and spirits. Maybe it shouldn't be so, maybe in a perfect world (there are no perfect worlds), the weather shouldn't so determinative of what's happening with us, but, the reality: it does. Plus if you are pelted with a hard, cold rain on your bicycle heading to an appointed round, you literally are wading thru, fighting past, enduring heavy weather, you end up wearing the weather, can't help absorbing a bit of it into your being.

So, yeah, like I said, cloudy, rainy and a bit dark the last few days. This morning, glimmers, only a few small glimmers, of light. That must be enough. A nice, long, hard sleep, feeling a bit refreshed, the coffee is powerful, the music on the box is all Led Zeppelin, (the first four albums), so lots of light and shadow,  drama, a bit of caterwauling, over the top, maximum blues, and rock and roll. Plus some nice acoustic guitar playing, I mean, you really can't sum up that band, lots of dimension and a full range of dynamics. Perfect soundtrack for an open-ended day, living in someone else's mansion by the lake with another furry little critter.  Might get a bit feral, off the ranch today. No expectations, nothing to live up to, just living in the moment and the dark & light.

Oasis of the Smartly and Responsibly Vaccinated...

Yeah. Don't have all the answers. Don't always have something to say. Sometimes I just type to type. It's a habit, one that I cling to dearly. Often I write to find out what's in my head. This morning up before the sun, looks like maybe the sun won't be out at all today. Dark, rainy, stormy day. Playing the Flying Burrito Brothers again this a.m. on the cd player.

We are happy around here, busy with plans. Onto the next thing is a nice survival strategy, wearing our optimistic goggles. We are sort of venturing out in this tentatively post-pandemic reality. Our little blue bubble is pretty much an oasis of the smartly and responsibly vaccinated. Fear of the virus has subsided a bit.

Our band has been rehearsing for an exciting round of upcoming shows. Finally, we expect to play some indoor venues, some of the finest music rooms in the land. That's pretty exciting, and a long time coming. There has been a slow progression: playing music outdoors in parks, on streets, in alleys. We will finally be venturing indoors once again, masked and a bit distant, but finally in a room! Onto the work. That is the best mode for us to be in. 

Writing and rehearsing songs. Making show posters. Strategizing how to expand our circle. Funny, in some quarters our band is being perceived as a "hot commodity." All our growth, all the attention, all the kind words and validation has come organically, slowly, steadily. It is amazing, we are doing all the things we've always done to make a creative statement, but lately we are being seen in a new light. Or maybe better to say, finally, we are being seen!

We don't take anything for granted. Just do the work. Steady, persistent, looking for those flashes of inspiration, being creative, casting seeds of light into the whirlwind. That is our creative mission. Happy that it continues, and the world is opening up a bit. Maybe not quite post-pandemic yet, but getting there, maybe, hopefully...

Tragedy or Comedy?

Yes, you know. Events transpire. Shit happens. You lose your shit. Things fuck up. Things fall apart. You lose things. You misplace your favorite hat. You destroy your phone in the wash-cycle, you get wet, you don't sleep well, you are "tense and nervous and can't relax," (hat tip: David Byrne's "Psycho Killer"), you are weary, deflated, energy-depleted, sore-armed from vaccinations, over-dogged, plowed-under.

If that's the end of the story, it's a tiny little tragic existence with comedic undertones. Sort of a Samuel Beckett one-act.

But if instead, you endure, you roll with the punches, keep calm, carry on, get your shit back together, un-fuck the fucked-up, you are reunited with your favorite hat, buy a new phone, dry yourself off, sleep well, find your grounding and calm center, recharge, get energized, shake off the soreness, spend time with feathered creatures instead of furry ones, re-emerge into the sunlight, with a smile and a swagger, well, that's a different story.

Now you find yourself in a laugh-riot, Neil Simon comedy. Everything is a bit funny with an undercurrent of tragic-ness in simple human folly. Funny with a slice of sad...

That's life...

Blowback, then Euphoria...

The blowback (head-ache, chills, general achy-ness) from my booster vaccine has passed.  I was knocked out for about a day and half. 

Suddenly, I now feel euphoric. It's like every cell in my body has woken up and is renewed. Who knows, maybe just my imagination?  I wonder if it's just me, or if other folks have had the same experience? I mean, we are all snowflakes, uniquely unique. 

I am so happy to be fully vaxxed and boosted against Covid-19. I am still gob-smacked that anyone is hesitating. It is mind-boggling that some folks are resisting & refusing to be vaccinated.

It is a strange world, and human beings are tricky. We all do stupid and risky things. Pretty sure it's a no-brainer that life is good, every day is precious. It makes sense to be careful, to try to be smart, to listen to "experts."

Trust. It's a slippery slope. So much bad information, disinformation, cynicism, bad blood, tom-foolery. How to wade thru it all? Gently, carefully, with eyes wide open. I have my go-to sources: NPR News, New York Times, Washington Post, The New Yorker Magazine, a few journalists, writers I respect. I avoid the loud-talkers, the cable-news noise, the folks who pretend to know everything. I avoid the bible-thumpers.

I do believe in the scientific method.  I think vaccines are pretty much a proven, wonderful, life-saving strategy. Science and medicine at it's best. But, you know, that's just me. 

Losing My Space...

An Introspective Journey...

Back home after a difficult stay-over (see previous two posts). It is all sort of funny, in sort of a not funny way. I pride myself on being grounded, using meditation and deep-breathing techniques to find an inner peace, to "get my space," but really it is amazing how quickly I can lose my bearings completely.

"Losing My Space," could be my "Losing My Religion."

Being home reminds me how much my space is defined by my things. I have built a little sanctuary of comfort and peace all around me:

a comfy chair in which to meditate and contemplate

a favorite pillow

a familiar bed

my record collection

my books

the air I breathe (no dog-hair here) this is a place where feathered creatures live

Take a fish and plop him in another aquarium, that's what it's like to stay-over at some else's place. Sometimes it's agreeable, and sometimes it's decidedly not.

If you really care about the furry critters you are taking care of (and I do), you totally tune into the creatures. This is a way of giving up your space.

If their hair (which is everywhere) is toxic to you, suddenly, you have difficulty breathing. This is the definition of losing your space. Every breath becomes labored.

It has been a few years since I had an asthma attack. This weekend was the first time (an allergic reaction to the doggies), in a long time. Which is one reason I have been so Covid-Militant (scared to death of getting Covid-19, and taking every precaution). I know what it's like to not be able to breathe freely. Which is why I got a booster shot over the weekend, and, I got a flu shot too. And, I had a bit of a reaction (which is probably good, because it means my immune system is working), but  the double dose of VAX and the allergies, laid me out, another example of losing my space.

Basically I had a bad case of the heebie-jeebies for a few days. I also accidentally put my phone thru a full wash-cycle,  resulting in a very clean and very dead phone. Another instance where I lost my space, suddenly I was profoundly incommunicado. It is amazing how our phones are now the most important social connector, without a phone, you are adrift, alone.

This morning the calm after the storm. Calm, cool, collected. My companion told me, "gentle," is the new password. Ok, yes, gentle, with myself and the world. Breathing free and clear. Oh yeah, ordered a new phone, it should arrive this morning. Luckily I still use a cheap, flip-phone, so easily replaced, not too painful on the pocketbook.

The a.m soundtrack? "Elvis: 30 #1 Hits" (2002). Yes. The Great American White Whale of Pop Culture. The King. Some of these songs song like stone cold classics ("Heartbreak Hotel"), but lots of hokum too.  "Suspicious Minds" always sounds totally fabulous. All of it pretty much undeniable stuff. A short history of a certain America.

Tiny Steps...

One thing goes wrong, and then all hell breaks loose. 

If the apocalypse comes, it will come in tiny steps. It's been that kind of extended weekend. I entered a vortex of hell. A downward spiral of fucked-up-ness. Started with three friendly beasts, ended up with me destroying my phone, nearly falling down a steep staircase, being awoken every two hours by blood-curdling barking, and lots of whimpering and yelping. Needy, needy beasts. Oh yeah, plus dealing with the blowback from a couple vaccine shots on Saturday. The power flickered on and off a few times too this morning, threatening, the very important daily ritual: brewing the morning coffee. Luckily the power came back on. So, yes, well, it's melt-down Monday, but you know, I am already pre-melted, no more melting to be had! 

Hair. Hair. Hair.

Not to be overly dramatic, (okay, why not?) "Living with Dogs," (see previous post), can be an occupational hazard. One dog? Fine. Two dogs? Got it covered. Three dogs? Yikes. Holy Mother of Jesus. That just might be one dog over the line.

Turns out this place I am staying at is "Dog-Hair Central." Hair. Hair. Hair. Everywhere. Every room. Every chair and couch, every rug and carpet. 3 happy little furry creatures, shedding hair like it's going out of style. Those happy little critters follow me everywhere. Turns out it's all a bit toxic to my system.

Makes me dream of some kind of hazmat suit. A new twist on the day, no doubt.  

Living with Dogs x Infinity...

Living with dogs. A big old house. 3 furry little critters.

Hair

Barking

Farting

Snoring

Feed them

Give them treats

walk them

talk to them

They will follow you everywhere

They will be your friends for life

Transactional

You give to them = they give back to you

It's that kind of relationship

Still, you must remember that they are unique individuals

Oddities

Quirks

Eccentricities

This one only has one eye

This one has epilepsy

This one had a rough childhood

You must listen, observe, always be careful & kind

Simple lessons, a way forward, a way to live.

Hard Things First...

Sometimes you just have to step up. You find yourself having to do things you don't really want to do. And still, you must do them. I'm being a bit sketchy here, don't want to harm the innocent or out the guilty.

When I was younger, I'd pout, I'd rant, I would be super-recalcitrant, I would put off, I would procrastinate, I would go down kicking and screaming. Often, I'd end up having to do what I didn't want to do, but I would do it badly, or I'd end up doing whatever I had to do, and it would all go better than expected.

At the end of day, lots of wasted time, emotion, effort.

Those days are over. I live by a new code: Do the the hard things first. Just do the damn things you have to do. Don't think about it. Don't hesitate. Just jump in without a second thought. And, yes, tackle the hard thing first, when you have the most energy to do what you have to do.  

Embrace your responsibilities. Meet the day. Gladly. If need be: Fake it to make. Yes. Just do it.

For me, it is going to be that kind of day.

Cosmic...

It's funny. Something has shifted over here. Still feeling a bit detached, and still have a bit of a chip on my shoulder. Experiencing moments of the day, not exactly judging them. What is, is what is. Back home briefly, and then off to another assignment at another location tomorrow. Maybe this moving around, this migratory existence, living in other places, has opened a new vista in my consciousness?

It is all a subtle, delicate thing. Living. We had a fabulous rehearsal with a couple members of our band yesterday. Just two voices, a guitar, a violin and a percussionist equipped with conga, doumbek, and cajon. So thrilling and validating. We live for that kind of session, that kind of collaboration and communication.

Exquisite and life-affirming.

The news of the day sort of flies by. I latch onto nothing. Let it fly. Happy. Healthy. Wondering what's next.  Lately on the CD player lots of Alice Coltrane & The Flying Burrito Brothers. I love that dichotomy. Hard to categorize. You know, not exactly JAZZ, not exactly COUNTRY.  As Gram Parsons so eloquently dubbed it "Cosmic American Music."

Yes. Indeed. Cosmic.

is it a ...

Is it a ...

test

journey

adventure

contest

cluster-fuck

ordeal

dream

wonder

or something else?

A Gentle Chip...

Sometimes (maybe not often enough), you wake up, and you are just happy to be alive. Breathing. Walking. Talking. Thinking. Blue sky and puffy cumulus clouds in your dreams. You meet the day as an equal. 

Maybe still feeling a bit detached, dislocated. You are in the world but not of it, or maybe it's the other way around, you are of the world, but not in it. Or, maybe it's both (or neither), at the same time.

You can count on being confused, and tricky. Even to yourself.

Lately I have been feeling detached, and I have bit of chip on my shoulder. My friend tells me it's best to meet the day with a gentle demeanor, so let's say that this chip on my shoulder is a gentle chip.

So, yeah, but, anyway, happy. Alive. Happy to be alive. And still....

Detached...

Missed blogging the last two days. It's rare for me.  I just happened to find myself unconnected from the web. Staying at an undisclosed location. Radio silence. Incommunicado.  A forced silence.

It's been a bit refreshing. Letting the world pass me by without a word. I mean, of course, my head was swimming with words, my body was flooded with emotions, but I pretty much kept it all to myself. Feeling a bit detached. Not alienated. Just detached.  

I sat in a backyard garden space yesterday afternoon. Someone's else's little secret garden. Sunshine pouring down. Tall green grass. Big, looming trees, lots of greenery all around. Quiet. Hushed.

A big, majestic hawk sat up in tree; he seemed to be looking down at me. He then lofted himself upward, and floated over to another tree;  his awesome wings glinting, flashing in the sunlight, and then, mysteriously, he vanished. Later I discovered a bloodied rabbit, dead in tall grass. The hawk must have chased him down, killed him and feasted on him. Poor little rabbit, blood and life dribbling out, dead and gone.

Sun, greenery, silence, swift action, beak, claw, blood and death.  A glimpse of the story. Complete.

Sometimes Pop is Not Wrong...

Yeah. Feels a bit weird to like what everyone else likes (see previous post). But, you know, there is something to be said about theater or music that appeals to pretty much everyone. I was staying at someone else's magnificent mansion on the lake, living a completely different life for a few days. Let's just say, "lap of luxury, & unimaginable wealth." Yes, I was the migratory worker posing as the Lord of the Mansion, tending to a little happy, furry creature.

Watching "Hamilton" on Disney + and listening to Sting's "Brand New Day" (1999), on the CD player was pretty damn eye & ear-opening, inspiring and thrilling.  Both works made me realize I'm a bit of an underachiever when it comes to art. Amazing works, both of them, no doubt.

Voices. I think of the voices, the production, the energy, the wonderful realization of the work. One can see why these particular works resonate with lots of people. Sometimes Pop Culture is not wrong.  Sometimes it truly is  Supreme Pop & Supreme Culture combined.

Expectations & Hopes...

Low expectations. High hopes. Maybe, I don't know, maybe that's a formula for better living? Expect nothing, or okay, that's too draconian, expect little, but carry a slight bubble of hope in your heart and head.

This morning, the sun is shining, the coffee is excellent, the music on the box (Sting's "Brand New Day," really, who knew?!) sounds amazing. Perfect.

Makes me wonder if maybe today can be a fabulous adventure. Even if it's basically me walking around the neighborhood on my appointed rounds. Sometimes just being alive is pretty damn cool.

Yesterday, my companion and I watched "Hamilton," on a big-screen TV. Usually theater recorded, seems to lose something, and I can imagine being in the theater live with the cast would be even more freaking amazing, but even on TV "Hamilton" is a thing of joyous wonder. Tears of joy came to our eyes. To see a work of human imagination so perfectly realized. It's an improbable, mind-expanding trip.

Yes. Life-affirming. Sometimes human beings can be pretty damn impressive. The best of us usually emerges in the creative arts. It's the soul work, the spirit conjuring work. Like I said, sometimes you can be greatly rewarded when you come to meet the day with low expectations, and those sneaky little high hopes.

Migratory Existence...

Different day. Different place. I live a sort of migratory existence. I often find myself staying at other people's places. Usually taking care of little furry friends. It's an interesting life. A weird way to make a buck, but no one is shooting at me, and usually I stay at amazing places. Everything is a bit different. Bigger, plusher, more comfortable, but not my place. Everything is a bit slightly off. I bring my stuff. The absolute essential things I need for a good day.

What is essential?

My coffee-maker. My coffee beans. My grinder. My coffee cup. I find it's best to bring my own. Don't mess with the owner's stuff. Be a bit self-efficient, pull myself up by my own bootstraps. Be a bit plucky!

I also have to bring my Walkman, Audio-Techinca Hi-Fi Headphones, and my latest musical obsessions, CDs, I love those spinning silver discs, which includes, live Grateful Dead concerts, (spanning 1967 - 1978, you know pretty much the golden era), and lately Alice Coltrane. What took me so long? What a fabulous, inspiring, spiritual music maker. A creator of beautiful vibes, unlike any other.

I bring some potions and pills. Everything herbal, "alternative" medicine. Nothing too medical. I am a big fan and believer in Arnica gel for aches and pains. I sometimes bring my guitar, but often I stay at places where guitars are resident. Here there is a nice mahogany Martin, small-bodied acoustic. Easy to play, nicely resonant. A real-deal American original guitar. Can't go wrong with a Martin.

I was strumming that guitar last night, playing songs from the Great American Songbook. "In the Pines" made famous by Kurt Cobain on MTV Unplugged. It sounded nice and mournful in this big old empty mansion. 

This morning, I type into a laptop as a "Guest." Yes. I am just a guest here. A traveler. A migratory worker. A dog-whisperer. A friendly handler of pretty little creatures. Sipping my coffee brew. I combined two varieties of beans so, my morning brew is "Mind, Body, Soul, Love Buzz."

It's doing the trick. I wonder what today will bring?

Cloud of Unknowing...

Sometimes, maybe often, the right answer should be, "I just don't rightly know."

Maybe it doesn't feel right. You are exposing yourself, admitting you aren't sure about things. Especially when everyone around you is loud, proud, big, bold, confident, willing to smack you over the head with their opinions.

Human Beings hate MYSTERY. But, of course, MYSTERY is everywhere.

If you look hard enough, the loudest opinion-wielders are usually the ones who know the least. That is some rule right there. Loudest talker, more sure opinion-maker is almost for sure the one who really has no idea what they are talking about.

Good rule of thumb: You don't have to know everything. And if you think you do know everything, you almost for sure are full of B.S. Yes. Indeed.

"True Dat!"

The Mix...

It is all chemistry. The mix. It's true for your head, your body, your spirit. The right elements in the right proportion. And it's a crap-shoot, an experiment, an on-going process. And what works today, might not work tomorrow. And you may have no idea what's missing, what's required, what should be eliminated. There is no rule-book or guide-book. You are on your own, you are your own laboratory.

What food? What liquids? Which vitamins? What images, thoughts, dreams? What to do, what to think? What not to do, what not to think? Is it an "Anything Goes Universe?"

You have to be on constant alert. What's happening RIGHT NOW? How do you feel? Is everything working efficiently? What is the weather-pattern inside your body? Do you have a hurricane in your solar plexus? Are there dark clouds in your cranium? Is your intestinal tract a roiling, boiling mess?

Feeling up, sideways, down?

Yesterday, I reached for the heavy medicine. Dark chocolate and guitars. Primo mood alteration methods. A few squares of that dark, rich power food. And getting myself situated on the bed, sitting cross-legged like a Buddha, strumming an old guitar.  

My experience? This combo never fails to transform a gloomy, up and down Monday into a vibrant, rollicking journey of discovery. The right mix. No doubt.

Go to the Wonder...

Maybe just best to go to the Wonder. The wonder of it all. How did we get here? What are we supposed be doing here?  Where are we going? What's it all about?

"I don't rightly know..."

I wonder.

Go Awry...

"The best laid plans of Mice and Men often go awry."

Yes, if it can go wrong, it will go wrong. The Fuck-ups are built into the system, you know, the freaking fabric of the Universe. Expect the fuck-up. It's coming...

Fog...

Last evening we drove our rental car thru city streets in a fog. A literal fog. It gave familiar streets, signs, buildings, an unfamiliar glow. Everything looked different. The streets seemed wider, the lights were softer, the buildings no longer had hard edges, everything seemed a bit rounded, and dreamier. The real; the material, the asphalt, the concrete, the bricks, the steel, the trees, the curbs, the potholes, all seemed less real. Vaporous. The fog seemed to penetrate the car too, filled the space around us. Wrapped around our heads. Even the dashboard had a soft glow. It was like riding thru a dream-space. We felt a bit lost, a bit found. We pulled onto our street and parked on a hill. Dark trees looming. Mists wafting around us. Fog.

Faking It...

"Fake it till you Make it." 

Yes. Well. I think it's good advice, you know, a good practice.

What if you acted as if you were a good-hearted, kind, thoughtful, graceful, caring Human Being? Maybe if you faked it long enough, you and the folks around you would be convinced?

Act as if you are the thing you aspire to be? If you faked yourself out successfully, if you believed it deeply, maybe in that way you would be transformed?

Acting. Doing. Being.

Yes. I think so.

The Power of Goofing Off...

Yes. A survival strategy: Goofing Off (see previous post). Maybe not the best, most productive or efficient way to live, but, in retrospect, my time spent goofing off was pretty damn essential. It wasn't a plan, it wasn't a philosophy, it was a practice that I stumbled upon as a young whipper-snapper.

I was no prodigy. I wasn't a high-achiever. I didn't leap tall buildings in a single bound, but you know, I survived, I kept my head, I didn't lose my mind, I kept myself relatively happy and healthy.

I learned to be on my own. Marching to my own drummer. Spent a lot time in my room, reading, listening to records, playing guitar, basically lazing around, goofing off. I found my own inner space, and got comfortable there. I didn't need to seek approval from others.

And I found flow activities. Things that occupied my mind, my heart, my head, my soul. Totally engaged in the moment. Always onto something.

So yeah, goofing off sort of paid off for me. I am not saying you should do it. I am just noting that it turned out to be an excellent path of discovery for me.

Growing up in Catholic School...

I emerged from Catholic Grade School, fairly unscathed. I was intimidated by the Nuns and the Priests, but never "fiddled with." I did my best to be invisible. And really, I wanted nothing to do with my fellow students, teachers or Catholic leaders. I didn't want to be an altar boy, and I was always amazed that anyone else really wanted to be one.

I just wanted out. I didn't know I had a choice, it was all a given. It was clearly not a healthy environment. There was something rotten at the core of the whole shebang. You had Jesus, hanging up there on that cross, and you felt badly for him, but then, the rest of it just never added up.

And the Nuns and the Priests had all this power, and it seemed like it was all about guilt, pain, suffering and unhappiness. Not a lot of laughter in the halls. In retrospect, it's safe to say that the Nuns and Priests  seemed like pretty much un-well people.

I was out of there by 7th grade, my family moved to Wisconsin and well, that seemed like going from Purgatory to Hell. I hated Wisconsin with all my might and passion. I felt like an alienated city kid, dropped in rural, podunk, backward America. But I spent time in a public school, and it seemed a little liberating. I was still lost, still doing my best to be invisible, but there was less intimidation and indoctrination. I remember being into poetry, and reading a poem in class. First time actually being seen in school.

Mostly I was all about goofing off on my own. That was my refuge, goofing off. I read and hear about these Catholic Church scandals and it all seems so horrifying. A concerted system of abuse. All across the Christian globe. 

Yes. Horrifying. So glad I escaped pretty much unscathed, except for the guilt, the shame, the cloak of invisibility I carried with me. I had to work hard to shed all of that shit. I mean, it's an on-going process.

Not too Plucky...

Carpe Diem: "Carpe diem, a phrase that comes from the Roman poet Horace, means literally "Pluck the day", though it's usually translated as "Seize the day." If I review my permanent record I find that the plucking and seizing hasn't always been all that fruitful.

To pluck or to be plucked? 

That is the question. I come from a long family line of "go-getters." Maybe more going and less getting? Not necessarily lots of financial reward, instead lots of just getting along. Long stretches of my life seem to be a concerted magic act of smoke and mirrors.

If you seize or pluck too hard, you can strangle the life out of the day. Maybe better to meet the day, live in the moment, alive, aware, awake. See what the day may bring.

Less assertion and more ascertaining...

You want to be plucky, but you don't want to over-do the plucking...

The Rich Ones have all the Weapons, the Poor Ones have the Numbers...

My father always used to tell me that you could look at the Human made-world, and it basically always comes down to the "Haves," and the "Have Nots." Maybe a little Marxian. But also a view forged by growing up in the shadow of the Depression in America.

I always thought it was a bit reductive, but you know, it's also undeniable. There is always a war between the Rich and the Poor. The Rich have all the weapons, the Poor have the numbers. It's a crazily skewed contest.

The Rich want to stay Rich and make sure that their children inherit their accumulated wealth. The Poor want to be Rich, and they long to give their children a chance to improve their lot. The Rich claim some kind of invented, mythical divine right to be Rich. And the Rich blame the Poor for being Poor. The Poor often look up to the Rich with envy, and often blame themselves for their poor condition.

No one seems to want to acknowledge the part that pure, dumb luck, and circumstance play in the distribution of wealth. And also how all the institutions are built to keep the Rich, rich, and to cater to all their whims and desires.

But, you know, in every country, every political system, the Haves always have it over the Have Nots. It is just a fact. Those who have more want more and want to keep it, and lord it over those who don't.

It is a deeply, supremely, rigged game. The Rich and their minions write the rules. And not surprisingly, those rules always favor the Haves.  Sometimes cooler heads prevail, or things get so bad that the Poor ones rise up and upset the apple cart. 

If you are a "do-gooder," they laud you and "Saint" you, when you feed the poor, but they want to murder you, jail you, and brand you a Communist if you ask, why are the Poor always Poor and how can we fix it?

"Revolution..." as Chairman Mao once said, "is not a dinner party."

You may ask, what of fairness? What of Equality, Liberty, Fraternity & Justice? 

"Hey Buddy, can you loan me a dime?"

Thinking...

Thinking:

Always be morphing.

Nothing lasts. 

Serpentine, Serpentine. 

Listen. 

Show up.

Don't Freak Out.

Everything is complicated.

Love.

Laughter.

You know?!

Morphing, Changing, Growing...

Clear your interior space (see previous post) and look out! You will be morphing, changing, growing. Think Jeff Goldblum in "The Fly."  Things might get sticky, yucky, gross. You may find yourself being able to climb walls with your sticky fingers. You maybe be sprouting weird, hairy appendages from your back, you may find yourself eating some weird shit. Folks will want to say "hello" and jump in and join your nice, new spacious living-quarters. You need to be protective, smart, and willing to keep your distance from the herd.

The Real Interior...

Real - " having objective independent existence..."

It is a conundrum, a puzzle, how to make your interior space real? You know, how do you visualize and make your "living room," real, not the living room in your home or apartment, I am thinking of the living room inside your own being. 

The trick is to find your inner-space, to make it real to yourself, and to reside in there, to keep it clear, clean, unobstructed, and only for you.  How to be objective and independent about your own interiority? How do you make it vivid, alive, real?

You have to imagine.  To visualize. To create images of your own interior space in your mind and make these images as real as possible.  It is a practice, a tool, a way, a path forward.

To what end? 

Clarity. Clear-headed-ness. Clear minded-ness. Getting your space is essential. The Universe and everyone and everything in it wants in on your space. You are flooded with thoughts, feelings, desires; there is all the needing, wanting, grasping.  You need to find the calm center. Drop the B.S. 

There is a tiny light in there. Go to the light. You can reside there. In the deep quiet, the deep calm-ness. Find yourself. Fill your interior with your own energy. Clear the cobwebs, toss out the trash. Clean-up time can be so liberating, life-enhancing. Clear.