"Hmmm... that's kind of weird."
What does it mean? I can't ask Jesus in America. He never slows down. And he doesn't look like the kind of person who takes questions. He is a bit fierce. Intimidating. And remember there are two of them. One with a Cat, and one without.
But other than that they seem pretty interchangeable. But that just makes the whole thing kind of difficult. With Jesus in America all you can do is observe. Take notes. Watch his (their) action (s). Try to learn by example. I suppose.
Although, this idea that Jesus in America has anything to teach me, is sort of my own fabrication, right? I'm making this shit up as I go. There is something intriguing about this whole Jesus in America thing to me. But, really, I'm basically just entertaining myself.
I'm swimming in my own past. I blame Bruce Springsteen. His memories of his early Catholic upbringing are so vivid, lively, and so similar to my own, I haven't been the same since I read his book. My childhood looms up over me. Events from long ago, come to me, and I re-experience them as if they happened yesterday. Weird. And what did I learn as a good, little Catholic Boy? Just like Bruce: Guilt, Fear, Sin, Shame, Fury.
My Little Brother recently asked me: "Were you ever a True Believer?"
My answer: "It wasn't a question of Belief. That wasn't on the menu!"
Right. I mean. I was presented with Heaven, Hell, Sin, Damnation, Jesus, God, Virgin Mary, Holy Ghost. These things just were, right? Kind of like finding out that the Earth was round, and Germs existed. It was just information that was sort of strange & confounding. It wasn't my job to verify whether any of this was true or worth believing in. It was just the lay of the land.
What did I think about it all? My thoughts went something like this: "Hmm... that's kind of weird."
It was only later (like in 7th or 8th Grade) that I began to realize I could reject things that I wanted to reject. And really, I decided I wanted to reject everything.
So lots of years of rejecting, rebelling, and looking for other answers in other places. I went from lost to more lost. I became sort of a Zen Absurdist!
Now all these years later I am circling back. Isn't that how the story goes? And everything looks different to me. Old information is seen in a new light. Everything is sort of illuminated. Still not a True Believer. But a believer in believing in things. Some thing. Just what those things or somethings are, I'm still working through...
Hmmm, now that I think of it, that's kind of weird!
Sunday, April 30, 2017
Saturday, April 29, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 15
"Why are you wearing that Stupid Man suit?" - Frank, in Donnie Darko
Some Days the Stupid Man suit fits just fine. Feels good. Maybe it's the barometric pressure, the dew point, the alignment of the Stars, the chemistry inside of the brain. Hard to know.
Maybe it's that I started the day listening to Curtis Mayfield's "Superfly Soundtrack?" Nothing. Better.
"Everything in it's right place." - Thom Yorke
No Jesus in America sighting. And that's just fine. I wasn't really looking for him (them). Makes me think he is out there (both of them), doing something exciting, enriching, inspiring, transforming. That would be perfect.
Yesterday was just one of those days where being conscious, having consciousness, was so fulfilling, sexy, cool, enlivening. Makes you wonder if consciousness is something inside or "out there?"
Is it something we develop, evolve, or is it something we connect to, tap into? I know greater minds than mine have contemplated, thought and explicated that great conundrum. Think: The Austere Appeal of Panpsychism
"For every inside there is an outside, and for every outside there is an inside; though they are different, they go together." —Alan Watts, Man, Nature, and the Nature of Man, 1991
I just tripped along and did my thing yesterday. And it seemed right. Not a slog. Not a burden. Sort of a rambling adventure. Nothing major happened. No drama or trauma. Being a Spirit in Stupid Man Suit seemed just right.
Some Days the Stupid Man suit fits just fine. Feels good. Maybe it's the barometric pressure, the dew point, the alignment of the Stars, the chemistry inside of the brain. Hard to know.
Maybe it's that I started the day listening to Curtis Mayfield's "Superfly Soundtrack?" Nothing. Better.
"Everything in it's right place." - Thom Yorke
No Jesus in America sighting. And that's just fine. I wasn't really looking for him (them). Makes me think he is out there (both of them), doing something exciting, enriching, inspiring, transforming. That would be perfect.
Yesterday was just one of those days where being conscious, having consciousness, was so fulfilling, sexy, cool, enlivening. Makes you wonder if consciousness is something inside or "out there?"
Is it something we develop, evolve, or is it something we connect to, tap into? I know greater minds than mine have contemplated, thought and explicated that great conundrum. Think: The Austere Appeal of Panpsychism
"For every inside there is an outside, and for every outside there is an inside; though they are different, they go together." —Alan Watts, Man, Nature, and the Nature of Man, 1991
I just tripped along and did my thing yesterday. And it seemed right. Not a slog. Not a burden. Sort of a rambling adventure. Nothing major happened. No drama or trauma. Being a Spirit in Stupid Man Suit seemed just right.
Friday, April 28, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 14
"Not to be onto something is to be in despair." - Walker Percy in "The Moviegoer."
Yes. Must fight against despair. So. Onto something. Anything. Right? Doesn't have to be the big stuff. Little stuff will do too.
For instance:
Lunch.
Dinner.
The next song.
A new record.
A full coffee-pot.
The next book.
A new project.
A good thought.
Anything real.
Really real.
Always onto the next thing. Something to look forward to. As as person. A living, breathing human being. On the Search. The Quest. The Journey. The goal is not to consume just to consume, not to be a consumer, but to live, to engage, to transform and to be a transformer, from the inside out.
Yes. Must fight against despair. So. Onto something. Anything. Right? Doesn't have to be the big stuff. Little stuff will do too.
For instance:
Lunch.
Dinner.
The next song.
A new record.
A full coffee-pot.
The next book.
A new project.
A good thought.
Anything real.
Really real.
Always onto the next thing. Something to look forward to. As as person. A living, breathing human being. On the Search. The Quest. The Journey. The goal is not to consume just to consume, not to be a consumer, but to live, to engage, to transform and to be a transformer, from the inside out.
Thursday, April 27, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 13
"The Key to a Good Life is to have purpose." - David McCullough.
Yes. Purpose. Here was my Out-going Text Message yesterday afternoon...
"Wearing my Father's jacket, walking with Buster, looking for Jesus in America."
Yes. Purpose. Here was my Out-going Text Message yesterday afternoon...
"Wearing my Father's jacket, walking with Buster, looking for Jesus in America."
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
Powerful, Influential - Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
Robert Pirsig has died.
Pirsig's book "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," was certainly one of the foundational, formative books in my life. No doubt. I can easily say that it is one of the books that "changed my life." It came to me at a very impressionable time.
I was a Searcher. Searching. A perfect reader.
I can see the young me, hitch-hiking from Chicago to San Diego with a copy of Pirsig's book buried deep in my back-pack, deep in my consciousness. Looking for something.
I was too aware of my own clunkiness, didn't trust myself driving a motorcycle, plus, I was pretty poor, I think I had about $100 in my shoe as I stood on a corner trying to flag down a ride.
I have read the book many times. It always engages on many levels. It's always a bit daunting, haunting, and a bit out of my grasp. Weighty and profound things, the essence of things, hung on a simple story, a journey, a father and son on a motorcycle trip.
Body & Spirit. Reason & Passion. Ideas & Action. Dualities. Finding Zen in the day to day, in a motorcycle engine, in a life-well lived. Zen - not meditating on a mountain, but right here, right now in the common, mundane, real world. Reason in the Madness.
It propelled me on an intellectual journey, a spiritual journey, led me to the many doors of Zen and meditation, and alternative lifestyles. I was propelled out into the world, and at the same time propelled inward. Life as a search, as a journey. That has defined how I have thought of my life, and how I have lived my life ever since.
Robert Pirsig's journey in a weird way was my journey too. And of course, I was just one of many. As Pirsig explains it:
The near-cult popularity of “Zen,” though, puzzled him for years before he came up with a theory. Writing in an afterword to the 10th-anniversary edition in 1984, he used a Swedish word (it was his mother’s native language) to describe the phenomenon. “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” he wrote, was a “kulturbarer,” or culture-bearer.
A culture-bearing book is not necessarily a great book, he said. It does not change the culture. It simply heralds a change already underway. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” an indictment of slavery published before the Civil War, was a culture-bearing book, he said.
“I was just telling my own story,” he said in a short interview posted on his website. He had never intended to make a splash.
“I expressed what I thought were my prime thoughts,” he added, “and they turned out to be the prime thoughts of everybody else.”
Pirsig's book "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," was certainly one of the foundational, formative books in my life. No doubt. I can easily say that it is one of the books that "changed my life." It came to me at a very impressionable time.
I was a Searcher. Searching. A perfect reader.
I can see the young me, hitch-hiking from Chicago to San Diego with a copy of Pirsig's book buried deep in my back-pack, deep in my consciousness. Looking for something.
I was too aware of my own clunkiness, didn't trust myself driving a motorcycle, plus, I was pretty poor, I think I had about $100 in my shoe as I stood on a corner trying to flag down a ride.
I have read the book many times. It always engages on many levels. It's always a bit daunting, haunting, and a bit out of my grasp. Weighty and profound things, the essence of things, hung on a simple story, a journey, a father and son on a motorcycle trip.
Body & Spirit. Reason & Passion. Ideas & Action. Dualities. Finding Zen in the day to day, in a motorcycle engine, in a life-well lived. Zen - not meditating on a mountain, but right here, right now in the common, mundane, real world. Reason in the Madness.
It propelled me on an intellectual journey, a spiritual journey, led me to the many doors of Zen and meditation, and alternative lifestyles. I was propelled out into the world, and at the same time propelled inward. Life as a search, as a journey. That has defined how I have thought of my life, and how I have lived my life ever since.
Robert Pirsig's journey in a weird way was my journey too. And of course, I was just one of many. As Pirsig explains it:
The near-cult popularity of “Zen,” though, puzzled him for years before he came up with a theory. Writing in an afterword to the 10th-anniversary edition in 1984, he used a Swedish word (it was his mother’s native language) to describe the phenomenon. “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” he wrote, was a “kulturbarer,” or culture-bearer.
A culture-bearing book is not necessarily a great book, he said. It does not change the culture. It simply heralds a change already underway. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” an indictment of slavery published before the Civil War, was a culture-bearing book, he said.
“I was just telling my own story,” he said in a short interview posted on his website. He had never intended to make a splash.
“I expressed what I thought were my prime thoughts,” he added, “and they turned out to be the prime thoughts of everybody else.”
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 12
"I talk to the wind..." - King Crimson
Jesus in America was on the bike-path yesterday. Pedaling furiously. Sort of Mad Max Fury Road style. No cat. No earbuds. No shirt. It was warm and sunny yesterday, but not that warm and sunny. Jesus in America looked a little "lobster out of his shell."
He was talking. To the wind. Shouting actually. I have never seen Jesus in America so animated - furious pedaling, loud speaking, wild gesturing.
It was not English. Not Spanish. Sort of sounded a bit like Old World Gibberish. Could have been some Ancient, dead language. Or, of course, a very good possibility, it could have been that Jesus in America was Speaking in Tongues.
It sounded like a one-sided conversation. A rant. A speech. A sermon? That would be a Jesus in America thing, right?!
Jesus in America was on the bike-path yesterday. Pedaling furiously. Sort of Mad Max Fury Road style. No cat. No earbuds. No shirt. It was warm and sunny yesterday, but not that warm and sunny. Jesus in America looked a little "lobster out of his shell."
He was talking. To the wind. Shouting actually. I have never seen Jesus in America so animated - furious pedaling, loud speaking, wild gesturing.
It was not English. Not Spanish. Sort of sounded a bit like Old World Gibberish. Could have been some Ancient, dead language. Or, of course, a very good possibility, it could have been that Jesus in America was Speaking in Tongues.
It sounded like a one-sided conversation. A rant. A speech. A sermon? That would be a Jesus in America thing, right?!
Monday, April 24, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 11
Jesus in America believes in Evolution...
I'm guessing.
If I were Jesus in America, I would tell you, if you doubted the theory of Evolution, to look at the Human Being. Watch how it starts as a little Sperm that meets an Egg. And how they join together and create a New Thing. And watch how that new thing basically goes thru the all the stages of Evolution, on a small scale - a big ball of cells, a scary reptilian phase, gills slits, etc.
Every baby born is an example of Evolution in Action. Plus of course, just open your freaking eyes. Look at the live beings that surround us on this planet. The number, the variety, the similarities of all the living things. Life.
Speaking of which. We are a pretty amazing species. We can build a spaceship that travels billions of miles away from the Earth, that can take pictures of our little planet. Like this photo for instance from NASA's Cassini Spacecraft. Mind-blowing. That little shining dot seen thru the Rings of Saturn is our little home. A billion miles away!
I'm guessing.
If I were Jesus in America, I would tell you, if you doubted the theory of Evolution, to look at the Human Being. Watch how it starts as a little Sperm that meets an Egg. And how they join together and create a New Thing. And watch how that new thing basically goes thru the all the stages of Evolution, on a small scale - a big ball of cells, a scary reptilian phase, gills slits, etc.
Every baby born is an example of Evolution in Action. Plus of course, just open your freaking eyes. Look at the live beings that surround us on this planet. The number, the variety, the similarities of all the living things. Life.
Speaking of which. We are a pretty amazing species. We can build a spaceship that travels billions of miles away from the Earth, that can take pictures of our little planet. Like this photo for instance from NASA's Cassini Spacecraft. Mind-blowing. That little shining dot seen thru the Rings of Saturn is our little home. A billion miles away!
Pretty amazing. The immensities of Time and Space and Distance just take your breath away. Dwell on it for a bit and you can just feel an Existential Crisis building up deep in your Solar Plexus. But at the same time, you think, "Wow, it's pretty impressive that those Scientists are smart and clever enough to create a Spacecraft that could shoot this photo! Pretty good."
Still, you then remember that we just elected a total Freaking Idiot to run our government in good old USA. And Human Beings are also expert at unleashing unbelievable horrors upon each other. And our History on that little shining dot includes lots of mindless B.S. and countless Wars and cruelties and stupidities on a massive, Species-Wide Scale. And we are destroying that beautiful little planet by our over-use of fossil-fuels, and we are killing the ecosystem that supports our meager existence and destroying forests, melting ice, disappearing all the other species that co-exist with us at a record rate. You think: "How freaking stupid we must be." Pretty impressive.
Jesus in America! Help! It's the Duality of the Human Thing!
Sunday, April 23, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 10
I'm projecting a bit here...
If you have been following along. Jesus lives in my hood. Jesus in America. Actually, surprisingly, it seems there are two of them, two Jesus in Americas.
It is safe to say, that they are not Conservatives. They aren't Evangelicals. They don't, as one Conservative Evangelical was recently quoted in the NYT as saying, "Hate Obama, Hate Liberals, Hate Abortion & Hate Gay Marriage."
They aren't that kind of Jesus.
They do like water-sports, biking, hiking, long hair & cats. They are both slim, and quiet, and active. They spend lots of time outdoors. They are loners, they keep to themselves. They don't seem to have any girlfriends, or any friends at all. They don't seem to know each other either.
I guess you could say they seem to "lead by example." Keep moving. Always keep moving.
They don't preach. They don't talk. They won't look you in the eye. I haven't seen any miracles. No walking on water, no turning water into wine, no raising the dead.
Maybe you'd think a sort of ordinary, pedestrian, kind of Jesus. That's probably about right.
If you have been following along. Jesus lives in my hood. Jesus in America. Actually, surprisingly, it seems there are two of them, two Jesus in Americas.
It is safe to say, that they are not Conservatives. They aren't Evangelicals. They don't, as one Conservative Evangelical was recently quoted in the NYT as saying, "Hate Obama, Hate Liberals, Hate Abortion & Hate Gay Marriage."
They aren't that kind of Jesus.
They do like water-sports, biking, hiking, long hair & cats. They are both slim, and quiet, and active. They spend lots of time outdoors. They are loners, they keep to themselves. They don't seem to have any girlfriends, or any friends at all. They don't seem to know each other either.
I guess you could say they seem to "lead by example." Keep moving. Always keep moving.
They don't preach. They don't talk. They won't look you in the eye. I haven't seen any miracles. No walking on water, no turning water into wine, no raising the dead.
Maybe you'd think a sort of ordinary, pedestrian, kind of Jesus. That's probably about right.
Saturday, April 22, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 9
The Whores of Babylon...
Harvard Business School. The Best and The Brightest. The "made folks." And just what have they been teaching their fine, upstanding students in that prestigious Business School over the last 40 years or so? We are all Whores in Babylon!
Harvard teaches its students that “we’re all whores.” Continuing his train of logic, he writes: “If everybody assumes you’re a whore, you might as well grab as much money as possible while you’re still in demand.”
So Jesus in America (both of them), should be at Harvard washing the feet of the Professors, the Students, the Consultants. That would be a very Jesus thing to do - washing the feet of Whores.
Seems those Jamaican Rastafarians were right from the start. Those spliff-smoking, Dread-lock-wearing, Reggae-thumping, Rastas had it figured out. Bob Marley. Peter Tosh, Burning Spear, Bunny Wailer, etc.
This is Babylon. And we are all Whores. Chasing the Gold. Maximizing the Profits. It's the only thing we know, the bottom line ethic that fuels this Capitalistic Utopia. Oh yeah, special bonus: it's killing our lovely planet-wide ecosystem too.
Explains "So much trouble in the World." Jesus in America turns his lonely eyes to Bunny Wailer. Oh Bunny! Jesus in America weeps.
Harvard Business School. The Best and The Brightest. The "made folks." And just what have they been teaching their fine, upstanding students in that prestigious Business School over the last 40 years or so? We are all Whores in Babylon!
Harvard teaches its students that “we’re all whores.” Continuing his train of logic, he writes: “If everybody assumes you’re a whore, you might as well grab as much money as possible while you’re still in demand.”
“The money got too good.”
So Jesus in America (both of them), should be at Harvard washing the feet of the Professors, the Students, the Consultants. That would be a very Jesus thing to do - washing the feet of Whores.
Seems those Jamaican Rastafarians were right from the start. Those spliff-smoking, Dread-lock-wearing, Reggae-thumping, Rastas had it figured out. Bob Marley. Peter Tosh, Burning Spear, Bunny Wailer, etc.
This is Babylon. And we are all Whores. Chasing the Gold. Maximizing the Profits. It's the only thing we know, the bottom line ethic that fuels this Capitalistic Utopia. Oh yeah, special bonus: it's killing our lovely planet-wide ecosystem too.
Explains "So much trouble in the World." Jesus in America turns his lonely eyes to Bunny Wailer. Oh Bunny! Jesus in America weeps.
Friday, April 21, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 8
Some shocking news...
Yesterday, I had a Jesus in America sighting, and I realized that my friend and I have made a critical mistake. It either totally destroys the Jesus in America Concept, or makes it that much more potent. Can't decide which.
Let's go to the Text Message Exchange:
Outgoing Text Message: "Holy Moly. I think there are 2 Jesus in Americas. 2 different people. 1 has a cat. 1 has a bushy beard. Thought there was just 1. This changes everything."
Incoming Text Message: "Buy 1, get 1 FREE, that's America!"
Yesterday, I had a Jesus in America sighting, and I realized that my friend and I have made a critical mistake. It either totally destroys the Jesus in America Concept, or makes it that much more potent. Can't decide which.
Let's go to the Text Message Exchange:
Outgoing Text Message: "Holy Moly. I think there are 2 Jesus in Americas. 2 different people. 1 has a cat. 1 has a bushy beard. Thought there was just 1. This changes everything."
Incoming Text Message: "Buy 1, get 1 FREE, that's America!"
Thursday, April 20, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 7
Jesus in America...
Makes me think of Joseph Campbell's great book, "A Hero with a Thousand Faces." So many great quotes from that book...
“..enlarge the pupil of the eye, so that the body with its attendant personality will no longer obstruct the view. Immortality is then experienced as a present fact...”
― Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces
Makes me think of Joseph Campbell's great book, "A Hero with a Thousand Faces." So many great quotes from that book...
“..enlarge the pupil of the eye, so that the body with its attendant personality will no longer obstruct the view. Immortality is then experienced as a present fact...”
― Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces
Any one of us can be that hero. Any one of us can be somebody, nobody, anybody. Just like Jesus in America. So many faces. Faces with names, faces without names...
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
Jesus in America Pt 6
Just another Wednesday 2017
I must admit I'm stuck on this Jesus in America thing. It's my new mantra. I say it with a bit of a Southern twang: "Gee-Zuss N 'Merica!"
Calms me. Mellows me out. There is a subtle power in that little mantra.
I suppose, I could just as easily replace Jesus with Krishna, Mohammad, Buddha, Dali Lama, Zeus, Apollo, The White Goddess, the Lord of Light, or some other random God or Holy Entity, but no, it's Jesus. Must be all that Judaeo-Christian tutoring. Those Nuns did a superb job - tattooed Jesus and the Bible into my cell structure forever and ever, Amen.
No getting away from it. So I've kind of adapted my own thing with it. What does it all mean? Don't rightly know.
No Jesus in America sighting yesterday. But... I... know... he's... out... there!
I must admit I'm stuck on this Jesus in America thing. It's my new mantra. I say it with a bit of a Southern twang: "Gee-Zuss N 'Merica!"
Calms me. Mellows me out. There is a subtle power in that little mantra.
I suppose, I could just as easily replace Jesus with Krishna, Mohammad, Buddha, Dali Lama, Zeus, Apollo, The White Goddess, the Lord of Light, or some other random God or Holy Entity, but no, it's Jesus. Must be all that Judaeo-Christian tutoring. Those Nuns did a superb job - tattooed Jesus and the Bible into my cell structure forever and ever, Amen.
No getting away from it. So I've kind of adapted my own thing with it. What does it all mean? Don't rightly know.
No Jesus in America sighting yesterday. But... I... know... he's... out... there!
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 5
The Day After the Day After 2017.
Once you start this game it's hard to stop. No Jesus in America sighting yesterday, but, of course that means I spent the day wondering where he could be, what could he be doing? I spent the day speculating, fantasizing.
I know he's out there. Doing something.
I did spend some time thinking about Jesus in America's hair. He has lots of hair. It's unkempt. Uncared for. Seems Jesus in America isn't into shampoo or conditioner. No 100 brushes every night for this Jesus.
He is not a "bald-headed" Jesus. Bunny Wailer is on the money. Seems there is no bald-recessive gene in Jesus in America's matrilineal line. Hair. Plenty of it.
It's sort like a Brillo-pad. Tough. Spiky. I'm pretty sure that with a little attention and determination Jesus in a America could sport some pretty epic Dreadlocks.
I think Jesus in America is an Immigrant. No surprise. I mean, aren't we all? I'm thinking he could be from just about anywhere: Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, Israel, Mexico, anything Middle Eastern or Central American. Could be from Africa, even Asia. Who knows?
Hell, now that I think of it, it's a good bet that Jesus in America is an illegal immigrant. An alien. Maybe got in on a student visa or something, over-stayed his welcome, fell through the cracks, living on the edge in the shadow world of American Capitalism. Black Market Jesus!
Let's just say there is a little spice in Jesus in America's genetic bouillabaisse. He is sort of a Heinz 57 kind of guy. A little bit of this and that. He could be anybody. He could be everybody.
Once you start this game it's hard to stop. No Jesus in America sighting yesterday, but, of course that means I spent the day wondering where he could be, what could he be doing? I spent the day speculating, fantasizing.
I know he's out there. Doing something.
I did spend some time thinking about Jesus in America's hair. He has lots of hair. It's unkempt. Uncared for. Seems Jesus in America isn't into shampoo or conditioner. No 100 brushes every night for this Jesus.
He is not a "bald-headed" Jesus. Bunny Wailer is on the money. Seems there is no bald-recessive gene in Jesus in America's matrilineal line. Hair. Plenty of it.
It's sort like a Brillo-pad. Tough. Spiky. I'm pretty sure that with a little attention and determination Jesus in a America could sport some pretty epic Dreadlocks.
I think Jesus in America is an Immigrant. No surprise. I mean, aren't we all? I'm thinking he could be from just about anywhere: Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, Israel, Mexico, anything Middle Eastern or Central American. Could be from Africa, even Asia. Who knows?
Hell, now that I think of it, it's a good bet that Jesus in America is an illegal immigrant. An alien. Maybe got in on a student visa or something, over-stayed his welcome, fell through the cracks, living on the edge in the shadow world of American Capitalism. Black Market Jesus!
Let's just say there is a little spice in Jesus in America's genetic bouillabaisse. He is sort of a Heinz 57 kind of guy. A little bit of this and that. He could be anybody. He could be everybody.
Monday, April 17, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 4
Day After Easter 2017
Let's just say it's another Monday. After a glorious weekend. You can't keep the glory going indefinitely. You have to get back to normal. Which actually sounds impossible. There is no normal.
Yes, my friend and I did have a Jesus in America sighting yesterday. Easter Sunday. He did rise, he did get up, just like the rest of us.
He was on the bike path, whizzing by on his bike. He does indeed have ear-buds, little white ear-buds. Hopefully he was listening to music, sweet music. It would be great if it was Mozart, or Bach, but it could have just as likely have been The Smiths' "Meat is Murder," or "Louder than Bombs."
You can't catch Jesus' eye. He won't look you in the eye. He is really good at just starting straight ahead, probably at some glorious future no one else can see. Yes, he is that kind of Jesus.
So yes, there he was, on the bike path. Trying to be anonymous. And for most of the folks, he did an admirable job. No adoring fans. No fanfare. Just Jesus in America pedaling down the bike path, bobbing and weaving past the needy, wanting, unknowing, sin-filled, hordes.
Let's just say it's another Monday. After a glorious weekend. You can't keep the glory going indefinitely. You have to get back to normal. Which actually sounds impossible. There is no normal.
Yes, my friend and I did have a Jesus in America sighting yesterday. Easter Sunday. He did rise, he did get up, just like the rest of us.
He was on the bike path, whizzing by on his bike. He does indeed have ear-buds, little white ear-buds. Hopefully he was listening to music, sweet music. It would be great if it was Mozart, or Bach, but it could have just as likely have been The Smiths' "Meat is Murder," or "Louder than Bombs."
You can't catch Jesus' eye. He won't look you in the eye. He is really good at just starting straight ahead, probably at some glorious future no one else can see. Yes, he is that kind of Jesus.
So yes, there he was, on the bike path. Trying to be anonymous. And for most of the folks, he did an admirable job. No adoring fans. No fanfare. Just Jesus in America pedaling down the bike path, bobbing and weaving past the needy, wanting, unknowing, sin-filled, hordes.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 3
Easter Sunday 2017.
The Big Enchilada. The Liftoff. The Rising.
No Jesus in America sighting yesterday. Which makes sense, the Harrowing of Hell don't you know?!
There's the Olde Tradition. The Old Myths. The Legends. The Fables. The Lies. The Metaphors. The Cheap Poetic License. Jesus in America is a different kettle of fish all together. Jesus in America is a Lone Wolf: No Apostles. No Acolytes. No Followers. No Community.
Everyone here is on the Wheel. Chasing after the Golden Calf. Gold. The Do Re Mi. The Big Score. Money, Money & Money. No room for Wild-Ass Prophets.
So yes, Jesus may have a smart phone, (see previous post), but really he has no one to call. Maybe he's miming, pretending to be in conversation? Lost in his own head. Kind of makes a sort of sense.
Jesus in America is street-hardened. A street-level person. He is rugged, ragged, burnt around the edges. He is a bit wild, untamed, unkempt, scary, dangerous. Unpredictable. He doesn't know his place. Or maybe it's just his place is on the street, with the noise, the garbage, the jet-trash, the piss, the shit, the pus, the old condoms, the plastic wrappers, the blood, semen, sweat, spit.
Not sure any Dogma can contain him. No Commandments can command him. No Denomination can explain him. He is there and then he's gone. Jesus in America.
The Big Enchilada. The Liftoff. The Rising.
No Jesus in America sighting yesterday. Which makes sense, the Harrowing of Hell don't you know?!
There's the Olde Tradition. The Old Myths. The Legends. The Fables. The Lies. The Metaphors. The Cheap Poetic License. Jesus in America is a different kettle of fish all together. Jesus in America is a Lone Wolf: No Apostles. No Acolytes. No Followers. No Community.
Everyone here is on the Wheel. Chasing after the Golden Calf. Gold. The Do Re Mi. The Big Score. Money, Money & Money. No room for Wild-Ass Prophets.
So yes, Jesus may have a smart phone, (see previous post), but really he has no one to call. Maybe he's miming, pretending to be in conversation? Lost in his own head. Kind of makes a sort of sense.
Jesus in America is street-hardened. A street-level person. He is rugged, ragged, burnt around the edges. He is a bit wild, untamed, unkempt, scary, dangerous. Unpredictable. He doesn't know his place. Or maybe it's just his place is on the street, with the noise, the garbage, the jet-trash, the piss, the shit, the pus, the old condoms, the plastic wrappers, the blood, semen, sweat, spit.
Not sure any Dogma can contain him. No Commandments can command him. No Denomination can explain him. He is there and then he's gone. Jesus in America.
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Jesus in America Pt. 2
Holy Saturday 2017.
I'm such the poorly-trained, wayward Catholic, I didn't know what they call the "day after Good Friday."
I had to Google it: "(Latin: Sabbatum Sanctum), the Saturday of Holy Week, also known as the Great Sabbath, Black Saturday, or Easter Eve,[1] and called "Joyous Saturday" or "the Saturday of Light" among Coptic Christians, is the day after Good Friday. It is the day before Easter and the last day of Holy Week in which Christians prepare for Easter. It commemorates the day that Jesus Christ's body lay in the tomb and the Harrowing of Hell."
A not insignificant day.
Maybe it's no coincidence that I saw Jesus fly by on his bike yesterday. He was there in a flash and then he was gone. He was heading South on the main boulevard. I was heading North.
I was lost in my own head, tripping down the avenue, and caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes weeks go by and no Jesus. And then sometimes you get a cluster of sightings.
This time, no cat. Where does that cat go when he's not hanging with Jesus?
Can't be positive about this, (they say eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable), but I think Jesus has a smart phone. And ear-buds. Not surprising. I mean, I guess, it would be more unusual if he didn't have a smart phone. Jesus in America.
Jesus on the mainline.
I'm such the poorly-trained, wayward Catholic, I didn't know what they call the "day after Good Friday."
I had to Google it: "(Latin: Sabbatum Sanctum), the Saturday of Holy Week, also known as the Great Sabbath, Black Saturday, or Easter Eve,[1] and called "Joyous Saturday" or "the Saturday of Light" among Coptic Christians, is the day after Good Friday. It is the day before Easter and the last day of Holy Week in which Christians prepare for Easter. It commemorates the day that Jesus Christ's body lay in the tomb and the Harrowing of Hell."
A not insignificant day.
Maybe it's no coincidence that I saw Jesus fly by on his bike yesterday. He was there in a flash and then he was gone. He was heading South on the main boulevard. I was heading North.
I was lost in my own head, tripping down the avenue, and caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes weeks go by and no Jesus. And then sometimes you get a cluster of sightings.
This time, no cat. Where does that cat go when he's not hanging with Jesus?
Can't be positive about this, (they say eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable), but I think Jesus has a smart phone. And ear-buds. Not surprising. I mean, I guess, it would be more unusual if he didn't have a smart phone. Jesus in America.
Jesus on the mainline.
Friday, April 14, 2017
Jesus in America!
Good Friday 2017.
You can take the Boy out of the Catholic. But you can't take the Catholic out of the Boy...
Jesus lives in our neighborhood. It makes sense. Jesus in America. He'd choose to live in a college town in the Midwest, on the shores of one of the Great Lakes. A prestigious institution. Lots of smart people. Big-time Business school.
Jesus is sort of a hanger-on. Maybe a "gradual student." Not enrolled. Monitoring classes. Spending lots of time on the lakeshore campus: biking, hiking, skate-boarding, windsurfing, playing Hacky-sack. Yes, Jesus is trying to bring back Hacky-Sack. What happened to all the Hacky-sack players of yesteryear?
Jesus owns (ok, maybe better to say he is friends with), a cat. He brings the cat with him wherever he goes. Sometimes you can see Jesus riding his bike with his cat-friend perched on his shoulder. Sometimes it kind of hangs off the side of his head, like some very exotic and lively hat. That is one cool cat.
Jesus is looking a bit ragged lately; over-cooked. Out in the sun too long. He's always outside, on the move. Get yourself some sunblock Jesus! Anyway, my friend and I are always reporting on Jesus' latest movements. Sending text messages back and forth about Jesus sightings.
This exchange is from 2 days ago...
Outgoing Text Message: "Jesus is eating bad Chinese today!"
Incoming Text Message: "Does he have his Cat with him?"
Outgoing Text Message: "In his meal?!"
Incoming Text Message: "Yikes!"
You can take the Boy out of the Catholic. But you can't take the Catholic out of the Boy...
Jesus lives in our neighborhood. It makes sense. Jesus in America. He'd choose to live in a college town in the Midwest, on the shores of one of the Great Lakes. A prestigious institution. Lots of smart people. Big-time Business school.
Jesus is sort of a hanger-on. Maybe a "gradual student." Not enrolled. Monitoring classes. Spending lots of time on the lakeshore campus: biking, hiking, skate-boarding, windsurfing, playing Hacky-sack. Yes, Jesus is trying to bring back Hacky-Sack. What happened to all the Hacky-sack players of yesteryear?
Jesus owns (ok, maybe better to say he is friends with), a cat. He brings the cat with him wherever he goes. Sometimes you can see Jesus riding his bike with his cat-friend perched on his shoulder. Sometimes it kind of hangs off the side of his head, like some very exotic and lively hat. That is one cool cat.
Jesus is looking a bit ragged lately; over-cooked. Out in the sun too long. He's always outside, on the move. Get yourself some sunblock Jesus! Anyway, my friend and I are always reporting on Jesus' latest movements. Sending text messages back and forth about Jesus sightings.
This exchange is from 2 days ago...
Outgoing Text Message: "Jesus is eating bad Chinese today!"
Incoming Text Message: "Does he have his Cat with him?"
Outgoing Text Message: "In his meal?!"
Incoming Text Message: "Yikes!"
Thursday, April 13, 2017
I am the Weather!
This might sound weird...
I am the weather. I wake up, and I don't know if it's sunny or cloudy, cold or steamy, a breezy light kind of day, or a heavy, clunky one.
I used to think I was separate from the weather. That there was me, and then there was the weather. But over time, slowly, I have come to the startling realization that I and the weather are one.
What is in my heart and my head is also in the sky, in the air, in the ground. I reflect and am reflected. Weird. Yes. I know.
So it looks like I'm pretty much rainy today. I will be showering intermittently today. I'm cold, gray. I expect to be pretty much that all day with little variation. Sorry.
I am the weather. I wake up, and I don't know if it's sunny or cloudy, cold or steamy, a breezy light kind of day, or a heavy, clunky one.
I used to think I was separate from the weather. That there was me, and then there was the weather. But over time, slowly, I have come to the startling realization that I and the weather are one.
What is in my heart and my head is also in the sky, in the air, in the ground. I reflect and am reflected. Weird. Yes. I know.
So it looks like I'm pretty much rainy today. I will be showering intermittently today. I'm cold, gray. I expect to be pretty much that all day with little variation. Sorry.
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
All Biblical!
And then, the Universe went all "Biblical" on me... what is it with that old book?
I mean, yes, a rain of fat horny toads. Floods. Lightening. Thunder. Hail coming down on my head like a fighter squad of sharpened lead pencils. Pestilence. Blood terrors. Nightmares.
Pricks and Kicks from every corner. Little hungry mouths chattering at me. Demanding attention. Shit. Piss. Tears. Blood. Mucous.
The wind rose up, the sky parted. A chilling breeze on one side of my head, a humid stain on the other. How is that even possible? Divided. A divided land.
Dark thoughts. Strange premonitions. My only refuge. Music. Sweet music. Soul, Jazz, Folk, Rock. R&B. Funk. I lay my head down. And pray. "Please don't let the music stop..."
I mean, yes, a rain of fat horny toads. Floods. Lightening. Thunder. Hail coming down on my head like a fighter squad of sharpened lead pencils. Pestilence. Blood terrors. Nightmares.
Pricks and Kicks from every corner. Little hungry mouths chattering at me. Demanding attention. Shit. Piss. Tears. Blood. Mucous.
The wind rose up, the sky parted. A chilling breeze on one side of my head, a humid stain on the other. How is that even possible? Divided. A divided land.
Dark thoughts. Strange premonitions. My only refuge. Music. Sweet music. Soul, Jazz, Folk, Rock. R&B. Funk. I lay my head down. And pray. "Please don't let the music stop..."
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
The Little Black Incubus.
The little black Incubus has my number. He watches my every move. He reads my every thought. He is a dark cloak and a shadow that I can't shake. He is waiting. Holding all the evil inside his ravaged vessel. He accumulates ungodly, uncounted numbers of sins in his belly. He refuses to let go. He is waiting. Waiting for me to leave. When I do, he will run down to the basement, squat in the middle of the cold, concrete floor and unloose his dark stream of evil. He will unloose a steaming, rancid, pile of shit. The shit of the world. Shittier than any shit you can imagine. He will howl with delight. A furiously happy little black Incubus adding another pile of his sweet misery to the Universe.
He resembles a meth addict in the depths of his desecration. He is electric. Always on. Humping, thumping, wheezing, tongue dangling from his lips like a dead worm. His energy is corrosive. Wears the edges off things. Tears holes in the people, and the things around him. He is all appetite. Everything is sex. He humps. Constantly humps. Humps objects, animate and inanimate. He doesn't eat, he swallows every thing up in big sloppy gulps. Things disappear inside him. He doesn't reside in the Universe, he nibbles on it's edges. He takes pieces of it into himself and turns it into evil. Evil which he unleashes like a concentrated pile of mass destruction. Even when he sleeps, he is on; wheezing, huffing, puffing, a series of odd, spooky noises rattling around in the air around him. He speaks an unholy language, the language of the dead, the desiccated, the mummified. His breath is razor-sharp, cutting, fetid, overwhelming, over-powering.
He is happy to see me. I light his fire. He feeds off my energy. I resist him, and even as I do, I can feel his energy leach into my body. I can feel it enter me like a deadly black fog. He can't get enough of me. He surrounds, envelops. A dark wraith wrapping around my very heart. Every moment I am with him is a slow, steady, dribbling death. I have developed a dead, rattling, black, coffin-cough. There is a darkness in me too. That's what he smells, sees, loves, wants. He is working me, breaking me down, cell by cell. He dreams of licking and nibbling and ripping with his shattered, broken, nubby teeth. He dreams of licking and nibbling, lulling me to sleep with his dead-worm tongue. He sends me psychic pictures. Puts them in my head. Shows me a future of deep, ravenous, unquenchable oblivion.
He resembles a meth addict in the depths of his desecration. He is electric. Always on. Humping, thumping, wheezing, tongue dangling from his lips like a dead worm. His energy is corrosive. Wears the edges off things. Tears holes in the people, and the things around him. He is all appetite. Everything is sex. He humps. Constantly humps. Humps objects, animate and inanimate. He doesn't eat, he swallows every thing up in big sloppy gulps. Things disappear inside him. He doesn't reside in the Universe, he nibbles on it's edges. He takes pieces of it into himself and turns it into evil. Evil which he unleashes like a concentrated pile of mass destruction. Even when he sleeps, he is on; wheezing, huffing, puffing, a series of odd, spooky noises rattling around in the air around him. He speaks an unholy language, the language of the dead, the desiccated, the mummified. His breath is razor-sharp, cutting, fetid, overwhelming, over-powering.
He is happy to see me. I light his fire. He feeds off my energy. I resist him, and even as I do, I can feel his energy leach into my body. I can feel it enter me like a deadly black fog. He can't get enough of me. He surrounds, envelops. A dark wraith wrapping around my very heart. Every moment I am with him is a slow, steady, dribbling death. I have developed a dead, rattling, black, coffin-cough. There is a darkness in me too. That's what he smells, sees, loves, wants. He is working me, breaking me down, cell by cell. He dreams of licking and nibbling and ripping with his shattered, broken, nubby teeth. He dreams of licking and nibbling, lulling me to sleep with his dead-worm tongue. He sends me psychic pictures. Puts them in my head. Shows me a future of deep, ravenous, unquenchable oblivion.
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