commentary

Happy New Year . . .

In the past, New Years eve has traditionally been a time for light hearted partying and giving my girl a big kiss as the countdown begins. This year I am alone, though, because my girl went to the beach. I only have the dogs and a bottle of good old Mad Raven wine to keep me company. This year as I reflect upon the past as well as the present I am sitting here at my desk thinking INCOMING! (you know, that word that gets shouted when a mortar goes off in the compound and everybody dives in their hidey hole?) This year as I look into my crystal ball all I can get from it is a feeling of dread.

Why is that? Am I just getting too old to enjoy myself anymore? No, not really, at 76 I am still in great shape, still dropping trees, chopping firewood and building stuff. I FEEL great . . .  it’s this nagging survival instinct of mine that’s driving me crazy. It’s like being in the middle of a coal dark, jungle night. It’s uneasy . . . queasy . . . and not knowing which way to take flight.

Something is going on folks and it’s right on the other side of the horizon. I know it because my instinct is rarely wrong when it rings this loud. Creedence Clearwater sang about a Bad Moon Rising, but then it was just a song. . . now I believe it is a not so future happening.

I haven’t always felt this way, believe me. I’m an old peace and love hippy for Christ’s sake. That philosophy is about as positive as one could get. We were going to end the war and change the world. Tim Leary and the other pied pipers of the day had us convinced that all we had to do was drop out, stay stoned, and love the night away. Well, guess what . . . we tried and the night never died.  

Before the hippy days, as a returning vet I knew the world was in chaos and much of it was caused by America, but my attitude was . . . Que Sera, Sera, what will be will be . . . I just needed to make sure I got what was mine, and through the years I did fairly good at it.

Then along came 911

That morning as I was getting ready for work I watched in horrified anger as the second plane hit the towers.  Later I rejoiced when Bush went after Saddam . . . double so when I heard my old brigade was leading the charge by making a night parachute drop into northern Iraq. And those Americans who talked about the Towers being a set up? They deserved to be deported.

I felt that way for quite some time . . . but slowly I began to realize that something was not quite kosher about the whole deal. The crime scene was immediately cleaned up . . . why? How did that huge jet plane get into that little round hole in the pentagon? Why wasn’t it on the tape? Why were all the cameras turned off?

The discrepancies built up, one after the other, until they flooded all the patriotism out of my brain and filled it with doubt. I began to study the entire sequences of all the events, carefully and on my own. Conspiracy theorism was not my large suit, I thought those people who wrote that stuff were fiction inspired crackpots and nothing more. I went for the middle ground, I researched and read guys who were educated . . . engineers, architects, etc. People who were on the scene, that gave an interview and suddenly disappeared.

Today, after so many years of research from so many reliable professionals at least half the population believes there was some not-so-funny goings on at the time, and me? . . . I am convinced without any doubt whatsoever that 911 was a staged event.

But then again, this essay is not about proving 911 pro or con . . . it’s about about what 911 has led up to. Because that is what we are experiencing in real time right now.

I remember a guy saying a few weeks after the whole thing went down and people were beginning to question it. “Watch and see what happens to the country after 911 . . . how much we change . . . in what direction . . . how severe have our freedoms been attacked or downright take away in the name of security.

And I will add to that . . . just drop all preconceived ideas and take a look around for yourself and make up your own mind. I don’t really care what you do because I know it is hard work and it takes a bit of time to do it . . . and who has time these days to do anything other than support our own person and take care of our own stuff? Like the young lady tells me the other day, “who cares? I’m too busy to worry about that kind of stuff!”

That’s why I fear, not for myself as I’m an old man halfway down the escape hatch, but for these kids who are so oblivious to the facts on the ground . . . who, as long as their iphones still work, really don’t give a shit as to what is taking place around them and have no desire to do anything about it. . . .

So, this new Years eve I won’t be partying, and I won’t be preaching or praying. I’m gonna drink my bottle of Mad Raven, play my guitar until I pass out on the couch. . . . although I might utter a small hope that I don’t have another episode of this recurring dream:

The Rainmakers

Standing alone

In the freezing rain

Among the insane

There is no pain

There is no gain.

The thrill of the fight

The rush while in flight,

Away we go . . . into the night.

Standing alone

Wanting to scream

But it’s not easy to scream

In this fucked up dream.

Where the bullets are slow

And my barrel is bent.

And my target

Will never stay down.

Standing alone

In the rain

Among the crying, among the dying

Watching war go round.

Again-and again-and again.

 

  

The Story

This guy is fascinating to me . . . like one day I took a walk in Central Park and discovered a long lost brother from the sixties before everybody was pigeon holed into this huge social trap of sameness. A time when free thought and weirdness was the order of the day. . . . We need more bonobo’s like him to come out of hiding and not be afraid to do it.

Whats YOUR story? . . . . . . . . .

Poetry

I took to looking for poetry on the blogs this morning and was sorely displeased with what I found. Now I am almost (not quite) an ancient human being and I came from another era I know, but today’s poetry, forgive my saying, stinks. It is so dark and so dreary it makes even Poe’s stuff seem bright.

Back in the day, even though Vietnam was raging and the draft was on, young people wrote about hope and change (before it became bullshit, Obama)  Dylan led a large crowd and the coffee houses were filled with poets and songsters. The mikes were open to all sorts of greatness (as well as nonsense) . . . but the mood was “WOW” . . . upbeat.

It’s just my personal opinion I know, but I love Dylan and Robert Service and Robert Frost as well as many others. (including Poe!)

Maybe today’s crowd is so intent on being current and different they forgot that, no matter how great their poetry and their music and their art is . . . it is all a language and a language that cannot be understood is worthless. It’s like a preacher speaking in tongues. Who of (less than God) can even understand what the hell he is even talking about.

This poem is for you because it may be that you have not just gotten off the beaten path, but are lost in the jungle of moroseness . . . .

PS If you find what I said offensive, take a look around, read a bunch of poems and try to figure out what the writer is even talking about . . . if you can, more power to you cause this old man sure as all hell can’t . . .

 

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

My Old Friends

myoldfriends

It seems I do more of it in the winter, but regardless, as I get older I spend a lot of time day dreaming. I usually wake up about 5 am, make coffee and, being retired and having no place to go, sit in my chair in the dark drinking my coffee and dreaming about the past. A rather pleasant time, I might add.

Now I have been to a lot of places and done a lot of things, but the things and places have become mere backdrops, places to hold the faces and memories of the many people I have known and the friends I have made over the last 72 years that I have lived on this planet.

As I begin to think on a place and time the faces are soon to follow. These faces pop into my mind like a worn out jack-in-the-box. Crank the handle and up pops Joey Sirgo or Gunner Thompson, or Tommy One Nut, Pissball Pete or just plain Joe . . . . . (It’s amazing how many of these guys have slang names and how often that’s the only one I can remember.)

Then the fun begins as I sit and reminisce with these guys over all the exciting times we had together . . . and a few of the sad ones. Seems the good and the funny always float to the top first though. I have to dig a bit to get to the bad, so as I hate shoveling I mostly leave that part alone.

To all the girls I’ve loved before. I remember your eyes, the lift of your breasts and the swing of your hips, but my Band of Brothers meant far more to me than trying to figure you out ever did. You ladies have a special room in my heart, but not this one. This room is filled with bar girls, one night stands, and short time hookers.

The “old boys club” door is locked to the finer female. You wouldn’t like it in here anyways cause the room stinks of old cigar smoke, cordite and bull shit, and the floor is littered with trampled peanut shells, dried blood and dog hair. A place only one of my old friends could love.

I always figured when I got old I would be sitting in the park with the rest of the old goats like they did when I was a kid. Maybe the old project crowd still do that, I don’t know because I lost contact with them at 15 when I had to move.

Today I live a life of seclusion. I spend my days reading, or goofing on my computer or driving my wife crazy, but rarely if ever do I spend time with friends, cause although spread out over half the world, they are not here.

Once I was in a Portland City jail cell with the walls covered in graffiti. I found an empty spot and wrote my own little tale of woe, “I’ve been alone since birth, I’ll remain alone till death, then I’ll have a friend”. Kind of a downer, but how else would you feel being stuck in a two man cell with a guy coming down off heroin?

I do hope that quickly thought verse will prove itself to be true though cause I’m getting closer to D day each time I go to sleep at night and it would be really cool to wake up on the other side and see a large table of my friends gathered around it to greet me. (and my many favorite dogs lying under it)

Jesus and God would have to wait for a while then because first thing I want to do is drink some good Old Crow and hang out with the guys again for a season . . . or two.

I think Robert Service said it all about guys like us. Guys our women just can’t quite understand:

The Men Who Don’t Fit In

There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,
A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.

They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain’s crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don’t know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they’re always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.

They say: “Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!”
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.

And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life’s been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.

Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone;
He’s a man who won’t fit in.

But . . . those of us who have walked this path would have it no other way. (end)

I wrote the above about 4 years ago and nothing has changed. Alone but never lonely I become more irrelevant daily, but, still, I miss my old friends and wonder what happened to all of them . . .  and am far too lazy to find out.

Male Dominance?

I watched the video . . . it’s such a mixture of Bernay’s PR that it is IMO just another advertisement promoting the biblical concept that God covers man – man covers woman theory . . . fact is men ARE physically stronger (in most cases) Men ARE the dominate of the human species because of it. . . but when it comes to intelligence/artistic/ inventive, etc. . . . that is bullshit to the max. . . .

All we need to do is look around at today’s world and see what male dominance has accomplished and it is easier to read than a child’s primmer that the man mentality is floundering. . . fact is we men need to drop the God ordained bullshit and allow the playing field to level because if we don’t . . . (my prediction)

One day in the future after the macho economic/physical wars are over and the planet is in shambles the time of the woman will come and we men will be relegated to sperm donors and physical laborers in a brand new world run by woman . . .

Because I have learned in my life never to underestimate women hood . . . we stumble over our own pecker every time we do . . . they got us by the balls boys and we better start playing fair or else.

Fantasy Land (part two)

Love is the singularity . . . it (God) exists outside the boundaries of duality, therefore there is no good or bad love, it IS the single focal point of all matter, it is the reality behind all creative process. . . . We, (the creators in this physical dimension) though connected to the singularity, build our corporate, as well as individual lives exclusively within the law of duality and get to experience first hand the reality of our creations . . . how are we doing?

We can drop all the spiritual jargon and judge our own creating by the simple approach of lining our creation(s) up against the law of love. Ask ourselves as a person a few simple questions like:

“Am I being kind and generous or am I being a self serving asshole?” . . .

“Do I continually and constantly blame others for my shortcomings?” . . .

“Do I really care or is this a good ploy to get my own way again?” . . .

Ask ourselves corporately as a part of the larger whole a few simple questions like:

“Is it even possible to kill for peace?”

“Is factory farming really worth it?”

“Are we really caretakers of this planet or is this massive ecological destruction we are causing just the result of good business practice?”

Those questions are just an example. Ask yourself your own questions, meditate upon them and you will learn quite easily if you are, or are not, moving in love, mercy, and grace.

You may learn WHY you have acquired so much karmic debt . . . and WHY you are always behind the proverbial eight ball.

Maybe if you quit justifying your eating, and thinking, and doing habits and take positive action instead to put an end to them . . . maybe the depression will withdraw and the fibromyalgia will go away and your joy as well as your health will return.

Can’t hurt to try . . . right?

Fantasy Land

I wonder how many people realize that their entire lives are built upon a foundation of fantasy? Mine was, and in many ways still is. To this day I find myself treading upon a fantasized hero’s journey. Whether animal, environmental, or spiritual . . . I’m still in the business of trying to save things.

Many of you reading this might ask. “Fantasy? What the hell is this guy talking about? I live and breath reality. I never fantasize about anything because I’m too busy dealing with reality!”

Question: “If that is true, if you are truly living in reality, why is your reality not the same as mine? I mean doesn’t two – three – three thousand different realities mean that everybody but you is living in fantasy? I mean if there is more than one reality SOMEBODY’S gotta be fantasizing . . . right?”

As I pondered this fantasy dilemma I began to see that there is only one foundation to all reality . . . and that foundation is LOVE. Since ‘love’ is probably the most misinterpreted and misused word in the English language we probably ought to dwell on that first lest we build yet another castle in the sand. . . . so, what is love?

Too many people these days see love  only as (Eros) the emotion that leads to some kind of an action centered in romantic intercourse of one sort or another.

Others broaden the word a bit to include the second deeper (Philia or brotherly love) that includes friendships and family as well as romance.

A few completely open the word to include (Eros) the love that supersedes all others. That’s the point where love is no longer an emotion, but a state of being . . . the place where all judgement and human actions are based upon the principles of love. Eros, the ultimate, breaks the law of duality and is the only pathway to the goal of activating our higher conscience. So far, very few have entered that realm and that is why the planet is in such dire shape. . . . and why nothing changes until we change. As we are now in our development, fantasy rules and we are more virus to this Earth than caretaker.

As an example: When I was a kid in the projects I was raised on John Wayne and Hollywood movie fantasy where the Japs and Germans were pure evil and America was the greatest country in the world. In school I placed my hand over my heart every morning before class began and pledged my allegiance to her. I fantasized that one day when I got older, I would carry a gun myself and fight the bad guys in her defense just like John Wayne did. I’ve always wanted to be a hero and go down in a blaze of glory fighting for truth, justice, and the American way.

Most of my buddies in the projects shared that fantasy with me and years later some of them died horrible deaths in that far away jungle because of it. Their kids are still dying by fire in places like Iraq and Afghanistan . . . for what? Some dipshit and his hegemonic fantasies?

This fantasy that war is noble, the field of battle glorious, and our enemy is some kind of two dimensional creature has led untold millions across the world to a sudden and pain filled death. If the truth ever overshadows that fantasy we may have a chance to evolve beyond the necessity for war, but as is, today we seem to be beating the battle drums more loudly than ever before in this quest to “make America great again” when a quick and honest study of our past history proves we were really never that great in the first place.

That is only one example of a culture steeped in one religious/racial/societal/ fantasy after another, there are many more. These fantasies are what is dividing us and breaking us just like they did to all the other empires before us.

So the question I have to ask myself when I consider where we, as a nation, are going is this . . . ‘Are we moving and creating upon a foundation of love, mercy, and grace, or not?’ If not then we can pray and roll around on the floor of our churches all we want . . . nothing happens until we do.

 

Have You Realized The Profundity Of Our True Nature? — Collective Evolution

As human beings we love to create borders and boundaries. They make us feel safe, or worthy, or special . . . BUT what if those boundaries don’t really exist at all, what if on the day we shed this earthly body all our boundaries stay behind and are buried with it? What then?

Who we really are has been staring us in the face the whole time. Take a look at your body, but look at it from a completely impersonal perspective; free of any thought about it at all. Without labels like arms and legs; without any sense of ownership, just as it is. Look in the…

via Have You Realized The Profundity Of Our True Nature? — Collective Evolution

The White Room

What if, when I die to my present physical life, I pass on over to the other side only to find myself standing alone in a pure white and vibrating void . . . a void that is soon transformed into a reality perfectly suited to the vibration I carried in my conscience while here on earth?

With no individual brain to manipulate, no way to phony myself up, no false faces, or uniforms, or ways to cover up my true nature . . . my true nature becomes the (post physical) reality of who I truly am.

No Jesus or Mohammed or any other savior will be there to defend me, no righteous God to condemn me, no flock of virgins to please me, no street of gold or a self filling bottle of wine . . . nothing. . . but a creation of my own making.

I would then realize (if I chose to escape my new reality) that I should have done the job that was set before me while in the physical body, but with all the distractions confronting me, I didn’t take the time to do it.

Now, I realize my only hope will be to return again into that realm of time and space for yet another go around as an individual entity . . .

Whats in YOUR wallet? . . . . Will you be content in your new, (after death) reality? Is this a scary proposition to you? Now’s the time to do something about it. Once on the other side you may have to live for a long time within the parameters you have set for yourself, among souls just like your greedy, selfish, self centered, little self.

Personally I have a LOT of homework to do . . .

The Philosophy of the Free-Range Human — The Mind Unleashed

“I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do. I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for…

via The Philosophy of the Free-Range Human — The Mind Unleashed