An April Monday Afternoon, Just Shy Of Six P.M., In Which I Beg You To Love One Another With Words That Are Mine That Are Derived From Words That Are Not.

“I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy.” – Rabindranath Tagore

I spend a lot of my time thinking about that quote. I don’t mean I like the thought of it, I don’t mean it is pretty words, I mean I spend a FUCKING LOT OF TIME thinking on that quote. I am not going to metaphor y’all to death today. I am too tired and I am going to cut straight to it so, sit back and read or leave, it’s all good either way.

It is a simple three-part play. The dream of Utopia, the realization of Dystopia, the acceptance and incorporation of Infinite Compassion. Yup, that is the direction this is taking. I am not a Bengali Nobel Prize winner, like the man quoted above. I am not going to pretend to understand what HE meant when he wrote this passage that etched itself into me the first time I read it. I am going to relate what I understand of that quote to what is going on in the world of filth we see today and, hopefully, maybe shed light where all there was before was a lack thereof.

COVID-19 is a terrifying thing for me as a parent. I have panic attacks when I go out, yet I go and do the things because that is what parents do. I am horrified that something might happen to me, leaving the children I adore to the whims of the court system, or worse, family. So I go out and do the grocery shopping, I go out and get the prescriptions and I even try as hard as I can to bring a little laughter with me as I do it, if you aren’t laughing now, then I can help.

We all have Perfect in our brain. That little slice of reality that we want to be just a certain way at a certain time in a certain place with certain somebodies. That is the dream of joy. We see those gone, those that got away, and all of the other things that would bring us to the brink of happiness overwhelming. We float in this dream and feeds our soul during times like this where all you see is the avarice and horrors of the classes that rule and the betrayed shock of the classes that are made to serve them. We dream of the times WE have the money, WE have the Car, WE have the, well you get the point I am sure.

There is no wrong in wanting the preciousness of perfection. It is the goal of the mind to obtain for the body that which it needs.

Which is where we hit the brick wall.

What we need and what we desire are so very often at nearly opposite sides of the spectrum. I am not saying we are all the greedy savages wanting for us, and us alone. It is just that sometimes even the simplest of the Want is so very far away from the easiest to obtain Need.

So we wake up, and we see that Life is Service.

We see that love is what we need more than anything. Love for ourselves, the loving of others. Learning to love, to foster love in others, to help others. When you love, truly love, you no longer “desire” it int he common use of the word. When you truly have a love for anything, be it a person or even a thing, the physical need of possessing it is infinitesimally small. When you learn to love, you simply love. You do not need to own the sun to love the sunrise, do you? The flowers in a field? The rising full moon in the clear night? You are not so arrogant as to think you have the power to own any of those things, so why would you be so arrogant as to think you can own the love of another? Love is a heartbeat. It pounds through each and every one of us every second of every day and when we focus on it, focus on it and let the world pass away and let the heart fulfill its purpose.

You act, and you behold that Service is Joy.

The ever-present struggle to keep you connected to those things you love. That, in and of itself, is an act of intense love.

I speak to a list of people every day. Every day I send them a text, a message, an email, a phone call. Every day I do this because I want them to know that I care for them, love them and want all the things in life that they love to love them just as strongly as can be felt.

So, that is this. This is me trying to say in overly complicated terms from a guru dead eighty years now. This is me saying that I love you, that I will always love you and that no matter how broken the world may seem, no matter how dark the corners of it may feel, there is never a time without light. Even if it is one person in the depths of our minds walking as freely as a faerie in a forest, there is always light.

Do not ignore the wrongs of the world, no. No instead focus on what YOU can do to make the world the best place it can be. Right now, you know that the best thing most of us can do is? Absolutely nothing. If we stay home, if we do what we need to do to stay safe and sane, then that is the change we can make in the world and let the practitioners of medicine do their nearly thankless jobs as best as they can.

I words good sometimes, I know that. A dragon I know told me I can never fully take off the rose-tinted glasses affixed to my heart, and maybe that is so, but it does not make me wrong.

So much for me not hammering you over the head with metaphors.

Love each other. It isn’t so bad a thought, is it?

Music Soothes The Savage In Us, Releases The Primitive, Cages The Demons And Is The Memory We Can Always Count On

It is ironic what can make your heart bleed, isn’t it? For some people it is things that bring happiness and joy, for others, it is that which devastates and brings agony. Most of us are a combination of these things, however. For me, it is music. Music is that which does both for me. I have songs for virtually every mood I am in and the mood that I want to be in. What the music is isn’t so important to this as knowing there is a medium that conveys, nearly perfectly, everything you feel in life. Not everything, no, but enough to call it a majority by a landslide.

The plurality of the available options is staggering, even from the most modern artists. The farther back in time one goes the more exponential the number of things that can be conveyed. Or, and this is a thing that I think is wonderful beyond words, two people can listen to the same song and have diametrically opposite feelings towards it. You can hear me laughing over your weeping and you can see my sobs even as your skin crawls in ecstasy.

Words, while directly describing the feelings from time to time, are not a necessary element. Anyone who has ever listened to Adagio for Strings as arranged by Samuel Barber and felt it the way a great many do knows precisely what this means. Or when you are listening to the bass of the 1812 Overture as the cannons fire over and over or even when you hear the synthesized bass drops of Dubstep. Words may make it easier for things to be understood, but when you feel a song in the center of your soul, you will feel it whether or not it has words or not, I promise.


When I listen to Cry Baby by Janis Joplin, even as I type it in fact, I start to tear up because, of all the demons my mother had in her life, and they were nearly infinite, that woman had a phenomenal taste in music and she passed it to her children. Being the hippie of the family, the folk and acid jazz from the sixties were my birthright and it is one of the few things I can thank my mother for without shaking my head in pain or rolling my eyes with sarcasm. Now while every song in the ten years that were the sixties is not known to me of course, enough are that I can close my eyes and remember the scant memories of childhood that are not contaminated with the foulness of everyday life they were dispersed in.

Couples have songs that they call their own. Whether it is in a laughing way or a way that makes you nearly see their love for one another, they are foundational characteristics of the relationship. My own are near and dear to me and I will not name them, it is one of the few things I keep very safe in a very clean room in the back of my mind that I go and sit in at least once a day with my eyes closed and allow myself to remember and feel everything and anything that was Naomi. I cannot do it all day or else I would be nearly catatonic, but when I need to find respite, even for a moment when the world has told me I am a failure for the hundredth time that day, I think of that room and I crawl to it and listen to these songs and smile with a purity I do not deserve.

I did not forget the anger. Music is a very good conductor of this often misunderstood emotion. It is not good to be violent at all times nor is it healthy to be angry at all times. However there are times when you can release that anger into the world, sometimes even by putting the headphones a little tighter, turning up the music a little louder and letting all of your emotions flow as the music takes away from you the foulness that you do not need and have never deserved.

So I ask you, all of you, during this time when we are all, hopefully, distanced from one another physically to tell me your songs that are the balm for your soul if you are comfortable sharing them. Or, if you are not, then simply listen to one of them when you can and find yourself in your own clean room in your mind and heart remembering that which deserves to be remembered the very most.

I Could Tell You What This Is About, But That Would Require Me To Know That Pertinent Detail.

Rather than write the utterly banal attempt of comedy I was about to try and write, I decided that hey, Theology sounds like a good substitute for comedy. I mean, who doesn’t want to learn about some random dudes personalized system of daily belief structure explained within an ever-shifting and even more personal metaphor. I know I’m all in!

Life is all about balance. I am not the first nor will I be the last person to say this at all. I think good and evil is a little too bland and vague for the purposes of it though, balance is maintained, and destroyed, by two groups whom by their very nature are exact opposites. I will simplify the internal monologue shit and call them the Givers and the Takers.

Those who Give, as you can imagine, are generous by nature. They give love, compassion, kindness, and grace in addition to the material things of the world that they can spare. Those who take not only take all of those things that those who Give offer, but they take that which is not offered freely, such as your time, your patience, your energy and even your very will.

In the middle of all of this, or I should say containing all of this, is The Fulcrum. It is that which must be balanced. It is life and death, hope and fear, love and resentment. It is existence and what comes after. It is everything and anything you can imagine.

I know I lost a bunch of you, and that is okay. My hippie loving, barefoot needing, not so much of a granola fan, self is not for anyone other than me. I am writing this mainly as a thing to do and not as a means of proselytizing in any way whatsoever. I have done the Shepard thing, y’all can have that job and the collar that comes with it. I am writing because writing is what I do. It is my Zen, my Center and it is all good if you skip this and head over to the beheading things…..yeah that’s totally coming next.

It sounds familiar you say? That’s because I stole most of it from Stephen King, Heinlein, a little crazy from Hubbard and the rest from some Germanic deities you may have heard of if you know the days of the week in the English language.

What else though, is that overall of that is the Goddess entire. If the Fulcrum is existence, she is that which carries it in her arms. My views of the Goddess are different than other people because religion is supposed to be a highly individualized, sacred, and personal thing. That includes not having one at all I may add, free will works that way for a reason.

I know I am rambling now, I might as well go with it though.

When I close my eyes each night, I see the Goddess, My Goddess, in the eyes over every woman I have ever loved combined in a beautiful framework I will not begin to try to explain while not royally stoned. I am not free to name names here, but know that if you identify as female and I have told you I love you, then you are in this framework of my personal eternity. Sorry if that totes creeps you out, it is the way it is?

That was rude.

I internalize everything see. It is how I process. The problem with the way I do it is that I both internalize too quickly and I never get any of it out. If you have ever tried to follow my metaphor of the planes you may have a clue what I am talking about here. If not, well, picture every picture you ever looked at being cataloged, but with no index, no reference and no clue as to how to look though, search through or even get rid of the damn thing.

It is, for example, why I can still remember the song I made for all ten of my ex-wife’s toes, the entire second act of Hamlet verbatim and how to exorcise in three languages. I am not boasting, I want to dump it, if y’all have ideas on how to do a hard format of that shit, I would really appreciate a nice reload of the brain.

So now I have taken up a few minutes of your time, I have written for maybe six minutes on my end and I can finally go and half that delightful fourth cup of coffee at ten minutes after three in the afternoon.

Vive La Différence!

Be One Of Those That Loves Others For The Sake Of Loving Them

I have always had a Tribe. It doesn’t matter if it was a group of people who I smoked all sorts of illicit things with or people who I loved with all I am, I have always had a Tribe, and I will always have one. Not because it is some en vogue thing to say about one’s self, I say it because I am an utter failure of a human being when I try to do anything by myself. That may sound self-deprecating, and I suppose it is in all honesty, but it is no less true. I need people in my life, support structure. It doesn’t matter what word you use to describe that group of people either. Some say, Tribe, others People, still others say Pack or Coven, Church or Family. Some say all of them and others say things that I can scarce imagine.

The point is that when I tell you are my People, of my Tribe, it means you and I have connected on a level that is above and beyond the daily definition of friendship. I will look out for you as I know you will look out for me. Oddly enough, I will most likely be less likely to ask you for help if you of the chosen I have because, in my mind, you are too close to burden with such things. Yes, I know it is a little stupid and I am actively working on changing that part of myself. I love people, I love people strongly and quickly and I become very protective nearly instantly if I can tell you will be of my Tribe. Those of you who are reading this that I count as mine, you know what I will do for you, you have done for me and the bond is not a gentle thing to separate and it is painful and difficult for both parties involved should it happen.

Why is all of this being spoke of this cold and blustery day here in Western New York? I am honored and privileged to have each and every one of you in my life is why. I do not deserve the vast and nearly limitless kindness each and every one of you has given me and if it takes me thirty lifetimes I swear I will try to give back to you in love and support a thousandth of what you have given to me. I will lift you up higher, love you stronger, support your every endeavor and even if I disagree with you, I will support and love you because it is the right thing to do.

Yeah, I am a little emotional this morning, but, have you met me?


A Voice Heard, A Feeling Felt, A Warmth

I had a thing happen to me last night that was wonderfully singular in its existence and I know, for reasons that a Hippie Bear may explain later, that it will never happen again, and I am okay with that. I know that is cryptic and it even may sound laughable to some of you who are on the opposite side of the belief spectrum from myself, and that is okay. I am relaying an experience, my proselytizing days are very much behind me thank you.

We were sitting down watching TV last night, Terry, Elder Duck, and I. American Horror Story actually, which I have seen precisely three episodes of before last night when I watched two of those episodes again to be able to say I watched all the things. Since I had to get up obscenely early, I bailed about eight or so and started to head upstairs. I was on the fourth step when I heard Naomi ask me for her hairbrush from the bathroom downstairs.

Some of you are already putting American Horror Story and dead wife theories together, and that is fine for you to do, I just know it was something very different.

It wasn’t a bad, a scary, dark, evil. It was my wife, my wife who had asked me a thousand times to do that same thing in the years we were married, and even in the years we weren’t. It was nearly a daily occurrence when we moved in here because one of us was always forgetting to bring something upstairs when we went to bed and one of us also generally lagged behind the other for one reason or another.

She asked me for her brush and I stopped for maybe a second before I walked up the stairs, went into my room and closed the door, and sat down on my bed. I had not felt her so strongly since the day she died. I didn’t cry, I didn’t have palpitations, I didn’t anything. I sat there and I let it wash over me like a cooling rain before very calmly taking the rest of the evening in stride.

I am not going to over-analyze this. I am not going to break it down, I am going to accept the gift I was given. I said my thanks to the Beings responsible for such things and I slept with warmth in me last night I have not had in almost four and a half years.

That’s it, that is all I am going to write about it here. I am having conversations with people about, but the world doesn’t need to know every word and deed of my heart and mind.