It is all hallows eve 2018, and i could be afraid; i am not. There is nothing i can do to change the landscape of today’s world except what i am obligated to dig for the good of where i live - there is a lot to dig. Right now the owner assumes the lion’s share of tasks; it needn’t be this way, but that is the outgrowth of profit taking. Previously i could hold forth on fairness, equitability, sharing, cooperation . .. still could, but it doesn’t seem anyone cares to hear such anachronisms in this sophisticated hothouse we have assembled, for better or worse - ours. Where i live is analogous in many ways except perhaps the propietario, is benign and fair, whereas the profit-takers of our civilization - the mighty captains of industry have proven themselves closer to one of Bob Dylan’s villains.
Well, I had to go down and see a guy named Mr. Goldsmith
A nasty, dirty, double-crossin’, back-stabbin’ phony I didn’t want to have to deal with
But I did it for you
And all you gave me was a smile
Well, I cried for you, now it’s your turn to cry a while
There was a 97 year-old woman shot dead in an act of domestic terrorism last week; i’m through with Mr. Goldsmith, and not buying what he’s sellin’; you may not murder 97 year old people and get a pass with “thoughts and prayers.” I have concern for those who survive and those who have lost dear ones. I pray for comfort from their desolation and pain; that it is transfigured into specific and articulate language denouncing violence and fury for the ineffective and cruel hoax that it is - “war is over” - John Lennon. The sad truth is found in an apocryphal quip of Franz Kafka’s - “If a man were to meet himself walking down the street, he’d likely turn and run.”
It is not only the country i was born to that suffers the sad truth of environmental degradation, it is also true for any indigenous mother fighting for clean water; desecration to the highlands of the Amazon where oil spill is cascading down the watershed; the single use plastic fabricators in the Himalayas where bonfire size heaps of plastic is now burnt directly into the highest regions of our petal like atmosphere - throughout our world the Mr. Goldsmiths are churning the environment into a killing floor robbing whole cultures the tranquility that is the human birthright. I cannot affect the minds of those greedy persons whose consumer addictions this delusional pursuit of status and wealth proclaim with their servitude. Whatever does not encourage my determination to find the “unified theory” of human cohabitation is dead weight, including the additional 5 cigarettes i now smoke daily, as well as the dubious merit of more agave elixir - the the good argument in favor never be far. It is no coincidence that in addition to “en vino veritas” the spirits have been known as “courage in a bottle.” Pema Chodron describes fear as the Oz behind the curtain of fury - the same fury that compelled a man to murder a 97 year-old woman - the same fury that would seduce my ego into proclaiming i have no fear in an essay about fear. For Pema Chodron, fear is what causes the heart to clinch, to shut down, to become hardened to the world, to resort to the glut of fundamentalism i hold in store when i have to lie about being afraid in an essay on fear. Though i feel the eel of ego squirming in prevarication, i say i do not possess fear. The further i gaze into the chasm i welcome as my passing, the more it resembles the imponderables of my world. How to elicit from each person you meet their highest self, i suspect saying “namaste” to each we meet is not enough.
And that is another reason i say i do not fear; though i have enjoyed no great success in my quest for universal brother/sisterhood, i continue to make the effort. I have enjoyed some small successes in greeting that avatar of myself as i walk toward my final transition and shuffle of this mortal coil. He’s not after all such a bad fellow. What has been curious is the circuitous route it has taken me. For far too long i believed others required what my avatar had convinced me was my reality, so i hoisted sail and set about rescuing humanity. It is true, if i saw a man coming toward me demanding to be rescued, i would take a step back and see what was blocking my retreat - perhaps not break into a dead run. The point is that by accepting this dark pleading soul of mine, it allows me optimism that i can find more ways to make other people’s worlds less heavy; though as Mr. Dylan has said “I’m not ready to pull down my hedges.” I strongly believe that if the man who murdered the 97 year-old woman last week in the synagogue had found a channel inside of himself to say “i accept your fear, you are in a frightful world,” he might have calmed enough to smoke a joint and watch another episode of “King of the Hill.” Laugh if you must but it beats the shit out of gazing into the fb abyss, or the state Leonard Cohen sagely described as “getting lost in that hopeless little screen. I don’t feel there is any percentage in fear is in part why i pay close heed to my comfort. Not meaning possession of vast wealth or opulent and well guarded compounds, with continental cuisine - but beans and rice with good hydration, some exercise and meditation with enough physical work to be honest while preserving enough elan to create - being open and candid with whatever aspect of my being that luxuriates in tobacco and alcohol, while giving fealty to my health. Along with learning my 6th grade teacher was a republican; finding out that the “Desiderata” was fraudulently released, shook my utopian rose colored glasses to the ground - without trust, fear has fertile soul.
I have trust issues, and that awareness has required great faith to peer into as deeply as i might the profile of woman. For practical reasons growing up, i had to delude myself into believing i was not afraid of my mother. This manifested as pigheaded stubbornness and obstinate independence, traits i fear my mother most admires. She is too old to get on the internet so i harbor no great fear that she would be reading this, what i do fear is that i may not love her as openheartedly as i would want her to have loved me - that as Frank Zappa has said is the “crux of the biscuit;” i do not love myself openheartedly, and so therefore do not love others so; that is scary shit, but fuck it, whaddya’ gonna’ do - as they now say in the white house. Part of the recourse one has when pursuing the Cerberus at our own gates is persistence, and as i resolve to love myself, i am empowered with love for ma, and all others as well as i know how, or learn to, or am taught to . .. The other equally important growth is the freedom of expression that is born of discovery. Think of it as being able to introduce a new friend which after the trials and tribulations of transgressions and forgiveness a mutual compassion has fruited from the fertile soul of a reality that has no webpage or socialized euphoria - just human relatedness. The flip side of trusting that people will accept your new friend - we’ll call him Kafka Avatar, is you are then obligated out of simple human courtesy to be as welcoming to all other’s avatars, including the murderous schmuck killing old people instead of self-soothing himself; smoking a joint and watching more episodes of “King of the Hill.” I pray for a president whose name i cannot in good conscience write down, but i pray the same for him as i do my mother, my family all those who have comforted me, and all those who have tormented me. Dalai Lama says good will gives one confidence, and he wasn’t lying.
It is now the midst of day-of-the-dead fiestas in Mexico. The sun is setting and the dogs are barking in the distance and just outside my window. I can see the slope upon which the conquest of the “new world” by the Spaniards was halted. My father is dead and i refuse to harry he or Dame Maria Sabina, hoping only that they are tripping the light fandango wherever wonderful spirits journey after this speck in time we call life. Yet the wounds of my lessons by Kafka Avatar are still fresh and darkness is descending like Leonard Cohen’s “You want it darker, we kill the flame.” I do not disbelieve what i know nothing about and read today valid arguments about the invention of language which said it was from the labyrinths of our emotional place within nature that language sprung describing the basics of the human experience - fear, trust, love, hate. These are emotions we are awash in, yet seemingly lacking capacity to discuss them without resorting to mayhem. I’m through with Mr. Goldsmith, i ain’t buyin’ that shit no more. We have every reason to be afraid, for it is a scary time for all of us. The courageous thing to do is what it would take to greet your avatar walking toward you on the street - a calm hello and warm handshake - all the while peering deep into your own interior and being very aware of each passing inclination and pulsation in your being without making judgement or reacting - to simply open yourself to the experience and try as much as possible to know you are simply the universe witnessing itself. This may not help much with the thrice married roller derby mamma of five living next door who has also taken a shine to your lawnmower, or the unemployed plumber who brings you all the back issues of “Anger Management in the 2nd Millennium,” but like the man said “try a little tenderness,” or was it the dame, what’s her name . .. “do unto others, as you would have them do unto you.”
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trust - a sonnet
i do not need all of your assurance,
it is more useful to carry my own,
and can be owned - defined as insurance
until the underpinnings have been blown.
more reasons i keep assurance as mine,
once i know what is wrong having done it
claiming the fault was another's, d'be lying
and holding to deception is bullshit.
so as the chief cook and bottle washer
of this Constitution, i trust myself.
though warms me to the core you’d reassure
me about mischief by some absent elf.
again; here rests what i did, right or wrong
know this, ‘done me best, no matter how long.
jts 10/31/2018
http://stoneartist.com
reprinted with permission - all rights reserv
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