Silver Solo

Nick Drake Magic Orchestrated Version 2

2012-01-22T16:46:00.000-06:00

PHIL OCHS: There But For Fortune - THEATRICAL TRAILER

2012-01-08T11:27:00.001-06:00

I viewed on Netflix today. Excellent documentary of both the man and the times.

Phil Ochs - When I'm Gone

2012-01-08T11:23:00.001-06:00

Gone at 35. Lived passionately while he was here.

Dishwalla - Angels or Devils

2012-01-07T17:14:00.000-06:00

ALL GOOD THINGS: My Favorite Things I Love About Audrey Hepburn

2011-12-04T13:45:00.000-06:00

ALL GOOD THINGS: My Favorite Things I Love About Audrey Hepburn

Leonard Cohen - Because of

2011-09-03T15:53:00.000-05:00

QI Series A, Episode 1, Part 1

2011-09-02T18:03:00.000-05:00

QI Series A, Episode 1, Part 2

2011-09-02T18:02:00.001-05:00

QI Series A, Episode 1, Part 3

2011-09-02T18:02:00.000-05:00

Richard & Linda Thompson - Dimming of the Day (live 1981)

2011-06-24T11:15:00.000-05:00

Self-Consolation

2011-06-24T10:22:00.000-05:00

Self-Consolation

What we are to others does not matter

We each die alone

It is only the relationship we court

to every thought that occupies the mind

that makes our home a hovel or a mansion

a place of rest or a place of torment

Seeking eternity and surety

we encase change with stone

hope with despair

issuing ultimatums to a universe ungoverned by man

who wistfully, blindly reaches for the brass ring

forsaking his god-given power to order his own dwelling

Self-consolation may be the most seductive of all mistresses

the starter, the leavening of the next poem

the meaning to vacillating emotions

that would otherwise die of their own lack of substance

if left to their own volition

and for that –

for that stunted consolation prize

that hit that momentarily sustains us

through pain and doubt and anger

that licking of the wound

that wall of fortification

that convoluted, illusory reward

that deep abyss

that Judas of a kiss

for that, we never reach

the pinnacle of praise,

the summit of peace

or the mount of joy

I Love Doodle

2011-06-05T06:20:00.000-05:00

check out this wonderful graphics artist

I Miss "We"

2011-05-18T15:53:00.001-05:00

How many sentences I start with "I"

I thought we had some kind of connection

an agreement

We were a couple

How many sentences I once began with "We"

We collapsed upon itself like a black hole

even though I did not fall

"We" can now only be followed or preceded by "once"

Once we were lovers

We once had it all

And what is all?

"We" was all that I needed to complete me

Whether or not I still need you

may be debatable

but one thing is certain

I miss "We"

Oh, how many sentences I start with "I"

La Valse

2011-05-07T18:45:00.003-05:00

I knew from that single point of contact
that he was the key phrase
that had outlived all the clichés
that had influenced countless lives
and long been forgotten

There was neither half-formed thought
nor even time for introspection
It was as solid as the balance of the song
upon hearing the first three notes
yet quicker and more familiar
more urgent and more vital

He was the watchword
whose name I did not need to know
a delicious tune in a dignified hall
of silence
an unclassified ebullient relief
from unimaginative editions of repetition

I walked confidently past my continuous
and endless longing
knowing I would surely see him again
that this was merely a delicate segment
in an unending waltz
whose swirling rhythms would carry me
into my shimmering tomorrow

All of this before my eyes could turn away

Soothing Music

2011-05-03T23:29:00.000-05:00

100 Year Old Whiskey on YouTube has some very good relaxation videos and a nice classical collection.

Who Kissed Me?

2011-05-01T21:26:00.000-05:00

Rosemary, how drunk wuz u?

American Idol Shocker

2011-04-07T21:22:00.003-05:00

I missed the program tonight so I went online to see who got bumped and I saw headline after headline using the word "Shocker" that Pia Toscano went home. The only shocker to me was that she lasted this long. I initially ranked her at 11 and she made it to 9. Being able to sing isn't a factor at this point. They all can sing. The votes probably vary wildly from week to week but after a while you start to like some people more and others less.

I have to say that James is still highly favored by me and he has done nothing yet to jeopardize the No 1 spot. Performing George Harrison's While My Guitar Gently Weeps on Wednesday gives him a get outta jail free card for me but I really don't think he'll need it.

Just loving the competition this year. And ya know Justified comes on FX later so it's a couch potato night and total escapism.

Mathmatical Impossibility

2011-04-06T17:25:00.003-05:00

It occurred to me today as I was riding along in the beautiful early afternoon sun, with the window down and the music playing, that I have been greatly loved. I guess it was the way it occurred to me that made it so special. It wasn’t thought, per se, but I actually felt enveloped by my past loves. Each of them had their different reasons for loving me, I’m sure, and not all points were congruous. Some were probably not even valid! But the sum total of them all hit me with this wonderful boost of how great I am. I don’t lack for confidence in the relationship area, but there is a vast difference between feeling confident and feeling appreciated. And it was that being appreciated aspect that swept over me and made me feel like a million bucks.

A few miles down the road, as I came to myself, I thought – Well, if you are so wonderful how come none of these relationships ever lasted? Again, the answers would have been varied and incongruous. Yet I knew from the core of my being that what had been while it was, even though temporal, was completely valid and utterly beautiful.

We are all just jars of clay and accidents happen. Why is it that we deny the beauty of what once was by examining the evidence of the broken pieces? We’re so hell bent on perfection that we don’t even value a piece of pottery that has a chip in it. Let me tell you, I’ve been chipped, cracked, broken and ground into powder – more than once. And somehow from that dust a new vessel was always shaped that provided service to others at least for a time before the same damn thing happened all over again.

All relationships end some day. As an anniversary approaches, I am reminded of one that lasted for fourteen glorious years. Through thick and thin my guy was there for me. Oh, sure, it waned in time on his part. After about five years or so, he no longer did cartwheels when I came home, but he loved me dearly as did I him. We were inseparable, or so I thought. Last year on May 1^st, 2010, he died. I didn’t know how to deal with it. Medication only dimmed the pain. It was at least six weeks before I could get through a day without crying. It has only been recently that I realized that I let one tumultuous day out of his entire life spoil over 5,000 days of absolute bliss. Mathematically, that doesn’t make sense. I guess it was because I was saying to myself that I would never ever have this kind of love again. And I may not. Words like “better to have loved than lost” were not only of no comfort but were utter sacrilege.

From the pain of that loss that ground me to a powder, a new vessel has been formed like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Today I felt greatly loved and I felt worthy of it. I will not let my future unknown days negate all the days of my past for I am sure that such is only possible in the mind of an ungrateful heart, as in reality it is a mathematical impossibility.

Sufficiency Principle

2011-04-03T01:54:00.000-05:00

For Tim Hardin

2011-04-02T12:09:00.001-05:00

You don’t need a snapshot of every moment of your life.

The important ones last forever anyway,

becoming a part of the fabric of who you are

and it almost cheapens them to try to capture them.

Like a bird on a wire he returned this morning

to set me free with his forgotten voice.

This carpenter troubadour knows that nobody loves you

when you’re down and out

and he just tripped in to be the exception to that rule

and ease my needless sorrow.

He reminds me that the distance left to go

in the lonely sand and foam
has meaning.

He gives me a reason to believe and travel on.

He convinces me

that he wrote the first love hymn for me

and that everything good becomes more true.

Quietly strumming his guitar,

he gives me the shock of grace

and makes me feel like a lady and yes,

yes,

I would have his baby.

Gibran on the Sea

2011-04-01T22:59:00.000-05:00

Gibran on Greatness

2011-04-01T22:57:00.000-05:00

AI ELIMINATION

2011-03-31T18:58:00.002-05:00

Here's who I think will probably go tonight.

Thia & Stefano

Fondly

2011-03-24T16:52:00.000-05:00

I had not planned on thinking of him again
but it wasn’t my fault
When I headed out this morning
I fished around for some music
and popped in a CD without looking

I knew from the first song that it was his
You can tell a lot about a man from his playlist
and then you play the game
of reading between the lines
embellishing and characterizing
and thinking of what might have been
of near misses
and just plain missing
someone you once held so close

But once the games were played out
I could not say that absence
makes the heart grow fonder
for it was neither more nor less
than what it had been
It was exactly the same
like the way fresh baked bread smells
when you walk into a kitchen
ripe with familiar warmth
and your mouth begins to water
with knowing

He was like that to me
comforting to my soul
elegant in his simplicity
like bread and wine on a springtime afternoon
with a gentle breeze breaking the sun on your skin
and you need nothing else
nothing else

I doubt he ever thinks of me
and why should he?
I left not even a trace behind
but if he should
I hope the favor is returned
and he remembers my playlist
with that word now as antiquated as CD’s
-- fondly

photo by Flickr member Deborah Esrick
(click on photo for her photostream)

Back on My Feet Again for Japan

2011-03-19T10:11:00.000-05:00

American Idol Picks

2011-03-16T19:47:00.001-05:00

Here's my AI picks. Have to post quickly before tonight's show. Will give reasons later.

Venus in Blue Jeans

2011-03-12T20:03:00.000-06:00

I am his age now

the age he was then

when I dismissed him as being too old

It serves me right

for being so smug and naïve

but it is only the distance

that brings us together now

I could never have become

so much like him with him

I would have clung to my way

defacing the statue carved by time alone

blinded by my need to be right

and controlling

He was free and easy

always smiling

even when he cursed

which he often did

He wore that damned hat

that simply infuriated me

and it mystified me how it stayed on

with the wind flying in his BMW convertible

which he always drove too fast

He put down the system that supported

his extravagant lifestyle

and lifted up the simple man

the cop, the plumber, the musician

who never made a title to fame

but eased the woes of this troubled world

with their dedication and toil

He put me on a pedestal I didn’t deserve

saying I was his Venus de Milo

in blue jeans and curls

and wanton ways

and he never once said

“You have a lot to learn”

but now that I have

it’s too late to tell him

he was my David

amazing photos on Flickr. click on each to see photographers.

Jackie Evancho

2011-03-09T21:17:00.000-06:00

Was flipping between Idol and PBS and caught this remarkable performance by Jackie Evancho.

The Definition of Love

2011-02-09T21:00:00.000-06:00

Balancing Act

2011-02-08T16:48:00.000-06:00

photo by giovanni ambrosioni on flickr

Flickriver

2011-02-06T21:37:00.001-06:00

Want to see some spectacular photos?

FlickRiver is a smooth viewing pleasure.

After you click on the below button,

1. Maximize your Viewing Area with F11 (hides your top menu)

2. Maximize your Photo Size by using the option in the upper left of FlickRiver: Photo Size = Fit Screen

3. Use your space bar to navigate to next pic.

OK, Press the Button

A Thing of Beauty

2011-01-31T00:56:00.000-06:00

That Which is Sacred

To me sacred means too beautiful to be harmed or destroyed. So what do I mean by beautiful? John Keats expressed beauty in his poetry when he wrote A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever. I have a bi-fold glass painting of this saying confirmed by a floral stained glass symmetrical design above my desktop. It serves to remind me that the numbers I am compelled to compile in my daily work are trumped by the sacred geometry of the flower by virtue of its beauty alone.

Keats’ poem itself is sacred and not to be held along side something so bane as the ten commandments. I can find no evidence that beauty is necessary for survival even though it empowers some soft souls with the will to live when all else becomes meaningless or crass. In fact survival may often be at odds with beauty. Yet I personally would choose the physician with the better bedside manner over the expert who does not care whether I live or die, because my existence in not predicated upon survival. After all, none of us get out of life alive. My existence as a human being only has meaning if there is beauty in it. Survival only serves to bide me the time to find the life that is worth the living for the beauty it holds.

Science is not a mystery. It is a discovery. Survival is not a mystery. It is a process of evolution. Beauty is the mystery. It is the “flowery band that binds us to the earth”.

"Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast
That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die"

Are we spiritual beings? The word spiritual has become as tainted as the word sacred. We are beings. Beings that either seek to destroy beauty or to preserve it at all cost. It may be that this fragile essence we know as beauty does not need my defense but I need to defend her in order to possess her. It may be upon the soft and gentle wings of beauty that my soul will one day take its departure unto the regions of her permanent abode. Yet it is not by reason of hope that I honor her, but out of respect. That, and I find her music irresistible.

New Girlfriend

2011-01-29T18:00:00.002-06:00

Hey Mom, I won't be home for dinner tonight.

I've met someone.

photo by Fernando Peon on Flickr

The Lovers

2011-01-24T00:21:00.002-06:00

I just found this beautiful song on you tube. I listened to this song a lot when I was a school girl. It was on an album that was a collection of artists. My version had all the pops and hisses.

The Lovers by Jimmie Rodgers

Up from the pastures of boredom

Out from the sea of discontent

They come in packs like hungry hounds

The seekers of the dark enchantment

They haunt the boulevards and bars

They pray to wishing wells and stars

They ride their hurricane of hope

Not looking back but on they go

Towards the distance and deceiving

All the while they keep believing

That they are special and a part

The lovers

The lovers of the heart

The lovers

And when they pair off two by two

They feel they are the chosen few

Because their beds are made of straw

That feels like velvet in the night

And so the night is never ending

It’s made of distance and pretending

Because they’re special and a part

The lovers

The lovers of the heart

The lovers

And when love goes away

And when love goes

Goodbye

Catches in their throats like cotton

Rises in their hearts like rain

The good times suddenly are all forgotten

The hunt begins again

They search the subways and the streets

Their faces tired like their feet

Their bodies aching to be warm

And so they hide behind the moon

Their loneliness inside them growing

But they take comfort in just knowing

That they are special and a part

The lovers

The lovers of the heart

The lovers

And when love comes again

And when love comes

Hello

Rises from their throats like singing

Catches in their hearts like wind

The good things strangers in their arms are bringing

Makes life alright again

They turn their faces to the light

No longer hiding in the night

So unashamed and unafraid

That they can face each others faults

And though the waltz will have its ending

There’s no harm in just pretending

That they are special and a part

The lovers

The lovers of the heart

The lovers

clickable photos from various flickr accts.

The Cloak

2011-01-20T22:17:00.003-06:00

We fell in love but refused to admit it.

We tried to cloak it in friendship

but friendship is not this satisfying

not this good.

Friendship doesn’t turn your head

to meet your lover in disguise

and not care about the basis
wonder where it will lead

or whether others see the connection.

Friendship doesn’t turn a leather jacket

into a fetish
a day into a lifetime

or a meal into a feast for the gods.

Friendship does not cause the scent to linger

or unspoken words to sing

or the years to roll back

like the clouds of heaven
chased by the sun.

Blinded and emboldened
by each others' shaded eyes

we finally threw off the cloak
and walked purposefully and naked
through the door of love

as unashamedly as our smiles

as helpless as our need.

Afterward, we drove through the night
with the lights out

and the music playing

and the world was very, very small.

click on the photo by Tom Palumbo to view his interesting portfolio

A Dream Within a Dream

2011-01-16T21:08:00.001-06:00

A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allen Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

photos by Fernando Peón (click on photo to view on Flickr)

The Dude Abides

2011-01-15T01:32:00.002-06:00

Watch the full episode. See more American Masters.

Pieces of myself come to life when I watch Jeff Bridges. He's never too big for the part, never presumptuous or pressing, having a permeable quality that allows us to see through him to him, finding the commonality of our humanity.

Almost Like a Song

2011-01-09T19:59:00.000-06:00

from npr Jazz profiles: Johnny Hartman, 'The Romantic Balladeer'
Johnny Hartman was the quintessential romantic balladeer. The only singer to record with John Coltrane — on the iconic album John Coltrane & Johnny Hartman — his fame was limited mainly to true jazz lovers during his lifetime.

Some speculate that Hartman came on the scene at the wrong time, and that racism denied him potential opportunities for him. He was a handsome black man, whose voice somewhat resembled those of many successful white vocalists. The idea of a black man singing love ballads and swooning white females didn't sit well in 1950s America, particularly in the Deep South. Billy Eckstine was a black vocalist who had successfully crossed over to the mainstream, but not without backlash from white listeners who rejected his music.

Change of Seasons

2010-12-31T23:49:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year

2010-12-31T10:32:00.000-06:00

"Once you have made peace with the present moment, see what happens, what you can do or choose to do, or rather what life does through you. There are three words that convey the secret of the art of living, the secret of all success and happiness: One with Life. Being one with life is being one with Now. You then realize that you don't live your life, but life lives you. Life is the dancer and you are the dance." ~Eckhert Tolle

Just For You Ernesto Cortázar

2010-12-27T01:01:00.001-06:00

Love's Deity

2010-12-15T22:49:00.000-06:00

Love's Deity by John Donne

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost,
Who died before the God of Love was born:
I cannot think that he, who then loved most,
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.
But since this god produced a destiny,
And that vice-nature, Custom, lets it be,
I must love her that loves not me.

Sure, they which made him god meant not so much,
Nor he in his young godhead practised it;
But when an even flame two hearts did touch,
His office was indulgently to fit
Actives to passives. Correspondency
Only his subject was; it cannot be
Love, till I love her that loves me.

But every modern god will now extend
His vast prerogative as far as Jove.
To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend,
All is the purlieu of the God of Love.
Oh were we wakened by this tyranny
To ungod this child again, it could not be
I should love her who loves not me.

Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I
As though I felt the worst that love could do?
Love might make me leave loving, or might try
A deeper plague, to make her love me too,
Which, since she loves before, I'm loth to see;
Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be,
If she whom I love should love me.

I Live One Day at a Time

2010-12-12T11:35:00.000-06:00

Bet you're surprised to see me back at home,

You don't know how I miss you when you're gone

Don't ask how long I plan to stay

It never crossed my mind

cuz I live one day at a time.

There's a swallow flyin' across a cloudy sky

Searchin' for a patch of sun so high

Don't ask how long I have to follow him,

Perhaps I won't in time

but I live one day at a time.

Silent Night

2010-12-10T20:36:00.001-06:00

There are peek-a-boo stars in the sky tonight

as the clouds play with a sliver of a moon

like the Dreamscape movie mogul

without the dangling being

on the make-believe swing

of the mind of wonder

they only imitate

but can never encapsulate

It’s not an unfamiliar scene

but I seldom participate in the dance

and I’m guessing you don’t either

We all have better things to do

than gaze at the night sky

do we not

Inside I’m surrounded with pottery

and portraits and paintings

carpet and crystal and candles

technology and tinsel and tedium

I’m drowning in things, thoughts, theatre

invisible constraints that choke the breath

and demand my attention or inattention

and make me irritable, irrational, inconsistent

insane

Nothing at all like the night sky

which I seldom visit

or rarely extol

or freely swig as the gods so designed

for the nutriment of mankind

and intoxication of his soul

Those wise men in the east

could not have seen

the child’s star leading

nor felt its promise

rejoiced in its nativity

marveled in its purity

worshipped its majesty

had they been held captive

to their paltry surroundings

So stop the world

I want to get off

at least for tonight

to gaze at peek-a-boo stars

and the sliver of a moon

and the glimmer of hope

that joy comes from being

and understanding comes from seeing

that which man can never portray

and words can never express

that passes through these eyes blinded by science

and silently moves my soul

into this, this singular
silent night

The Love She Found in Me

2010-12-03T20:07:00.001-06:00

It does not bother me that the roses have thorns
It amazes me that the thorns have roses
Give her wasps and she'll find the orchid

She looked into a heart so sad
And saw what no one ever had
Beneath the snow she saw the spring
She finds good in everything

Give her thorns and she’ll find the roses
Give her sand and she’ll find the sea
Give her rain and she’ll find the rainbows
Just see the love she found in me
Just see the love she found in me

She looks beneath each tear that’s cried
And somehow sees the sunny side
Even on the darkest night
She knows where to find the light

Give her thorns and she’ll find the roses
Give her sand and she’ll find the sea
Give her rain and she’ll find the rainbows
Just see the love she found in me

When the world starts closing in
She gives me strength to smile again

Give her thorns and she’ll find the roses
Give her sand and she’ll find the sea
Give her rain and she’ll find the rainbows
Just see the love she found in me
Just see the love she found in me

A Reason For Happiness

2010-12-01T20:24:00.002-06:00

I'm feeling inordinately festive.

I haven't celebrated the season in years, but this year is different. I feel that familiar spirit of the Holidays that I felt in days of yore. Thanksgiving was a good gathering of family and I connected. Christmas is not a commercial time for me but a time of reflection. And my favorite holiday of all is New Year's Day because while I don't believe in happy endings, I do believe in a new beginning that takes the bite out of the past.

If someone had told me two years ago that I would be happy today, I would have scoffed, but I am happy. In fact, I've been practicing it. I refuse to allow my feet to hit the floor in the morning until I have my morning commitment to joy. The motivation is really pronounced since I have to pee so desperately. So I find a reason for happiness really quickly. Doesn't have to be mountain moving, but has to be genuine and I'm amazed that since I've instigated this plan that I always do find some reason to be happy.

Got my flu and pneumonia shot yesterday and my left arm was sore so I couldn't sleep on my favorite left side last night. So instead of bemoaning the laborious night of not being able to hit my favorite spot, I was thankful for having taken the step to ensure that I would not be staring down the barrel of that insufferable sickness. There were a few other thoughts, one or two involving my memories of past loves, and then I had to cut it and go pee.

Point is, why not start your day off with a reason for happiness? And when the day is done, as is it definitely is now, why not hit the pillow with a few more reasons? That's the thing about habit. It gets easier and easier.

This is a shot of my friend Alan and a couple of neighbors the morning after Katrina. We were SO VERY glad to be alive!

May you find your own reason for happiness this Holiday Season and every day of your life. And here's a little tip, if you can't pee until you do, you will find a reason!

Selectively Silver

2010-11-28T15:28:00.000-06:00

A silver jet ascends over the rooftop
a double silver plume trails its silver wings
as silver seeds float upwards on the cool draft
then sudden silver darts of shooting stars…?
oh, they’re bugs
but beautiful bugs

Why, everything is silver in this light!
even the chicken wire over the chimney top
the bubbles that float on my own right eye

The only magic in this silver scene
is the magic I feel in my heart
selectively silver
making raison d'être
from mere facts
satisfaction
from lack
and wonderment
from the ordinary

All things become
necessarily beautiful
in the right light
the alchemist’s conversion
of the ambitious heart

photo by toocoolringlady on flickr

Sexual Deception, et al

2010-11-28T12:33:00.003-06:00

Biophilia on Evolvability, Speciation and Sex finds himself in the Group Selection (Multi-Level Selection) camp. So I camped out with him for a while this morning. He got me to thinking about the orchid pollinated by wasp and sexual deception. So I found this wonderful outback page on Pollination by Sexual Deception in Australian Terrestrial Orchids by Dr Rod Peakall, Professor, School of Botany and Zoology, Australian National University.

Don’t you want me, baby?

Since I am a layperson and have no constraints of professionalism, I can postulate about science without sacrificing my integrity. It is inconceivable to me, no matter how long such a process took, that a plant could evolve to sexually attract an insect by either natural selection or mere trial and error on the part of the plant. Therefore, as I entertain the idea of multi-level selection, which includes the struggle for survival of groups, I have to reach a little higher into the void to include a “group” which has, as of yet, to be discovered by science. I’ll call it a panel for argument’s sake. It appears to me that this panel possesses a collection of accumulated knowledge acquired from the results of both natural selection and trial and error. This panel continually acquires, maintains, updates and utilizes this information to affect the outcome of evolution. While the mechanism of operation is invisible, the results are not. It is also interesting that this panel employs deception in accomplishing its subjective goals. This panel has over eons found a way to genetically alter a species or an entire generation while still “in the womb”, therefore, the level of selection may still be within the gene but the gene itself may be altered in route.

This might explain why it is so difficult to ascertain with a single theory or even a combination of theories to any certainty how life has evolved. This nomenon is not akin to a virgin birth but is more like life itself becoming self-knowing and experimentally self-corrrecting through this panel of knowledge. No longer either a nomenon or a phenomenon, “genetic engineering has been altering the genetic makeup of an organism using techniques that introduce heritable material prepared outside the organism either directly into the host or into a cell that is then fused or hybridized with the host.”. (wikipedia) How is it that we could suppose that our collective knowledge as humans would exceed the capabilities of this unseen panel whose library must be extensive beyond all we can now phathom? And why is it so far-fetched that such a panel could exist without our superstitiously attributing to it deity or omniscience or omnipotence? Why could it not simply be a work in progress?

As humans atop the evolutionary totem pole, we might reflect on the idea of like father, like son - even in the arena of sexual deception. But there are many other deceptions that enhance our chances of survival – the bird with the broken wing, the bark without the bite, the lie under oath.

The only unpardonable sin is self-deception, for therein we block all reception, all perception, all inception of knowledge. I don’t know much more than when I started here but I do find myself in the Life is Awesome camp and I’m happy to be a part of that group with thanks to all those who work so tirelessly to explain it.

The Pilot

2010-11-21T18:27:00.002-06:00

He rose like Venus
over the Southern sky
barely missing Mars
by only by a mile or so
but he is a skillful pilot
as well as a serious contender
for my heart

Not everyone has a talent
or a gift
or a flight plan
Some of us just wrestle
with survival
endurance our only strong suit
as we faint-heartedly
fall prey to lusts of the flesh

But my pilot is cool
calm, serious and sincere
He cannot understand
my chatter
my laughter
my dismissiveness
or derisiveness

He cannot understand me
nor can he turn away
I pique his curiousity
arouse his proud restrained masculinity
steer him off his damnable itinerary
For some reason I make him think twice
when he never had to think before

We've played this game for a while now
But these are not foolish calculations
on my part to keep him from his flight
Nor do I surmise some simple bum equation
that opposites attract
but something keeps this pilot circling
with no landing strip in sight

The Light

2010-11-21T17:30:00.000-06:00

I cannot believe how beautiful the light is
streaming through these delicate sheers
covering these cheap sculptural blinds

When you live in a house long enough
you learn the time of year
the time of day
that is so infrequently and exquisitely perfect
and you feel so privileged to witness
this singular fleeting moment

It's like the clouds are spelling
out your name in a brilliant blue sky
saying - Come now,
as we defy mere existence
I also bring to you
electrifying leaves of gold
that you will have to rake next week
when the winter chill returns
but, oh, aren't they worth it?

No camera may capture the streaming light
of the afternoon sun
the wind caressing the trees
the sweet call of birds filled with joy
or the heart that loves
if only for a season

Dark days will come
and try to devour your soul
So sit here, still, observing
drinking in your fill
for the only wine
one should ever invest in
is the wine you drink this day

The light was meant to be bathed in
penetrating the scales of monotony
and when the night comes
as it surely will
remember, the candle's desire
is to be burned
in tranquil reflection
and blessed peace
You can mop the floor tomorrow

The Dog Days Are Over

2010-11-20T11:52:00.000-06:00

Rock out with Florence & the Machine

Happiness hit her like a train on a track
Coming towards her stuck still no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with her drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink

The Road to Freedom

2010-11-17T18:14:00.000-06:00

I can still taste the whiskey music
and feel the rubbery rock
of easy and hard swaying
of the body
the mind
the will

He was the smartest man I never knew
Smart enough to buy the best whiskey
play the best music
lay the best lines
but he had no heart

He used to tell me
(after we were married)
that I did everything half-assed
and he would put me back in the gutter
where he found me
(you know, the one he was rolling
around in looking for
a stupid tramp like me)

I fought him tooth and nail
trying to prove to myself
that I was worthy
of someone so insensitive

Ten years later
I gave up the mangled ghosts
We no longer drank neat whiskey
or listened to corrupt music
or made passionate love
or obsessive war

We simply said a weak goodbye

The next time out
I married a therapist
But Tupelo honey is no sweeter
than any other
and don’t confuse the music and lyrics
with real life
except for this:

They can’t keep us
on the road to freedom
road to freedom
road to freedom

Utopia by Within Temptation

2010-11-14T10:04:00.001-06:00

unable to embed this remarkable music,
so click here: Utopia by Within Temptation

Utopia by Within Temptation (feat Chris Jones)

The burning desire to live and roam free
It shines in the dark
And it grows within me
You’re holding my hand but you don’t understand
So where I am going, you wont be in the end

I’m dreaming in colors
Of getting the chance
Dreaming of trying the perfect romance
In search of the door to open your mind
In search of the cure of mankind

Help us we’re drowning
So close up inside
Why does it rain, rain, rain down on utopia?
Why does it have to kill the idea of who we are?
Why does it rain, rain, rain down on utopia?
How will the lights die down, telling us who we are?

I’m searching for answers
not given for free
They’re hidden inside as they lie within me
You’re holding my hand but you don’t understand
You’re taking the road all alone in the end
I’m dreaming in colors, no boundaries are there
I’m dreaming the dream, and I’ll sing to share
In search of the door, to open your mind
In search of the cure of mankind

Well, help us were drowning
So close up inside
Why does it rain, rain, rain down on utopia
Why does it have to kill the idea of who we are?
Why does it rain, rain, rain, down on utopia?
And when the lights die down, telling us who we are

Why does it rain, rain, rain down on utopia
Why does it have to kill the idea of who we are?
Why does it rain, rain, rain down on utopia
And when the lights die down, telling us who we are
Why does it rain?

Only the Heart May Know

2010-11-13T22:11:00.000-06:00

Duet by Dan Fogelberg & Emmie Lou Harris

Etchings

2010-11-10T20:22:00.001-06:00

Sorrow is etched on the faces I see

And even though the skin

is young and pliable

I know the etches that sorrow will leave

in the due course of time

No matter how much they smile

No matter how fast they run

I see the future in their evasive eyes

A life of unmet needs

carves deep trenches in the soul

and eventually, inevitably

the face will mirror the soul

It’s not a pretty picture

and a face lift won’t change it

They say you can tell a person’s age

by his hands

I don’t think so

Look at the eyes

If they’re glazed over and darting

He’s already staring down the barrel

of the loaded gun of regret

and neglect and emptiness

Futility is a powerful force

It drives us to distraction

Diversion fuels our emptiness

like a low pressure system

fuels a hurricane

The storms of private seclusion

and quiet desperation

are born in the night

and buried in the morning

nevertheless, the trenches are carved

day by lonely day

night by friendless night

Lose yourself in the sun

Bury yourself in the waves

Drown yourself in the mirth of the moment

You can't teach an old dog new tricks
But you can paint a new smile
on an old face
etched and reluctant to leave

Cheap Flights

2010-11-07T20:09:00.000-06:00

I have not flown in a long time but I've heard that this is so true.

Bill Maher on DC Rally for Sanity

2010-11-06T23:29:00.001-05:00

Bill sharpened his pencil for this one. “I don’t need to pretend that both sides have a point here and I don’t care what left or right commentators say about it. … Two opposing sides don’t necessarily have two compelling arguments."

One

2010-10-31T23:24:00.000-05:00

The Flying Frenchman

2010-10-29T22:04:00.000-05:00

Jorge Lorenzo, The Flying Frenchman
and his beautiful horses

All of My Life

2010-10-29T21:42:00.000-05:00

All of My Life
by Phil Collins

The Flip Side of Joy

2010-10-25T02:05:00.000-05:00

How could 14 years of joy
bring such pain?
I knew he would not live forever
but I had hoped he would

Pain is an inadequate word
Loss is a loan shark
that will never allow me
to repay the debt

If I only knew
that I gave to Gus
but half the joy he gave to me
I would not count it usery

Please tell me, my Gus-Gus
my buddy-bud
my punky-dorie
that I did
Please tell me I did

Reality As Revealed Through Spiritual Vision

2010-10-22T17:47:00.000-05:00

Reality revealed through spiritual vision is free from the restrictions of linear definitions.

Listen through headphones.

Dark Water

2010-10-15T00:35:00.001-05:00

The wind is picking up and the dark water

begins to stir

and then to churn and now

it’s tumbling, rolling back

upon itself like liquid steel

kneaded into cool solid iridescent cubes

of motion by some alchemy

of powerful indifference

and I dare not touch

I am mesmerized by the turbulence

that feels nothing

that cares less

that can never be disturbed or directed

or confided in

that mimics life with resounding rhythm

and mocks joy with relentless unrest

and even though I know these things

I dare not leave

~photo by Russell Tomlin

Dead Beat

2010-10-12T20:58:00.000-05:00

I’m tired of beauty and quotes and laments of who we once were

I’m tired of false fronts and best foot forward and being careful

I’m tired of dressing up in a gown of solitude

and dancing around the ballroom of loneliness

to the goddamn stirring strings of overpaid musicians

who just want to get the hell out of here

I’m sick to death of anonymous admiration

in the supermarket, on the internet, at a stoplight

of quick showers that evaporate on the sidewalk of hot need

of French appetizers that look like ecstasy

and taste like the plastic they are rung up on

by a waiter who acts like he cares how much pleasure you have

but just wants to get the hell out of here

I’m done with clarity and insight and enlightenment

nuances and sentiments and intellectual pursuits

endless debate and argument and reading between the lines

you see, my eyes are just plain tired

and the sad truth is you bore me

I just want to get the hell out of here

I’m tired of soul bearing and clarity and naked honesty

So, honey, if it’s all the same to you

let’s ditch the honesty

sip whiskey until we’re comfortably numb

turn off the lights

and just get naked

God, I sound like Bukowski

The Dancing Leaves

2010-09-10T18:28:00.000-05:00

My three windows, though not really mine, are covered with 8” x 9” cubes of lilies and mums tinted in brown and green and shades of blue. I’ve always liked this fabric. Now the late afternoon sun has cast dancing shadows of leaves from the mighty oak tree outside the window. I am seeing the wind playing with the sun. Seeing the beautiful breeze dance across the cubes of now translucent fabric. The sun, the wind, the tree, these elements of nature are playing across the design and fabrication of some unknown person chosen by me hanging on these windows that are not really mine.. This fleeting event is not mine for long and I know this. So I capture it in words so that it might be mine for as long as I can remember. I am grateful for words.

The Lost World

2010-08-07T19:44:00.000-05:00

I haven’t felt much like pouring out my soul in a long, long time. And even this long interval seems like yesterday. As I approach the center of my orbit, my final destination, time accelerates. When I was a child the days were as long as life itself, unfathomable, infinite. Now looking back, life is a brief moment. I know that I lived it the best I could – at the time.

Fear, once my constant companion, has abandoned me for fresher meat, an easier kill. My plans, like mirages, have faded into folly. My roots, once deep and unmoving, have given way to wings with no flight plan. Now serendipity, having gained my trust, courts me closer and closer. Synchronicity holds my hand as if my oldest friend. Faith has gelled into knowing as I no longer ask why. I have stepped out of the way of myself and begun to witness the making of a soul instead of the planning of a life. All that I once had to prove to the world has become antiquated, pathetic, even laughable.

I trust no one in general, in particular myself. Everyone’s life is inextricably connected to his own self interest. Should he tell you differently, he is a liar, a jester in the court of his so-called life and a would-be ruler of your own. He will court you until his interest dries up. Altruism is a mere hobby of the wealthy and the bored or a band aid on the guilt of users who fail to relinquish their whole heart. I am no longer angry for their inability to love for I have learned that even I who have nothing, find it most difficult to care for either pauper or king.

This is not to say that we have not all been blessed by great souls that exude tremendous talents that lend to us resources which miraculously cultivate the soul in this desert of life. Do not exclude anyone from your arena of experience. Dive into what is given never dependant on the giver. The giver of the gift is not its owner no matter how sublime the delivery. He is simply being used by an unseen force. Acknowledge the instrument but look to the source. What is to be revered? The violin, the maker of the violin, the player of the violin, the composer of the music, or the ear that hears? It is none of these. They, we, are all two-bit players. The real Maestro is the one who orchestrates all of these in your life into the final result of joy. This is the one to be revered. To be honored. To be thanked. No one can limit or delimit this force for you. This tour de force for joy is the maker of your soul. Using adversity and chaos, serendipity and synchronicity, fortune or misfortune, love or heartache, fear or faith, ignorance or bliss, until you become a total mess of extreme wisdom coupled with remorse and regret. From all of these seemingly haphazard events, both demonic and divine, emerges a being capable of receiving the blessings of the creator.

When you have lived long enough and you see the quick end from the arduous beginning, you will know to look to the maker of your soul. Do not disturb the process by definition or prediction or allocation to any other soul in the process of being created. Neither worship nor judge anyone on your path or on his own path. For in all the annals of history there has never been given to any soul either the power to create or to destroy another soul. We are all subject to far greater forces than our own will, our own desires, or our puny judgments, much less to those of another. And never, ever, think of your own self as the savior of the lost world.

Feel Great Body

2009-10-18T11:58:00.001-05:00

I'll be busy here for the next few months: Feel Great Body

If you want to follow my weight loss progress, please visit.

It's not just about losing the weight.

My health needs overhauling.

Money Saving Tip

2009-09-25T23:13:00.000-05:00

Interlude

2009-09-12T00:19:00.001-05:00

Interlude sung by Timi Yuro with lyrics

Glorious Morning

2009-07-20T07:05:00.002-05:00

There are ribbons of glory
in the morning sky
electrifying blue
dazzling white
shocking pink

It’s unseasonably cool
for July and the birds
are calling this one a winner

We are such ungrateful beasts
I'm certain
if this were the norm
we would yawn
with boredom
and ignore
so great a blessing
much as we do
our arms
our legs
our eyes

each other

Jackson Browne, Load Out - Stay

2009-07-15T23:41:00.003-05:00

Wow, it's been a long time since I've listened to this. It's one of those songs I used to hit repeat play over and over. A real tribute to the roadies, the performers and the audience. Good song.

Life, Support, Music

2009-07-07T22:26:00.003-05:00

I've just seen a remarkable film on PBS. It was a very sobering reminder that I have nothing to complain about.

From PBS Point of View series: In 2004, Jason Crigler's life was taking off. He was one of New York's hottest young guitarists, his new CD was due for release and his wife, Monica, was pregnant with their first child. Then, at a gig in Manhattan, Jason suffered a near-fatal brain hemorrhage. His doctors doubted he would ever emerge from his near-vegetative state. The astonishing journey that followed, documented by friend and filmmaker Eric Daniel Metzgar (The Chances of the World Changing, POV 2007), is a stirring family saga and a portrait of creative struggle in the face of overwhelming tragedy.

PBS link

Life. Support. Music.

There's a link of the site to order the DVD.

Death

2009-06-27T18:22:00.002-05:00

We get attached to bodies. Our own, our mothers, our mates, our children. I have no idea how the bond is formed or when or at what point it becomes most significant. But I do know that when the body dies, the sense of loss is tremendous. Its tragedy is unparalleled. Oh, how we hate to see the body go. What will we inhabit now? How will we express ourselves? How will we experience life and connection and meaning?

This body, who served so long, so faithfully, who so honorably endured pain, despair, exhaustion, anxiety, sleepless nights, our every bidding, suddenly is – no more. Somewhere one little clock stops and it seems that all of forever curls back into the fetal position of primordial birth and defying reality, ceases to ever have been born. Ceases to be all of its service, all of its potential, all of its glory. It simply dies, leaving only a symphony unwritten, a masterpiece unpainted, a history never to be recorded, repeated nor fully appreciated.

And we, the ones who inhabit the living bodies, for a moment, wish to give up our own bodies, either in memorial or in some futile attempt to bring back the dead. There are no words for death as there are for life. No one can say that death is this or that or even that it is the cessation of life. How can it be the cessation of life when life itself mourns its passing as despondently as the strains of a cello from the maestro’s fingers or as hauntingly as the moaning of the sovereign wind across the caverns of timeless rock? How can the cessation of life be real when a living heart feels such a connection to the dead that it will be torn from its own body in longing to be with the dead just once more? Wherever that place now is. To which there is no map or star or hope of finding.

What is lost, I wonder. Knowing that I, too, shall soon follow, having taxed this body far beyond what was morally decent and physically prudent. What is lost? I cannot say. I can only say that great is the loss. And perhaps the most desolate part of my existence now is knowing that my body would have more nobly served some cause greater than my own self, suffering far less harm than my petty demands upon its vigor and with outcome more fitting to its sacrifice.

~ Ava Swan

What Is Life Without Magic

2009-06-21T22:11:00.011-05:00

What are we without magic? Walt Disney built his empire on it. He called it the Magic Kingdom and we subscribed in masse with childlike faith regardless our age. Magic, by definition, need not be real. It need only be effective, and occasionally, gloriously triumphant. And so if magic brings relief from pain, escape from desolation, hope for a better tomorrow and power to belief, then magic is a good thing. A thing not to be proven in courts of law nor in the arena of scientific evidence. Magic is but an oddity to be respected as solemnly as is the notion of right to life, for those few who do believe in it. Without grounds, without evidence, without tangible support. What is life without magic?

Without magic we are all subjugated to that which we cannot change. Without magic we are slaves to everything that came before our futile desires. Without magic our will is an impotent implant into a pointless existence created by a sadistic jester. Without magic procreation would be seized by the strongest and most vile and the children of the damned would kill off their elders at first opportunity. Without magic we would never feel the need to express our puny opinions or rise up against our oppressors.

Magic selects a stone from a brook and quietly slips it into our pocket. Magic rubs the edges of the stone with hands that sweat and silently bleed into the water of the brook, into time immemorial until they are indistinguishable. Cost, pain, sacrifice, are not counted as if it were necessary to lend validation to what is already known. Magic picks up the vibration of sunlight through the trees as a vision of future events and hears the sound of distant rumblings that say turn this way or that and survive for some purpose yet to be revealed. Magic makes survivors of insignificant sentient beings who will some day rise to phenomenal feats of bravery through brain or brawn or a combination of both and ignite a magical fire to all who long for freedom in a world where magic is quelled and disdained.

Magic gives the carrier of the stone the power to lay down his life, without the need to explain or persuade, for the purpose for which he has sworn his silent allegiance by virtue of its purity. And nothing, nothing that the powers that appear to be, nothing they do can defeat this unheralded magic. Although the quiet believers are more numerable than the sands of the sea, they cannot rise. And although the nonbelievers lay their perfect snare without doubt one of certain outcome, yet once again, magically, another maker shall arise from obscurity and within her pocket a single stone stained by blood royal.

~ Ava Swan

Neda, The Call by Gregg Chadwick on Flickr

Hope

2009-06-12T16:52:00.003-05:00

Hope is with you when you believe
The earth is not a dream but living flesh,
that sight, touch, and hearing do not lie,
That all thing you have ever seen here
Are like a garden looked at from a gate.

You cannot enter. But you're sure it's there.
Could we but look more clearly and wisely
We might discover somewhere in the garden
A strange new flower and an unnamed star.

Some people say that we should not trust our eyes,
That there is nothing, just a seeming,
There are the ones who have no hope.
They think the moment we turn away,
The world, behind our backs, ceases to exist,
As if snatched up by the hand of thieves.

~Czeslaw Milosz

photo links to flickr members

Recent Photos

2009-06-01T23:37:00.004-05:00

Dew-drop and Diamond

2009-05-24T23:47:00.002-05:00

Dew-drop and Diamond

The difference between you and her
(whom I to you did once prefer)
Is clear enough to settle:
She like a diamond shone, but you
Shine like an early drop of dew
Poised on a red rose petal.

The dew-drop carries in its eye
Mountain and forest, sea and sky,
With every change of weather;
Contrariwise, a diamond splits
The prospect into idle bits
That none can piece together.

~Robert Graves

At the Bottom of Everything

2009-05-18T20:49:00.000-05:00

Ghosts

2009-05-14T23:13:00.001-05:00

I just finished ripping Dan Fogelberg – The Innocent Age double album set (from vinyl to MP3) and checked out some YouTube content. The footage on this video gave new definition to his song Ghosts.

Death is there
to keep us honest
and constantly remind us
we are free

WARNING!!! Very disturbing images.

Nocebo

2009-05-14T17:53:00.004-05:00

From the article in New Scientist: The placebo effect has an evil twin: the nocebo effect, in which dummy pills and negative expectations can produce harmful effects. The term "nocebo", which means "I will harm", was not coined until the 1960s, and the phenomenon has been far less studied than the placebo effect. It's not easy, after all, to get ethical approval for studies designed to make people feel worse.

Full Article here: The Science of Voodo or click on any pin in the pathetic excuse for a voodo doll...

The comments are lively.

Major Tom

2009-05-14T10:19:00.001-05:00

With our astronauts in space right now, I got a kick out of this remix of Major Tom.

God speed to our space captains!

I Miss Me

2009-05-08T23:35:00.003-05:00

I have to admit
that everything I have to say now
sounds hollow since he left me
I have no way of knowing
how long he kept up the pretense
but it was working as long as he made the effort
and I was happy

Now, there’s just me
and whether it’s a roll of laughter
or the roll of a silent tear
there’s no echo of who I genuinely am
in this lonely room
and my life is diminished
by his not hearing
There is no resonance to what once was me

I may be just as witty
just as profound
but who cares?
not I
He was the one who validated me with his response
even when we disagreed
Meeting with approval from someone else
doesn’t carry any weight or comfort
It’s like being in a fog of mist
when what I really need is an anchor
You can’t add enough fans to replace the one
you truly love
the one who gives you yourself in all your shame
in all your glory

So even more than I miss him
I miss me

Born to Be Good

2009-04-21T10:13:00.000-05:00

Dacher Keltner, professor of psychology at UC Berkeley and director of the Greater Good Science Center, demonstrates that humans are not hardwired to lead lives that are “nasty, brutish, and short” - we are in fact born to be good. He investigates an old mystery of human evolution: why have we evolved positive emotions like gratitude, amusement, awe, and compassion that promote ethical action are the fabric of cooperative societies? Born to Be Good is a profound study of how emotion is the key to living the good life and how the path to happiness goes through human emotions that connect people to one another. View the video of this refreshing perspective here Born to Be Good

Dare

2009-04-18T11:15:00.000-05:00

Love Changes Everything

2009-04-12T22:48:00.000-05:00

Evening Rises

2009-04-04T20:40:00.001-05:00

Evening Rises

Two souls colliding in motion
Moving within the same space and time
Not by appointment, nor destiny, nor chance
but by design
Evening rises
and I think of you

Fireflies drifting, drifting
among the raindrops
Sometimes floating upwards
against sheets of falling rain
Fire and rain
Light and sound
Music and dance
Twisting, curling branches
in the fullness of wet leaf
darkened, subdued, bathed, relieved

A robin chirps solo above the crickets’ summer chorus
Happy for reasons unknown to us
So are we, my little puppy and I, happy, content
As we sit in our favorite wicker chair
on our little white porch
And though puppy does not count
any more than firefly or cricket or robin
I count, and I recall the days
when being together was enough
I think of you now and know
Evening does not fall
It rises

Is your cat plotting to kill you

2009-03-17T21:27:00.000-05:00

Are You OK?

2009-03-07T15:55:00.003-06:00

There I was minding my own business
happily being me
when Thud!
he hit me
My initial reaction was
Hey, watch where you’re going, buddy
But just like they say when you are dying
you know, how your whole life flashes before you
that’s the way it happened
only this time, it wasn’t my life
it was my assailant’s life

Slow motion knowing came over me in waves
waves that don’t come from thought
He wasn’t seeing me at the time of the encounter
so when I came into view, it was a shock to his senses
I had come out of nowhere
I was the one in the way
I had jumped into his path of misery without warning
and there I stood with a smile on my face
a smile he mistook for a smirk
I was just another cog in the conspiracy wheel

I kept smiling and found myself saying
Are you OK?

He had to stop and think
Hell, no! I’m not OK!
Watch where you’re going!

Are you OK? I asked again
offering no apology
Again, he had to think
Do I look like I’m OK?
You don’t have a F’in’ clue, do you?
You in your perfect little world

Well, when worlds collide, I said
it’s not always a bad thing
Sometimes, it’s just to wake us up
I know that sometimes I have a bad dream
and wake up from it only to realize
that I just needed to go to the bathroom

You’re full of Sh*T, he barked
way too quickly
so I knew we were both on the same wave

And then we both burst into laughter

Ok, he said,
you really want to know how I’m doing?
My business partner abscamed with all my money
My wife is divorcing me
suing for alimony, custody and child support
and I’m under audit by the IRS
Can you top that?

I’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness
Six months, tops

I could hear the weight he was carrying hit the floor
with a Thud!
Oh, Geez, man, I’m sorry

Don’t be, I said
It woke me up
and I’ve been smiling ever since

Energy of Life

2009-02-27T15:41:00.003-06:00

elusive energy of life
evading would-be captors
who sever holy bonds
and burn sacred bridges

from stone and leaf and fish
you shine
sing, dance, laugh

originate
emanate
radiate
vibrate

and yet how still you become
for contemptible spectators
who glow with self-importance
and in some god’s name
have a life their own

Red

2009-02-14T23:18:00.000-06:00

The wind has died down now
There is no tail on the star tonight
A slow-blinking red light
on top some unknown tower is visible
through the naked trees
I shiver, thinking
We can scarcely breathe
as spiritual beings on this violent planet
Then I think – We who?
That was merely my own thought

I paid my bills today
and could not bear any more C-Span hypocrisy
so I went shopping
I splurged on some Tuscan Sun garlic oil
for the Ciabatta bread that’s now in the oven
and once again glanced over to the red envelope
that appeared in my mailbox

It’s not for me

There won’t be any more valentines
Mystery left the day you died
There is no tail on the star tonight
only the slow blinking red of my heart

Gladys Hardy

2009-02-05T10:56:00.003-06:00

Ellen DeGeneres Show - Gladys Hardy

Real Self

2009-02-03T18:21:00.001-06:00

Your real self cannot be governed by will or by force. It is a direct manifestation, not of thought and will, but of a spontaneous, creative experience that comes into being unbidden, when least expected.
~ Eva Broch Pierrakos

Rumi

2009-01-03T12:46:00.005-06:00

There is a moving palace that floats in the air with balconies and clear water flowing through, infinity everywhere, yet contained under a single tent.

The river and its waves are one. When the wave rises, it is the water; and when it falls, it is the same water again. Because it has been named as wave, shall it no longer be considered as water?

Those who don't feel this Love
pulling them like a river,
those who don't drink dawn
like a cup of spring water
or take in sunset like supper,
those who don't want to change,
let them sleep.

This Love is beyond the study of theology,
that old trickery and hypocrisy.
If you want to improve your mind that way,
sleep on.

I've given up on my brain.
I've torn the cloth to shreds
and thrown it away.
If you're not completely naked,
wrap your beautiful robe of words
around you,
and sleep.

~Rumi

In a Dark Time

2008-12-04T22:42:00.000-06:00

In a Dark Time

In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood--
A lord of nature weeping to a tree.
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.

What's madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall,
That place among the rocks--is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.

A steady stream of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is--
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.

Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.

~Theodore Roethke

Odetta

2008-12-03T18:20:00.001-06:00

Odetta is an African-American singer, actress, guitarist, songwritter and a human rights activist, often referred to as The Voice of de Civil Rights Movement. Her musical repertoire consists largely of American folk music, blues, jazz and spirituals. She was a formative influence on dozens of artists, including Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and Janis Joplin.

Folk music, civil rights legend Odetta dies at 77
Published: 12/3/08, 2:06 PM EDT
By POLLY ANDERSON
NEW YORK (AP) - Odetta's monumental voice rang out in August 1963 when she sang "I'm on My Way" at the historic March on Washington, where Martin Luther King gave his "I Have a Dream" speech. She had hoped to perform again in Washington next month when Barack Obama is inaugurated as the nation's first black president. But the acclaimed folk singer, who influenced generations of musicians and was an icon in the civil rights struggle, died Tuesday after battling heart disease. She was 77.

Full Story

Every Grain of Sand

2008-12-02T21:08:00.000-06:00

Every Grain of Sand
Bob Dylan

In the time of my confession,
in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet
flood every newborn seed
There's a dyin' voice within me
reaching out somewhere,
Toiling in the danger and in
the morals of despair.

Don't have the inclination to
look back on any mistake,
Like Cain,
I now behold this chain of events
that I must break.

In the fury of the moment
I can see the Master's hand
In every leaf that trembles,
in every grain of sand.

Oh, the flowers of indulgence
and the weeds of yesteryear,
Like criminals,
they have choked the breath
of conscience and good cheer.

The sun beat down upon the steps
of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness
and the memory of decay.

I gaze into the doorway of
temptation's angry flame
And every time I pass that way
I always hear my name.

Then onward in my journey
I come to understand
That every hair is numbered
like every grain of sand.

I have gone from rags to riches
in the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer's dream,
in the chill of a wintry light,
In the bitter dance of loneliness
fading into space,

In the broken mirror of innocence
on each forgotten face.
I hear the ancient footsteps like
the motion of the sea

Sometimes I turn, there's someone there,
other times it's only me.
I am hanging in the balance
of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling,
like every grain of sand.

Plácido Domingo and Sissel in Sacred Songs

2008-11-16T09:51:00.000-06:00

Plácido Domingo and Sissel in Sacred Songs

Plácido Domingo and Sissel Kyrkjebø, together in the recording studio singing both Ave Maria to the tune of the intermezzo from Mascagni's "Cavalleria Rusticana", as well as the aria "Bist du bei mir" from the lost opera "Diomedes oder die triumphierende Unschuld" by Stölzel.

The two talk about sacred songs, each other, classical music, and what it means to them.

Chidhood Memories

2008-11-09T20:30:00.000-06:00

Ahh, those childhood memories

Some things never change.

Here’s a photo of a Cypress Swamp just south of Yazoo City on Highway 49W.

As lovely now as ever.

Some things change for the better.

Here’s a photo of the old clothesline in our backyard. A heavy metal swing once hung at one end. Until the day that it clipped my little brother in the head and he had to have several stitches.

And some things change for the worse.

The address of our old homestead once read 158. When they renumbered the street about the time I was 12 years old, the letters then read:

Uncertain Horizons

2008-11-06T19:14:00.001-06:00

The more certain you become of who you are, you more certain you become that life is more full of dead ends than connections. I was pleased tonight to find a connection with a fellow Mississippian. His blog is called A Glance Into the Beautiful Uncertain Horizon

He is a young, thoughtful, gifted writer. I hope you enjoy his blog.

Betty White on the Election

2008-11-06T18:43:00.000-06:00

Now we know why John McCain lost the election.
Too white. Betty White. Too funny.
Watch out Obama or Betty will be on you like white on rice!

Can you believe she is this sharp at 86?
What will Craig be like at 86?
I think I might want to stick around.