Crash and Boom

It was a dark and stormy night......


Well, it was!  Last night, I had a thunderstorm roll through JUST as I was lying down for sleep....and it was a spectacular show!

What is it about a lightning storm late at night?  Once you've turned out the lights, and left the blinds and windows open?   Seeing the flash, the spectacular shapes the lightning can twist into as it makes its way to the ground.  It's static.  It's a slice of time, distilled.  And following the light show is a sonic boom of epic proportions.  Add in the staccato of the rain pounding on the windows, buildings, ground...... it's nature's hard rock show.

It's the only time that I can think of where nature makes absolutely straight lines and sharp corners.  Any other time, such precision and fussiness is the purvey of man, as nature likes things more rounded and graceful.

I love thunderstorms. The light show, the thunder, the water elements playing heavily with the world.... they all speak to me on a deep, unconscious level.  I'm drawn in...I can feel it.

Perhaps, someday, I'll complete the communion and dance in the storm, speak back to it with body movement and sinuous grace...and I might learn something new for the experience by bringing the unconscious message forward into awareness.

ME – 101 – In Person Conversations

Ooooooo - Shame on me....I went back and looked - this series needs this final piece.  Soooooo..... without further ado, Me, Live, and In Person. ***imaginary fanfare***



Gee...how do I describe myself in person via the written word, without coming off sounding like a pompous ass?  Guess you'll just have to meet me to see, eh?

I tell people (and have them confirm) that it's my personality that comes through in an in-person meeting, which is what I've said before.  I have a mixture of dry, sarcastic wit, a fine-tuned sense of humor, and a hearty intellect that make me very flexible in person.  Whether the conversation goes to humor, seriousness, speculation, the ethereal - I'm there, confident and secure in holding down my end.

For anything else....ya just gots to meet me :D

Spirituality

I'm a very spiritual person.  Not to be confused with a Religious one, however.  The differences between the two are a vast chasm that many cannot see.  Now, occasionally, you will find one who is BOTH spiritual and religious, but the combination is rare.


The differences are crystal clear to my mind's eye.  Spirituality can be discussed amongst differing schools of thought without hostility or anger.  Religion almost NEVER can be.


One of the last conversations with my ex engendered the question from him:  "What exactly do you believe?"  It was a question that, if asked a decade prior to this, might have saved our marriage, but, true to our form back then, we simply didn't bring up stuff that would cause fissions through our relationship.  Maintaining the status quo was far more important than being honest with each other.


Wow.  That was harsh.  But accurate.  Yet another lesson learned in the process of journaling....and a mistake I won't make in future associations.  


Soooo - the question....what exactly DO I believe?  I couldn't tell him then, and I'm having a hard time putting it into words even now, with an additional 9 months of review behind me and that particular question.  It's complex.  Spirituality should be complex, though.  A person's faith should be a conglomeration of the sum of their life's experiences - because that which we call Divine touches each individual in unique ways.  


I'd have an easier time writing my memoirs than to try to 'list out' my personal belief systems...


But, for the highlights, I'll try.  I do have to say, though, that I'm not a 'list' person for matters of faith and spirituality.  It's really the only time that words fail me - there aren't words for the bulk of this...only concepts and feelings.


I believe in the ideal of recycling.  That a soul/spirit/essence of a person must go through multiple lives to attain true awakening.


I believe that the mistakes of our past lives are manifest as learning-lessons in the present.


I believe that we are given far more clues to the nature of the universe than we are aware of.


I believe that there are people out there who are gifted with paranormal abilities, in ranging strengths...and the strength of that gift grows with the age of the essence.


I believe that everything happens for a reason.


I believe that the Fates are active, and many ignore them - which is a REALLY bad idea.


I believe in the touch of the muse, and that she will touch you when you have reached the right point to accept her gift.


I believe in BALANCE in all things.


I believe that the elements are key to that balance, that fire, water, earth, and air exist in all of us, and balancing that will result in satori.


I believe that each element manifests itself in varying degrees in an individual.


I believe that learning to quiet your mind to listen - REALLY LISTEN - to nature is far more important that learning rote prayers or rituals.


I believe I'll have a drink (just checking to see if you're listening :D)


I believe that the rote religions, however, do have their place in this world for those who are not as far along in their spiritual development....but the role of the church has been skewed by the human need to control and dominate their fellow man.


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You will note, that not anywhere in my beliefs is there a sense or a description of beginning.  This is where Religion and Spirituality differ the most.  Religion is concerned with creation, an origin story, an answer to the eternal question of: "why are we here?"


Truth be told, it doesn't matter.  We are.  Right here, and right now.  We are.  We exist. We live, we breathe, we make waves through the ether.  It's the journey we're on that's important, NOT the road already traveled, not the destination.  It's the journey that's fundamental.

Reminiscences

A long time ago...in a galaxy far, far away - no, that isn't right....

As far back as the early 80's, I considered myself a writer...now, those first, opening offerings I liken to an infant taking their first steps...wobbly, unsure, stumbling and occasionally falling flat on backsides....and nothing I have access to currently (so even if I was so inclined to share, I just can't...you understand :D).

In the mid-to-late 80's, I was an adult.....legally and technically, but still had a lot of growing to do.  I was alone in every sense of the word.  I had just moved out of the house and into a Government program called Job Corps... different city, different state, and all by myself, thrown into a program geared for inner-city youth with little to no opportunities for growth or advancement.  I was 18, had come from a smallish town with a bare handful of minorities, and full of piss-n-vinegar, sure of myself and not needing anyone but myself (you remember how you were at 18?).

It was an awakening on a titanic scale, to be sure....to be tossed into this population of underprivileged not-quite-adult and not-children-anymore kids.  I found myself a minority.  I consider this to be my first awakening to the larger world around me.

But even back then, writing was my special way to deal with the thoughts and emotions of the day.  Back then, my creativity manifested itself primarily as poetry....it took a musical twist simply as a lark.

I did write two songs for/within Job Corps....as well as various poetry.  Here's some of what I do remember:
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Suicide

Late last night
I sat and cried
I wish I could have died
There's no more hope
for me its the rope
tonight I'm trying suicide.

(missing material - there were an additional 2 stanzas in the middle that I can't dredge up at this time)

The chair's legs slip
from under me
now is all tranquility
a hoarse scream rips
from my bloated lips
now, at long last, I am free.
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Without You
This is one of the 2 songs written, what you have here is only the chorus line, which repeated throughout the song.  There is a LOT of missing material in this one...hopefully in the weeks to come, as I continue to work on balancing the older, more mature me, I can safely revisit the angst-ridden teen I was and pull more of the words to this one. I would really like to recreate this song in its entirety....wish me luck.

Without you
The sun no longer shines on me
Without you
I cry in my pillow, and all the tears
remind....... me of you

I thought our love was meant to be
Oh why was I too blind to see
Life...............Without you.

_______________________________________

Friendship

This one is complete.

Friendship starts

in loving hearts

sometimes it falls 

breaks into parts

A true friend will be there

to pick up the pieces

they'll be there

whenever you need them

For true friendship 

doesn't need a cause

Because

there are no laws

to true friendship.

Resilience - A Better Day by Statobahn

Links are now up....listen here to A Better Day.

I received a wonderful gift this weekend....the gift of music.  Someone introduced me to a local Milwaukee band, and it was a pleasure to listen to a few of their songs.   One song in particular, touched me deeply.

The title of the song is called A Better Day.  Now, why does this piece strike such a mellow chord within me?

Part of it is the music, of course.  There are elements of new age, elements of hard 80's rock, and a hints of eastern flavor to the instrumental workings.

Part of it is the lead singer.  He's got a good voice....this is written within his range, and he sings this piece with feeling.  It's not easy to translate feelings through another media (I should know...I've pieces that move people to tears, and others that simply move them to boredom), but in this song, he did it.

The largest part of my attraction to this particular song is the story it tells.  It's poignant.  It speaks of loss, of change, of how painful the living process can be.  But it also speaks of resilience in the face of that change, of the refusal to give up, to continue to struggle and fight to LIVE.

The story is arranged in a way that makes sense.

Reminiscence -  the good times of the past, and the pain of their losses.

A touch of anger to the inexorable hand of progress....

And finally, the passion and dedication to rebuild, and to protect that rebuilt life.

I do hope that I'm given the OK to post that particular song here, as I think once you listen to it, you will agree.

Music Soothes the Savage Beast

I was relaxing last night, playing Dance, Dance, Revolution (ok - I did mention I'm a geek, right??), and it hit me....What a wonderful gift is music.  

And not just the lyrics sung along to the instruments, but the music, itself.  Waves of harmony, resonating through the air, to vibrate them three tiny bones in the ear.  It's a delicate system, such a small collusion of things, to bring sound to the brain.  What a marvel.  

Add a voice, wavering in, above, below, and in time with the instrumental accompaniment, and you can achieve distilled joy, bliss, anger, sorrow, or any emotion in between.

Granted, not all music is good music.  There is some commercially produced crap out there that was simply written, played, and recorded with only the mechanics of money in mind, and you can always tell which fall into this category.

But the music written with feeling - THAT comes through loud and clear, and I revel in it.

Prison of the Mind

Now, keep in mind that this is an old work - about a decade or so ago.... but I find this super-short story just as moving today as I did when I wrote it.... Enjoy.

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I pound against the rainbow hued glass walls of my prison beyond the point of pain, slamming my fists against the unyielding surface until even my arms grow numb. I scream and beg and plead for mercy until I am too hoarse to send even a whisper up the funnel shaped ceiling. A torrent of tears flood from my eyes as I curl up on the bowl shaped floor. I cry myself to sleep, exhausted both physically and mentally.

I awake oddly refreshed, and suppress the wave of insanity that demands I continue the cycle, pounding, screaming and crying until I am no longer me, but some shapeless mass of cringing emotions and nerves ready to be shaped by the malevolent presence that would free me.

No. Not free me. Freedom is now beyond my grasp, forever lost to me. Unless. . . .

I MUST ESCAPE!!!

I throw myself bodily against my prison wall, beginning the cycle anew. My mind splinters into fragments of feelings. Rage, pain, terror, panic all compete with my rational being for the ultimate control. Control. What a tremendous joke. I have no control left. That, too, was stolen from me by my captor.

I feel my hands. The pain gains control of the shattered fragments of my mind. I focus on nothing but the red hue of my pain. It is a living thing, sucking my soul, this pain. A dry croak rips from my throat, demanding attention. Water. I must have water.

I stop pounding for a second, feeling this sensation of having a dry throat. This feeling, too, seems to be a living thing, capturing my attention. Without pause, there is a glass in my hand. I can feel the moisture of condensation on the outside of the glass; it feels cool and soothing on my sore skin. The water feels good against my dry lips, my raw throat. The glass is empty, and I hurl it against the wall. The glass shatters against the prison wall, the shards spreading against the unyielding collage of colors like water across tile. Before they hit the floor, they are gone.

It felt good, that bit of control. The act of violence snaps the fragments of my mind to a whole. Yes. For a while, I am free of the madness that stretches its fingers towards me. I can think, I can remember. I remember why I am here.

An innocent day. An ancient bottle, stuck on the top shelf of an equally ancient shop, in a tumbledown shack of a curio shop in India. The beautiful swirl of colors glinting in the dusty sunlight. My longing to have the antique in my hands. The wide, blackened teeth smile of the wizened shopkeeper as he takes it from the shelf.  The old glass stopper, made of the same myriad color glass, flaring out from the neck of the bottle then tapering to a delicate point. Tight, the stopper, hard to remove. Inside the bottle the scrap of ancient parchment. Giddy with curiosity, translating the words. Blackness and light. Here.

A fire ignites behind my eyes as the rage builds. Remember the words! Those words trapped me here, those words changed my world, and those words changed my being. Those words so violated me, those hateful words. I need to remember them, to scream them out!

I feel the need to splatter myself against the walls of glass to end this existence, but I cannot. I traded my freedom for the dream, the unreal. With those spoken words I imprisoned myself.

I am the genie in the bottle.