A Convergence Of Sound

This morning, early, the dawn was alive with a convergence of sound, from the ground to the sky, and from every other discernable direction.  It began with a whisper before the light had even settled in upon the land, but soon came with its full strength, a resounding chorus, just as the sun began to peek inquisitively over the eastern ridge.    

A woodpecker knocking on a tree kept a heartbeat like a solitary drummer on a single block of wood.  The Meadowlark joined in with its flutelike whistles.  Mourning doves and their low, sad, whoo-oo, hoo, hoo, hoo.  Robins calling cheerily, cheerily, cheer-up, cheer-up.  Finch, and their canary-like warble.  Quail even, with a loud ca-ca-cow, or ca-caah-co, and their clucking whit-whit.  Wrens with that distinctive bubbling chatter; the Sparrows chimed in with whistles and trills, and their sweet, high tseep’s.  They all contributed to the surreal, and the profound.  The Bluebird’s soft warble, it’s phew, and somewhat harsher chuck.  The Blackbird’s kseeee or ksheek.  The Western Tanager’s pit-err-ick, pit-err-ick, like the soft, illusory sound of a lone percussive woodwind.

All these creatures, conspiring together in a magnanimous and harmonious effort to teach the world to sing, to lead the way in song, and we were fittingly hypnotized.  You might say we were mesmerized, not only by the effort, but by the very nature of the melodious composition itself.  A Mormon Tabernacle Choir of feathered friends, a congregate of winged songsters in an outdoor aviary perched on risers at least a thousand rows deep into the trees. 

It was the sound of pleasant smiles on a million euphoric faces.    

Two geese flew by just overhead honking like geese will do, as if stuck in early morning traffic on the way to get their coffee.

Coyotes off in the distance barked in arousing recognition of the exceptional aural presentation, rare as the sun is bright.  They hooted, howled, yipped, and yapped, like puppies on a new mowed lawn.

The sweet sound of nature was joined unapologetically by the mechanical grinding of one solitary logging truck off in the distance winding its way slowly down the mountain; it’s motor somehow complimenting the arrangement, rather than diminishing it, like the rumbling of a kettledrum behind the clarinets, flutes, and strings.  Harmonizing, blending, as it were, the sacred with the profane.

Rise

Rise from the ashes.
Rise from the past, from broken lives and shattered dreams.
Rise from the unfairness of life, and the bitter disappointment.
Rise up and live.

Rise from the impediment of negative thinking, and the obscurity of defeat.
Rise from the trap of your encompassing dilemma, from the belief that you have been predestined to fail. Rise from unhappiness, from sorrow, from misery, and grief. Rise from the winter of your discontent, from the gloom of your remembrance, from the darkness of your depression, and the shadow of despair.

Rise from your distress, from the pain of consciousness, and the crippling shade of regret. Rise from the burden of a troubled past, and from the obstructive grip of bitterness and anger. Rise from the disease of envy, and the desperation of greed.

Rise from indulgence, from bad habits, and addiction. Rise from pedestrian effort, from sickness to health, from despondency to hope, from can’t to can, from won’t to will. Rise from anguish, and from the desolation of your spiritual void. Rise from the confinement of circumstance, and the entanglement of deceit.

Rise from your weakness, from moral compromise, and ethical concession. Rise from the relativity of shifting beliefs. Rise from the superficial to the genuine, to the very heart of the matter, from the mundane to the sublime, and from skepticism to the fullness of faith.

Rise to accountability, to honesty, to integrity, and to passion. Rise, as spring rises out of winter, or water from the sea to the sky. Rise like the sun reaches to the heavens with the breaking of the day, or Christ from the grave, or as the grace of God lifts a man from the encumbrance of his own sorrow.

But rise, as we each have been enabled.

Give Us Our Independence

From the entitlement conditioning that makes men weak,
Give us our Independence.
From the media that clouds our ability to think,
Give us our Independence.
From the consumption that feeds our bourgeoning greed,
Give us our Independence.
From hypocritical standards of the cultural elite,
Give us our Independence.

From social engineering that demands our compliance,
Give us our Independence.
From a welfare state that seeks our reliance,
Give us our Independence.
From political collusion that shuns our defiance,
Give us our Independence.
From the bogus claims of environmental science,
Give us our Independence.

From building our nation on the proverbial sand,
Give us our Independence.
From enslavement to the International plan,
Give us our Independence.
From engineering our own economic collapse
Give us our Independence.
From the folly of vain intellectual traps,
Give us our Independence.

From elections that corporate bandits can buy
Give us our Independence.
From the intrusion of government in our private lives,
Give us our Independence.
From political correctness, and truth adorned lies
Give us our Independence.
From two-faced politicians and their weak alibis,
Give us our god damned Independence.


‘Give us’ is merely poetic license for the sake of the poem. There is nobody we should be asking for our Independence back from. They did not give it to us in the first place. And they are not our friends. They are puppet masters.

Although I’m talking about the U.S., I’m also talking to you, my readers in Eastern and Western Europe, Central and South America, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Asia, Africa, India, Israel, and the rest of the Middle East; to take your own Independence in hand, as best you can, and in whatever way that you're able. Independence from corporate control, from opressive regimes, and from repressive religions.

Here, in the U.S., we must reclaim our Independence. We must do it ourselves, we must not relinquish any more of our freedom, and we must take back the freedoms we have already lost. We must do it individually, in our own lives, by the simple choices we make; and we must do it collectively with protests, boycotts, rejections of policies at the ballot box, and by refusing to be pushed around, spied on, taxed to the max, and herded like sheep in a field.

We must not be afraid of what our family, friends and neighbors may think. It is for them as well, even though they might not have the understanding to appreciate it until they wake up and realize that the government controls just about every aspect of their own lives.

Don’t confuse my admonition with the hypocrisy of the Occupy movement. I’m talking about fundamental individual life-change, something that each of us is capable of making. I’m talking about an awakening. I’m talking about looking at things differently, and participating in life differently than we do now. We have gone along to get along, and where has it gotten us?

Do not follow leaders who would not join with you. They do not respect you, and yet they demand respect from you. Respect must be earned. Respect those who respect you, and reject those who insult you.

Do this for yourselves, and for your children.

A Little Levity

Because of the acceleration of government control in our lives I was going to re-post my blog entitled "Everybody Feeling The Pressure", from April 22, 2009. It was posted two years ago, and describes and defines the state of affairs in our country today. It was a wake-up call that is all the more relevant today. Although I've decided not to re-post it here, I would encourage you to find it in my blog archive and re-read it.

It seems to me however, that with the supposed culture war on women, the continuing attacks both by, and on, religion, we could all use a little levity for a change. For that reason I have re-posted below, a blog from April 30, 2009, entitled, "I Saw The Virgin Mary In A Cracker". I hope you can enjoy it.

I Saw The Virgin Mary In A Cracker

It was not the first time I saw the Virgin Mary. But it was the first time I saw her in a cracker. I understand she’s been seen in Dorritos, tortillas, on toast, and even in a biscuit. Partial to snacks, I guess. I’m not going to say anything here about women and food. Maybe the Virgin Mary figures appearing in snacks is the best way to communicate with Americans. I understand that in England she appears in tea bags. She’s also been seen periodically on walls, and in trees. I can understand why she might be in a tree, but can’t quite figure why she’d want to appear on a wall, unless maybe to speak to graffiti artists, or spread-eagled crime suspects waiting to be frisked.

I think I remember seeing her in a video, but, oh wait, that was Madonna. Sorry. Easy to confuse them, y’know, with the veil and all. Similar names, unblemished reputations, and complexion.

The question I have is “Why would the Virgin Mary want to appear to anyone anyway?” It’s not like she’s wanting to be popular, or anything like that. If that were the case she could open a MySpace or FaceBook account like the rest of us. No, I think maybe she just likes the notoriety of popping up for a few minutes here and there, get people talking about miracles again, keep herself in the news just enough to not be forgotten, then she’s gone. You know, kinda like Michael Jackson.

Or maybe it’s not about her at all, maybe it’s really about getting people to remember that, even though she’s a virgin, she’s got a pretty cool son. Maybe she’s curious if anybody cares about him anymore, or even remembers him. You know how mothers are about their kids, always looking out for them.

And I understand he takes after his mother.
I remember reading that he showed up not too long ago
in a grilled cheese sandwich.

Yeah, like mother, like son.

Seeking William Wallace

William Wallace, where have you gone?
We could use a bit of your chutzpah right about now.

I watched the movie, ‘Braveheart’, last night. I had a particular interest in, and identification with, the film because I am of Scottish ancestry. If you haven’t seen the movie, or if you have seen it, but not for a very long time, I would encourage you to Netflix it again. It is, in my opinion, one of the best movies ever produced. It was nominated for ten Academy Awards, and won five, including Best Picture, Best Director, Cinematography, and Sound Editing.

But that doesn’t tell the whole story, by any means. Braveheart is not about Academy Awards; it is about courage. It is about freedom, and it is about an indomitable will, a will that will not allow tyrannical rule, in ones life, or in ones country; something we know very little about today. Now, whether the movie is entirely historically accurate, or not, is almost irrelevant. Very few movies are. But the point is that it is an inspirational look at the human spirit, a spirit which, when summoned to defend its inalienable right to be free, refuses to be conquered, to be subjugated to authority, or even controlled by ones own weakness. It is a triumph of substance over style, truth over shallow ideology, soul over the status quo, right over wrong, and courage over fear.

Our culture today presents us every opportunity to just go along to get along. We offer incentives and rewards for weakness, for personal compromise, and for behavior that tears down our very stature, rather than reinforcing it. It is the world we have created for ourselves, and it is the world we have come to willingly embrace.

Braveheart illuminated Scotland’s courageous stand against the tyrannical occupation by the British, but it also revealed the men’s commitment to the defense of the lives, and the honor, of their women. When their wives were seized, raped, and, in the case of William Wallace’s wife, ultimately killed by the British, it enflamed a furor within the men that was unmatched even by their commitment to defend their homeland.

In our present culture, however, we as men are reluctant even to stand between our own wives and the ravages of the world. Our women are being used and abused by the world on a daily basis, and yet we continue to send them out there to fight our battles for us. We permit the denigration, and subjugation, of women through the proliferation of images that portray them to be objects to be used only for sexual gratification, and the indulgence of ego. Unfortunately, many women, and girls, present themselves in the same, or in an even more, unfavorable light. And we let them. But the point here is that we as men no longer summon the valor to stand against this diminishing standard, or the courage to insist that it must change. We have become deathly afraid of being less than politically correct, and it has manifested itself in our culture to the uncompromising detriment of our women.

We, as a nation, are in the process of approving women for combat in the military. Need I say more? We are afraid to stand up to the powers, and the influences, that determine our course. We are afraid to stand up to our own wives and daughters as well. Are we going to continue to allow them not only to fight our battles for us, but to engage in the dangerous business of war as well? If so, what does that really say about us? We will have descended as a nation past the point of diminishing returns.
Our politicians have become cowards, our teachers and religious leaders are afraid to offend, and our standard bearers have vanished like a passing wind.

Men, give ‘Braveheart’ another viewing. Be inspired; embrace the capacity for courage within yourself, and the commitment to inspire that same courage within others. Make a commitment to be sober minded and clear thinking for, perhaps even, the first time in your life.

Where, I ask, is William Wallace?

Pain

Everybody has known pain, or will, of some kind or another, and at some time or another. Some have known physical pain, mental anguish, some emotional pain, or psychic trauma. And some have known it all. The pain of a body being broken or traumatized, diseased, or worn out; the pain of a lost love, splintered family, or a broken promise; the pain of shattered dreams, a broken spirit, or the loss of inspiration. Most of us have had loss. And loss is pain. If we have not, however, we will. It is inevitable, like the tide ebbs behind the flow.

My pain is not yours, nor yours mine, but we share the experience, nevertheless. It is part of what connects us as a human family. Maybe I cannot relate to your poverty, or to your wealth, your station in life, politics, religion, or lifestyle; but I can relate to your pain whether I know of it specifically or not. I can understand yours, not necessarily the circumstances, but the pain, and maybe even feel it, specifically because I’ve had my own. It is part of the way, and part of the reason, that people find healing. I can carry my own pain alone, and for a very long time if necessary. But when someone in my life, or a stranger even, shares even a small part of that pain, for no matter how brief of a moment, it can diminish its devastating impact in a very measurable way. We need each other like that.
We all do.

Pain might feel arbitrary, but it’s not. I may wonder why I have this kind of pain, and you have that kind. But I believe that our own particular pain chooses us for a purpose. I don’t know why I believe that, but I do. It is up to each of us to divine the intent of its presence in our lives. It is part of what will enable our learning, and our healing. We are sometimes able to come to a conclusion on our own, but, more often than not, it takes the company, the counsel, and the involvement of others.

Pain has a way of humbling us, and providing an opportunity for a deeper connection with the rest of the human race.
I hope you’re managing the worst of your own pain.
And, if not, I wish for you the comfort of others.

Give Me Dogs And Frisbees

I, like a hundred zillion other people watched the Super Bowl. Good game, I thought, although I didn’t really care who won.
But the halftime show? Well, it was Madonna: What would one expect besides the most pompous, self-aggrandizing, bloated tribute to self and excess that one could ever hope to produce.

And I just want to ask, “Is this really what our culture has become? Giving this kind of platform to this kind of person?
As I heard somebody say after enduring the torturous show, “PLEASE, GIVE ME DOGS AND FRISBEES.”
I cannot agree more.

In my humble opinion, how satisfying, and appropriate, was the very final second of the performance when Madonna flushed herself down the toilet, or whatever that apparatus was with the smoke and trap door. I don’t know about you, but I just wanted to stand up and cheer the symbolism of the moment. In any event, she was gone, disappearing suddenly, and hopefully for good.

Oh, and the Madonna and World peace display? Hey Madonna, how bout’ you start treating the people in, and around, your own life with a little dignity and respect, before you try to unite the rest of the world around your sleazy Kabbalah world peace act. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, getting people to love each other like you love others is more likely to lead to continued world conflict than it ever would to world peace.

Peace/Out

Vulture Peak

'Wilderness', the novel, is in the final stage of being readied for the Publisher, and should be submitted by the end of the week. It will be available soon for purchase. In the meantime, here's a small excerpt for your enjoyment.

Vulture Peak

It was a spring afternoon with soft light coming to rest on the hood of Tim’s truck, bathing his windshield in promise, and an unapologetic radiance, the kind you might be used to seeing in the early morning, or even later in the day as the light lingered. There was a calm, ethereal, glow as he moved through the naked landscape of the High Desert. It reminded him of something in a dream sequence from one of those low-key indie movies that were always winning the awards at Sundance.

Colors danced on sand canvas, cactus planted inadvertently, scattered, as if by the wind, across a vast landscape, rising like the hairs on the back of your neck would at the thought of being stranded there. Rocks lying about like treasure strewn across the ocean floor around an old shipwreck, other rocks reaching, spire-like, towards the sun, content in the knowledge of their own ancestry, and in their dominance of the landscape.

As Tim pulled into the dirt parking area for the Vulture Peak trail, he noticed Lindy under a scrub-pine tree off to the side of the trailhead. She was wearing khaki walking shorts, a soft terra cotta cotton blouse, and tan hiking boots with red laces. She was leaning forward, rear knee low to the ground, with her front knee pointing forward, stretching out her upper thigh, and lower back muscles, in a kind of scissors position. She completed the exercise, and then, standing upright, reached back to grab her foot, pulled it up to her butt, held it for a few moments to further stretch the thigh, released it back to the ground, and then did the same with the other foot. She finished up with toe-touches, bending from the waist, with palms lying flat on the top of her hiking boots.

Tim was feeling nothing short of inspired by her beauty, and the natural elegance with which she moved. She blended with the landscape like a sunrise on an eastern peak. He was delightfully lost in the enchanting apparition for a moment.
As she was rising back to the upright position, Lindy caught Tim’s eye, and waved him over. Actually, I think she caught him staring, but had the presence of mind to not let on, the grace to let him off the hook, so to speak. It was, somehow, very enabling for Tim, just to see her. He felt himself kind of excited now for the walk.

Still They Come

There was a full moon tonight. Still is actually. Lighting the sky, and the way of all after-hours travelers to the planet. Not that they couldn’t find us without the moon, but you know what I mean. The darkness would inhibit some, but encourage nocturnal visitors, to be sure. Same as it’s always been.

The earth has forever been a beacon for anonymous vagabonds, mysterious drifters, vagrants, beggars, tramps and hobos. Not to mention the nameless, faceless eccentrics, unusual, peculiar, bizarre, and just plain outrageous strangers traveling the myways, the buyways, and the high ways. Some come seeking to exploit earths meandering clans, some come with cash spilling from deep pockets in fancy sharkskin suits, and some come as pied pipers bearing medicine for the masses, intoxicants to pacify, and appease, the minds of the weak.

But you’ve got to love them. You’ve got to love them all. Some for the insistence of their own benevolence, even though the evidence shows otherwise, and some for their self-delusion. Some for their alacrity, and some for their lack of pretension. Some for their innocence, and some for their savvy manipulation of the system. Still, they come, like the annual migration of holiday shoppers to the great mall of America.

The full moon will continue to light the sky for them, and the way, every 30 days, for all who wish to visit earth, as it has now become the number one vacation destination.

My New Years Revolutions 2012

1. I will not take anything for granted.
If, in fact, I ever figure out exactly what that means.

2. I will let the future take care of itself. And if it doesn’t,
I will continue to live in the past until I’m confident that it will.

3. I will let bygones be bygones, since they already are anyway.

4. I will no longer hope for the best.
I will hope for the second best because that will leave some room for improvement.

5. I will leave politics to the politicians and curb my inclination to expose them. They are doing a pretty damn good job of exposing themselves.

6. I will speak only of what I know. What I don’t know can wait until I do.
Or until it just becomes readily apparent to everyone.

7. I will only think good thoughts. All of the other thoughts can be thought by more qualified thinkers than myself, whoever they are.

8. I will be grateful for what I have. And for what I don’t have.

9. I will only criticize the critical. Or those deserving of criticism. Or those who criticize those undeserving of criticism. Well, in any event, I’ll find somebody to criticize. And somebody not to criticize.

10. I will apologize to everyone I can think of this year, including myself.
That should make up for all the people who have never apologized to me, or to anyone else. For anything. Ever.

11. I will do my best to be guided by faith.
So if your faith contradicts my faith, I’ll have faith that your faith will eventually guide you to my faith, or mine to yours, so that we don’t have to disagree about faith anymore.

12. I will try to be more generous with my opinions. Which means that you might get even more sick of me in 2012 than you did in 2011.

And Have A Happy New Year.