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Lunar ToonersJuly 17, 2008
I'm riding the Full Moon as I write. Cancer Sun/Capricorn Moon.
Pre-eclipsia. The magma boils. Life and death grind like tectonic
plates. August will be august. Generally right now the personal planets
are on one side of the Zodiac; the transpersonals are on the other
side, opposed. Is there big shit/shift going on in your life at the
macro and micro stories? Yikes.
I'm finding another layer of corporate collusion that makes life all
that tougher if you fall over the edge. It's called ChexSystems. The
Bank of America sliced and diced me. My account is upside down. Most of
it of course is their huge fees, etc. Now they state that I'll no
longer be able to open a checking account anywhere if I don't pay up.
In my crash and burn, I've watched any credit burn; and now it looks
like even my ability to play in the world like regular citizens will be
removed. Bad dog.
For years now they have been reinstating debtor's prison. ChexSystems
is just another form of diaphanous debtor's prison. Do you see the
insidiousness? You don't know it's there until the bottom falls out,
like the Boris Becker ad I kept seeing during Wimbledon. Bottoms are
not up, if ya know what I mean....
I find it hard not to overwhelm at times. There's just way too many
slippery slopes each direction in life. We're down to the software,
scraping at the bottom line of the code. I just happen to be down at
the somatic edge because of direct intentional shedding. I was not
prepared, upon choosing to hang in here, how much more difficult it is
if you don't hover in the comfy zone. That comfy zone is no longer
present for the majority of people. The hovering may become hoovering
any day now. Ask your friends, or maybe it's obvious, or maybe, as I
hear from many people, you've been sliding right through the cracks,
too.
Oy.
There's just no percentage in it for me to build back up to just enough
of a pinata again for the suckers to beat the shit and my money out of
me. I'm not a born capitalist. I don't like the equation of it frankly.
I'm no commie either; more ashramic by karma. It works, like an on
going potluck, based on play rather than lack attacks. Falling down the
rungs is wrong in this world. I think it's stupid. I'm old enough,
stupid and foolish enough, and care enough not to re-enslave myself for
chrissakes, but it hurts. Crikey!
Who knows what will play out. A roll of the dicey. Take care of your
dear and precious selves.
Here's an example of
background shift with huge implications.
East and West meet in two years, including a major gas line connection
with China. Natural splits, and all the stories that they hold, are
spilling their contents eruptively. Every stitch of tribalness, or what
wasness, is being pulverized.
There's no way to track all of this except by symptoms, and those have
lag times. Dubai might become the center of the world in a Starwarian
looking way. Kansas died years ago. So has Oz. Europe sort of looks
like a ship in a bottle. The USA is meant to be a mental leper colony
of transfascistic happy mealymouthedness. Google is the newest
sovereign directatorship of I don't know what's happening but it must
be good for me.......................
The fan has hit the shit. Unmoored lessfully. Devo.
I'm looking to find sanctuary, or permanently be a bag laddie
underground wayfarer dude. The trouble is, I'm so underground, the next
stop is a grave concern. It's hard to unill in this regime. The smoke
has subsided after nearly a month of noxicity here in NoCal. It
restirred the cancerliness, another razoring edge. You likely have some
similar stories of slippage on your slopeage.
Here's a
shit happens; twas on my bday.
Goofy stuff.....
Here's a lovely and great artist, family man of 44 and all that,
Esbjorn Svensson.
He died in a scuba diving accident in the waters off Stockholm the
other day.
The Sichuan quake in China occurred 88 days before the 8 pm 8/8/08
start of the Beijing Olympics. August has sooo many layers of oddity
and shock to it. Reality TV - Surreality Daily Living. We live in
interesting times...
The
Serenity Prayer is up for further attention. This surfaces every
once in awhile. I notice cuz Reinhold Niebuhr is my cuz, sort of. His
mama and my grandpa's mama were sisters. He'd come play on my maternal
grandpa's childhood farm.
In honor of George Carlin's passing, I came up with a new serenity
prayer, perhaps for Al Sleet, the hippie dippie weather man.
John Phillip Law died a bit ago.
He was amazing looking in
Barbarella, which is being remade. As for
amazing looking, Jane Fonda out did Bardot in this oddest of films.
Sexy and weird. Pretty amazing for 1968. If you'd like some
distraction, check it out.
I've been wanting to mention this fellow,
Daniel Tammet, for some time.
He really pushes beyond the envelopes. So many more people like this
will be revealed. It is very painful to have all our walls broken down,
but to see what is opening up can be inspiring. Savants and autistic
folks are coming out of the their boxes. I'll write more in due time.
As these intense years of grinding continue, it's easy to lose sight of
what is being revealed. Hope is a lousy model. I see it as already here
when I hear of these things, and that's nice, as we say. We all feel
off track, because we are; no more tracks. Our little engines that
could, can't..... for lack of way. Yet, we are discovering that we are
in new conveyances that can't be described yet. We may not know the
brake from the accelerator. We're changing vehicles at many levels
while in mid torrent stream.
In honor of the fullness of our dear Moon. Here's some tasty Lunar
Tunes out of my library you may enjoy:
Being Sun Sign Cancer, I of course change moods for Moon favorites. I'm
en-tidaled. I about wore out Moondance years ago. It's the tops, but
toppled by over play. Jack Bruce's Rope Ladder to the Moon is very
unusual, on the edge of odd. I like it. Spanish Moon by Little Feat is
my fave right now. I saw them perform at their peak. They were the real
deal. Walking on the Moon is ever so bouncy. That Sting has some
energy. I was fortunate to see the Neville Brothers perform Yellow
Moon. Superb. Can't say enough about those guys. They are pillars of
American music. Aaron could warble the clitoris off a woman at twenty
paces. Music is so rich.......
Thank you, thank you, thank you to all musicians and those that support
them! I'd a been dead a lonnnnnggggg time ago without music. Without it
there wouldn't have been nearly so much joy, grace and flow. Praise be!
If the anxiety is getting to ya, spin some tunes, your faves, just the
way you like it. I'll drift in on the wings of Barry White and whisper
in your ear: hushabye hushabye.
Peace and tiny bubbles......
Mark Herbert Krueger
It's my birthday today. It's also the tenth anniversary of a very
invocative experience of mine, one that I thought it'd be timely to
share with you. This'll be the first I've ever written of it here or
anywhere. Let's see what Pans out....
'Twas the summer of 1998. I decided to take a personal bday retreat to
the Teton mountains in ID/WY. I hadn't been there since 1971. A road
trip from Portland, OR was just what the Director ordered, if ya know
what I mean.
Before embarkation, the day before, I'd arranged a quick jaunt to
Seattle for the purpose of a meeting with an editor. Our purpose:
invoking the clearing of the archetype of the Artist, so that artists
could keep their ears and profits, be seen and supported, while
alive.... what a concept.
I was deep in the work of the spiritual teacher Leslie Temple Thurston.
She teaches a method of clearing
archetypal suffering, amongst other things. A friend from Vancouver, BC
was likewise interested in popping this Artist dilemma. It takes two to
untangle....
We rendezvoused half way, in the Seattle botanical gardens. Lovely
place. We got right to the business at hand, invoked said clearing of
said troublesome archetype, voila. Finding an out of the way corner of
the grounds, we reposed for picnic lunch.
.....now the day before, my dear girlfriend gave me a gift that she
thought would be useful for my Tetonic trip. We'd been on a Leslie
retreat in Santa Fe, NM some months earlier. On the Plaza, I had spied
a lovely artifact. I don't shop nor buy, but this caught my (third)
eye. The artisan was an Apache shaman. The objet d'art was a carved
fluorite bear; roughly hewn on one side, the other was faceted, like a
circuit board from outer space. My sweetheart went back after we left
to purchase it and so that she could give it to me on my birthday,
something that would be happening while in the Tetons.
She went to sit with her clients in her treatment room out building. I
decided to meditate with my fluorite bear. As soon as I closed my eyes,
my energy field blazed to a radius of a quarter mile. I roared thataway
for an hour until the clients had left. When I stood up and hugged
Milady, I saw that there were twelve pheasants on her out building
roof. She'd lived there twenty years, saw an occasional pheasant, never
saw any on a roof, let alone a dozen.
I joined with her for her noon walk through the country. The year
before she had introduced me to the plant Devas. Turned out we were the
oldest of pals, just hadn't formally met. Now on our walk through the
same woods, a bunny came hopping along and peacefully walked on top of
my shoes. That hadn't happened before. Several times in my twenties,
I'd have a day or two when birds and squirrels wouldn't get out of my
way. I'd have to walk over them. Bunnies on the toes was another
thing....
So, twenty four hours after the fluorite ursa the bear animalia pop,
back at the Seattle botanical gardens ranch, we began eating lunch. A
squirrel came by and I gave it some cookie. I don't usually share
cookie with anyone. The little fuzzybutt came closer and was then
eating out of my hand. For the last bits, he held my finger and I could
feel the heat and pulse of his blood, the sharpness of his claws. That
had never happened before. Critters like me, but this was wonderful
strange.
My friend the editor had a lovely technique whereby you could meditate
with a manuscript, and it would tell you what it was to become. I had
the rudiments of a book I thought I would write about what the plant
Devas were telling me. Example: While meditating at a Leslie event, I
felt great compassion for all the cut flowers that were upfront.
Gladiolus said to me: "We were cut from our root, to bring beauty
within."
Ah Ha!
So, in the company of my friend, I commenced to hold my two page
manuscript while meditating. Immediately, I realized why I'd come here.
A voice came through me for just several phrases. It was clear as a
bell; not my voice; I never channeled any voice before or since.
It was Pan. He said: When the Patriarchy came over the top of the
Matriarchy thousands of years ago, the Priestesses put a curse on Pan.
They cursed him into the devil matrix. They cursed the masculine out of
nature. (Mother Nature/Devil with horns and cloven hooves and such.)
The reason I was going to the Tetons tomorrow was to clear the curse on
Pan.
Okay. I could roll with that. It made inherent sense. I had known that
Pan was a guide of mine. That's why I'd had so much contact with
nature, even preternatural a bit, throughout my life. I was one to
invocate very clearly.
Sooo, hi ho hi ho it's off to the Tetons I go. One motel stay each way.
Beautiful drive. I lived in Idaho for some years. The Tetons are top
drawer. Yummy. The whole way over, the clouds kept forming in the shape
of the
Hathors. I
didn't know if I was going to the ID or the WY side. I was on full
guidance.
As I crossed the head waters of the Snake river, I saw four cranes
flying in formation and landing together in the water. I thought they
were Whooping Cranes. They sure looked like them. For some years I
thought they were; then I thought they were Sandhill Cranes, then back
again. Whoopers are extremely rare, like a few hundred on the planet.
They're usually over in the mid section of the continent, but I once
saw reference to a colony of them over towards the Rockies. They sure
were marked like Whoopers. Either way, I recognized them as an omen
indeed.
I drove up and over the divide to Jackson Hole in WY. It was not that
side that I was to go. I high tailed it back over the pass and drove
north in ID until I recognized a place to turn toward the Grand Teton
range on its western slope, all new territory for me. 'Twas later
afternoon. I got my gear on and packed in, totally out of shape,
needing to make camp before dark.
After set up, it was right away dark. I proceeded to have the worst
sleep of my life, way beyond first night on the trail stuff. Strangely
I awoke at noon. That's totally bizarre for camping, let alone your
first night. I'm to go and clear the curse on Pan and I'm to be guided,
that's all I know.
I'm up about eight thousand feet, it's all snow fields it turns out.
Immediately my boots are soaked as I break through the crust over and
over again. Suddenly I'm guided to baptize the fluorite bear in snow
and invoke the clearing of the curse on Pan and invoke the
reestablishment of the masculine in nature.
There's a distant peak that I'm to hike toward, but I must first cross
a major stream. The only bridge on the map is a long ways away. Sure
enough: one fallen tree; the only one, the only way across. I now
trudge up slope as the last of a couple of day hikers leave the area. I
was to be alone, with no one around for many miles.
I stopped at a creek glade, baptized the bear in water and invoked the
clearing. Then there was a large boulder with a font like bowl shaped
top, ready for a baptism of sunlight for the bear and invoking. I
gathered willow leaves and carried on.
Up on a ridge, I began a long haul across large rocks, ankle breakers.
If I was disabled out there, I'd have perished of exposure; bloody cold
at night and no one likely to come by; I just had a light jacket and
fanny pack. I was all in on this one.
Realizing that I was not to make it to the mountain peak, I stopped for
the last invocation. I made a Star of David of the willow leaves and
placed the bear in it while invoking. Done, and on my way.
Back through the nasty cobbles the size of heads, then across the snow
field. All tracks had melted. No direction home. Guided on, I finally
find the way off the ridge, down another snow field with melted tracks
and now have to find the bridge across before it goes totally dark. I
have no torch.
By Jove, and then some, I did find the bridge and my camp. I knew I was
done. My bday trip was over. The hiking in extremis had turned my legs
to noodles. I slept the best sleep of my life. Upon awakening, I new
I'd break camp, but resisted cuz the mosquitoes were totally hideous. I
was in a vast mountain meadow near a grove of aspen. No one around for
miles.
As I razed the tent, I thought: how can the animals stand it out here
with the mosquitoes? The next instant I heard a sound. It was a
gorgeous she moose, fifty feet from me. I never heard or felt her
approach....
Adrenalin twanged, but we merged our gazes in a lovely transmission.
Then she very slowly walked by me, with in ten feet, and as she passed,
she revealed her hindquarters solid black with mosquitoes.....
As she melted into the forest, I finished packing, drove to an amazing
hamburger joint in the middle of nowhere and had the best burger of
life. As I drove over the head waters of the Snake, off in the
distance, was a quartet of cranes flying off into the distant......
The next morning on the road was my actual birthday. I sat in a Denny's
and began sobbing as I felt all the people loving me on my bday. That
had never happened before neither.
I can drive, practically born on Route 66. My solar return, when the
Sun returns to exactly where it was when you were born, was happening
late that afternoon and I realized that I was to be on the side of Mt.
Hood by that moment. Some how the traffic waters parted. I parked the
car up by the Lodge and hiked out in time to meditate on another turn
on the Wheel. Voyage accomplished.
As to the consequences of such invocation, who's to say........ May the
patriarchy melt into kindness and fertility, as Father Nature. May
little boys pick up sticks to plant, rather than gunning to kill. May
the Priestesses rest and play.......
Mark Herbert Krueger
I have Schwetty balls. 'Tis a hundred degrees here in the foothills of
the Sierra. For three weeks, the air has brimstoned with smoke from
California wildfires. The official air quality sensors keep clogging.
It's chunky, and then some.
Imagine how baseline our sense of smell with fire is, sociologically
and physiologically. Breathing air you can see, for weeks at a time,
grinds the somatic wiring at the deep bottom of brainpan of fear, as
well as taxing the immune system directly.
The low biometric pressure of intense storms, tornadoes and especially
hurricanes, triggers similar adrenal dumps to deal with the impending
perils. Fright and flight. But if ya don't flight, up goes the fright.
Like life in impoverished, oppressed hoods.... or commuting..... or
making a literal, sheer living in this mad melting mayhem of an
economy........ This grinding stress, double binds incarnate, takes its
toll.
Most people are having lots 'o wildfires in their lives. No way out.
The fright crystallizes into that sinking feeling that can only be
called depression. Recession is just political shinola. I lived through
way too much recession in rustbelt Michigan through the '70s and
beyond. It's depression....... depression where people really live. You
feel like you never can get ahead, because you can't. You get behind, a
big smelly behind. People are being left behind in the rust....... and
rust never sleeps.
The social demographic at the bottom of the pyramid scheme has widened
and deepened into a kind of crush force. Half a year ago, I had a life,
including the tools of American life. That's gone now. I personally
know a number of people who are in mid stream with such dismantlement.
I have nothing with which to put together life in America, including no
money. I've had no income for the last month, and that's after months
of being upside down and begging. Costs of life march on, I fall
behind....... except there is no behind, no backup. Don't you know a
number of folks who are in such straits or are near the edge?
This huge sense of Not Enough is what is welling up in society and in
the psyche. It's what drives the economy from the underbelly. Shop...
'til you drop. For years, house sizes have gone up exponentially in
comparison to incomes. More's law. More than enough leads right back to
not enough, on the Wheel.
I'm homeless and carless. Thanks to dear friends, I get by. I don't
like feeling dependent. The situation is interdependent actually, but
the feeling of lost independence is intense. That seems to be another
theme that we are frying through. We've been corporated to bits, every
consumer for their self. Real community is sparse in wide swaths of
Americana. Families are often split asunder for a variety of reasons.
Even now, millions of family members are not seeing each other because
it has become too expensive to cross this great land to see the fam on
the other edge of the continent. That hurts. That wasn't in the plan.
The plan is melting. We're seeing more division and less
multiplication. The calculus is cruel.
I have no idea what comes next for me. I feel completely failed in this
world. That's another one of those feelings in full fry. My means
aren't meeting my or the world's ends. It's like existence itself is
sputtering. Does it feel that way in your life?
As of today, the planets have come out of the Grand Cross effects of
having all four of the Mutable Signs occupied. With Pluto churnin' and
burnin' in Sagittarius for some months, the cook will continue, but at
least the sense of being trapped can ease. In the case of California,
it may burn all through the rest of this year. The Golden State is a
poster child for environmental everything. I do hope other places
experience some relief from this boxed reset that we've all been going
through.
Another effect of the smoke, is that you can't escape it. I don't know
how long I can tolerate the drag. Inescapability seems to be
everywhere. As fascist endeavors cut into our civil rights and
freedoms, the sense mounts that you can't escape, you can't breathe
fully, naturally. The noose tightens, just like the economy. Hanging in
there might be a problem...... Wouldn't we all like some breaths of
fresh air in our lives? some good news rather than bad noose.
Some precious places are under real threat even if the fires subside.
Esalen, on the Big Sur coast, a
place as fine as any on Earth, is saved, but they are under extreme
financial duress because of loss of business. Likewise with
Tassajara en Mountain Center. It has
plenty of water to fight the fire, but will be challenged by fighting
economic fires. These places live on a kind of edge and depend on their
summer retreat business like Macys at Xmas. Blessed be to both those
dear places. In the words of one of the great Zen poets:
#^#^#^#^#^#^#^#^#^#
Here's a book I enjoyed thoroughly:
Made in California Art, Image, and Identity, 1900-2000.
What a state and what creativity. Here's a couple of visuals from said
tome for ya.
This Dennis Hopper photograph (he's a talented dude) entitled
Double Standard holds the past and the future. LA still feels
the same except that........
The Standard is burning...
The greatest country in the world blah blah blah....... sails into its
mighty future...
It's a
Magritte life after all....
`=`=`=`=`=`=`=`=`=`=`=`=
I'm a bit sixes and sevens what with this malaire, so I shall speak in
tidbits.
Here's a rather hopeless fact. The Chinese have banned bicycles in
Shanghai. Doesn't bode well for the price of petrol or the quality of
air. Maybe some day London will ban cars. What goes around, comes
around, opposite.
The insanely nasty Columbian drug lord,
Griselda Blanco, who was released from
prison June 6, 2004, which numerologically speaking is 6/6/6, sure
looks like a fine candidate for the evil one, if you like to speculate
on such sillinesses.
Last week I saw that Armageddon will play out in Pakistan. By the way,
I don't believe these sorts of seeings. I just say what I see.
B.B. King, the great blues performer spoke of being booed while playing
in front of a black audience in the Sixties. If ya hadn't noticed, most
blues audiences are white. I'd never heard this phenomenon explained.
B.B. said that for black folks to listen to the blues... "It's like
being black twice." I thought that was real wise.
Karma is just repeating sets of story patterns. I'm an advocate for
clearing one's identification in one's stories so that the patterns
melt (and you can play). Let 'em be, so you can be. Transcend over them
and they stink to high heaven. I've always seen karmic patterns and the
being that is wrapped in their suffering loops.
Bob Dylan was famously booed when he went electric at the Newport Folk
Festival in 1965. Pete Seeger wanted to literally pull the plug on his
performance because he was rocking the folk rather than folking them. I
just got the precedent of the pattern in Scorcese's No Direction Home.
When Bobby was in high school, during a talent show or some such, he
performed a Little Richard tune. In mid song, sure enough, the
Principal pulled the curtain. I'm glad that Bob says to hell with the
Principal and instead plays with Interest. We all Prophet by it.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
We just witnessed the Spanish Exquisition. Spain won the Euro 2008
football championship and Rafael Nadal, the Majorcan wunderkind, won
Wimbledon lawn tennis. It'd been decades since such had occurred. The
quality of play at the All England club was pure Exquistion. Next year
they'll have a stadium roof, so for old tyme's sake, it had to rain
several times. The match ended in darkness; they couldn't see the ball.
Rather iconic of our times I thought......
I'm a total tennis fan. How exquisite to watch Roger Federer and Rafa
play the longest and finest Wimbledon men's final in a century plus!
That day, Mars and Saturn were close together in Virgo, the Sign of
perfection. As they played, the Moon moved in between Mars and Saturn.
Just minutes before the Spaniard won, the Moon moved over and beyond
Saturn. Game, set and matchless......
Virgo also carries great worry, the fretting that carves perfection.
Each of these players is remarkably able to transcend the usual
worries, the head game, that is the bugaboo of all sports. They abide
their humanity in quite an exalted way while remaining gracious, humble
and authentic. Nadal is very obsessive/compulsive with his routines. He
never varies. Even after he won and was readying to pick up the trophy,
he aligned his two water bottles just so as he always does during
changeovers.
Fed is the picture of elegance. Anna Wintour, the devil who wears
prada, is a fan of and partner in his sartorial grace. I call him
Rajah. He is royal beyond Swissness. When he plays, you never hear his
feet. They may not touch the ground....
Here's a title: The Spanish Flew, the Swiss watched. Federer's timing
was off. He cowed ever so slightly at the end. What could he do with
the Majorcan Maestro? It was the slow torture of the Spanish Exquisiton
that defeated the jeweled bearings of Rajah. He tocked when he should
have been ticked.
Bjorn Borg was courtside to watch Fed break his record of five straight
Wimbledons. Instead, he watched Rafa become the first man since Borg in
1980 to take the French Open and Wimbledon in the same year. That's
some fine history in the balance. Tennis will be all the better for it.
In February, I was in Indian Wells at the Pacific Life Open tennis
tournament, as a fan, and also seeking a journalist tennis credential
(no luck). I stood next to the court as Rafa and Rajah each practiced.
Nadal is the real deal, fully human, vivacious. Fed is more Swissian,
along with his royal bearing. I like both of them very much. They are
actually admirable, a word I would seldom use for anyone.
I was a tennis player in my youth. I feel everything they do. I'm
astonished at how they do it. Gravity is defied. Their being is what
fascinates me, just like Tiger Woods. Being trumps talent, but these
guys abound in talent, too. Oy! Federer hasn't won anything really for
this entire year. It looks like failure, but isn't. That's some grace!
He had mono late last year and into this one. The guy never gets
injured because of the elegance of his game, his preternatural
mechanics of flow. So, an ill took him down, as stealthy as his feet.
When courtside with him, I yelled: "How are you feeling Roger?" There
was a nano moment when he and the folks around us were shocked that I
would say something to him directly. Without hesitation he replied:
"Perfect".
It was a brittle reply. I knew he wasn't all perfect by his voice. It
did reveal that perfection is the archetype that he carries. This is
the year that perfect is perfectly imperfect. He can pull that off. It
doesn't matter if he goes winless or not. His bearing is jewel perfect,
his timing is impeccable. I love to watch him unfold...
In his younger years, Fed had a bad temper. That force got tempered
into his perfection. Ironically, I suspect that to go to the next
level, a destiny with history rather than opponents, he'll have to get
mad again. I suspect, and hope, that the next day, he was pissssssed.
Pete Sampras had the amazing burn of the loss by cancer of his dear
coach. This year and the last two majors will be the burn for Rajah to
take his game to a level beyond perfection. He'll win, gritty, beyond
even the elegance.
I'd love to advise Roger a wee bit. He's done much of his winning
without a coach, or with a marginal relationship with one. That's very
unusual. I wouldn't be coaching his game. I'd like to be an advocate
for the fullness of his being and how that impacts his manifestation.
He's beyond coaching and clearly keeps his own counsel. Whether he ever
wins again or not, and ya never know, will depend less and less on
tennis, just as the end game of winning is beyond the mechanics.
Perfection has it's own ennui. Some players chronically get behind to
make it interesting. Rajah must be bored at some deep level. This year
will give him the fodder to go beyond. That will be something special
indeed. He'll get out of his own way. This kind of diamond requires
extraordinary pressure to be clear, to cut through everything, to hold
and enhance the light.
I'd be speaking to Fed more cryptically about his South African
origins. His dad is Swiss; his mom is South African. I'd encourage him
to don his Cape, his fynbos of perfect flowering. Roger plays with
angular precision, like a mandala. That is fulfilled, which is why
people speak of him being the best of all time, even though that is yet
fully proven. Now he digs deep for his Mandela, his destiny to be
great, to be Inspiration.
He's 23 carat; there's one more on the stick...... Only trial by fire
begets the finest gold. Hard work and will won't win the Dei. He's
nailed to the crucible. His Time will come. In tennis, the game begins
at love. For Rajah, the game will also end with love. He never
loses........ his self.
><><><><><><><><><><><
I turn 56 on the 14th. I'll be satisfied that this last year has
dissolved. It's been a total uncorker. I lost everything, but realized
my own being, to the bone and beyond. There's nothing for me to do and
there's nothing for me to undo. I do as I choose and that's the fun.
The rest all comes and goes, restlessly, like it always does. I don't
come and go. By body, energy, life and stories sure do come and go.
It's more of a dumb Mystery every day.
I don't like it when I hurt. It hurts to be on the razor's edge of my
mundane life. We always are, but we sure are getting a close look at
it, ay? I wouldn't be alive right now without the kindness of you, dear
hearts. Thank you. Kindness, laughter and peace are my favorite things.
That I enjoy abundantly. I also enjoy being here with you. Thanks for
being with me.
Yours foolily,
Let's keep freeing.
Let's include the myriad species, the humiliated and ignored.
Freeing is a choice; it fosters choice.
In control/out of control are not freeing.
Being is choiceful.
<^><^><^><^><^>
The opportunity of these heavily polarized times is to come out of the
buynocular trance. Tweedledumbortweedledisease divides and dully
conquers. We live in the Binary Islands, dreaming of the One Land, that
never comes, but holds Promise and Eternal Strif(v)e. Unnumber your
daze, I say. Trinity endlessly chases Neo. In Get, we tryst. Mores the
lessor for it. Dual at high swoon.... Realize your own being and you
don't have to follow the laws of the lettor, within reason without
treason.
Third partiness will play a significant role in this election. Girls
are better at doing the splits. Candidates will not make it to various
finish lines. Sue prize! De party on, Goth. Onward christened soldiers,
marching crass to war, with double cross of Jesus, going on to whore.
End Times always include Odd Times. We're really getting the Odds with
the Ends, ain't wheeeeeeeee!
Journalism has become kernelism. All fibber, no fiber; nuggets with no
newstrition, refined carbohatreds; informaceuticals selling ills for
goodness sake, sponsoring sate terrorism. I'm afraid I'm not hungry
enough........... Give me less for more.........
When all the fine print is big and readable and the marketing is the
size of ant billboards, you'll know it's the New Age.
A Texas grand jury refused to indict some old bugger who shot his
neighbor's robbers in the back as they fled, boom/dead. Concealed
weaponness is also being dismantled. They'll be packing heat loud and
proud, shooting the evil doers, cuz they can........
Maybe W'll run for TX guvenator so he can keep his finger on the
trigger of that elected chair. TGIF = Thank god it's Fryday! Laura will
be state Liebrarian, making sure death row is booked. Marshall "Law and
Disorder" Cheney shall ride shotgun, lawyers beware. It's the Last
Groundup, Gougos! Oily to bedfellows, oily to bribes, makes the Man,
stealthy wealthy and wide..... until the Last Groundup. Distant
karma's gonna get ya......
...for better than for worse:
Evil doin' Plum Creek Timber is selling key wilderness land in Montana
to the Nature Conservancy and associates. I've been around them parts
some. This is a lovely garden victory. The Bob Marshall and Swan Valley
are exquisite. Now they are linked so that the Griz and friends can
move about as they please. How bearable! Let's have more bearable in
these rather unbearable times.
:*:*:*:*:*:
Best band name I've heard in years: the
Dang It Bobbys.
Ever notice those odd people who insert disconnected smiles midstream
in conversation, usually while they're selling you something? Often,
they seem to come from high classness. What goes uppity, must look
down, I reckon. Since I was little I've been seeing through trances.
Who was that masked man...? I can tell ya. I host plenty of trances
myself; there's no escaping escaping, ay? But I see them, too. It's all
in the play. Let's play instead of beautoxing like numbies.
I'm a plant man and I celebrate Garden Power. Generally, I leave the
tilling to others and sooooo appreciate their art and soiltoil. There's
a wonderful
guerilla movement in London:
When I was in that fair city, I
loved to see the ubiquitous flower boxes with perfect posies. Plants
love growing there. Washington, DC is kept habitable by the way they
take fine care of the trees.
Here's one that really touched me:
The Healing Gardens of New York
Of several story lines, my fave is up East Harlem way, like 104th and
Madison. These splendid ex-junkie, black and latin ladies, New York's
finest in my opinion, revel in discovering the joys of gardening. With
pure zeal one of the dear hearts speaks of how the "strawberry is
growing for me." You can tell that these ladies did not have a lot
growing for them in their lives. Now, their lives our inner twined....
they grow in the light of their own being. Gardening is a motherfucker.
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