..operation gold, not straw...

i forget who came up with this idea.. or where i heard it. but i woke up with the very ringing, singing , quietlytuggingatyoursleeve and at the back spot of your brain...this prayer,this mantra today... arT BoMB .... remember back at the beginning of the whole iraq/afghanistan debacle when the media was still trying to put this great, g.i.joe, American Might&Right against the Bad Guys spin on the whole affair... (are they still doing that? at one point, i simply had to stop listening...) while we were bombing the shit out of homes, schools, hospitals, & the like... day after day, relentlessly pelletting a people with our gunfire, our fear, our obscure & jingoistic notions of Justice & Honor.. our wrath, our Entitlement... our billion-dollar video games dropping bombs like hell from the sky... obliterating entire families, towns...and what's more a people's sense of hope & joy.... in one fell-swoop... we called it Operation Shock & Awe......(remember with me if you will)... and we were told that if we could just keep on'em.... assault them with a daily, torrential dose of good ole American-style justice, then surely, and quickly, the Victory was ours'.. (and yet here we stand...) but i wonder, somewhere in that thinking, there lay a kernel of truth.. single droplet of gold, spun in reverse-Rumpelstiltskin style... taking something lovely & spinning it back into a meaningless lump of hay.. well, let's begin to spin it back, i say.... (oh, won't you walk this way with me for a spell??)....... beginning today.. our own little operation shock & awe... or better yet *gOLd, not sTrAW!!!* still with me? for while that which is ugly, small, & hateful has a way of in-toxic-ating everything in its' wake.. soo those random acts of truth & beauty.. well, you see where i'm headed here... 30 days. release your art (in dance, in song, in word, in rhyme, in catterwheeling stand-up comic-ry, in beautiful noise, in flowers, in prose, in spontaneous hugs donated at will to those who could use 'em...) upon the world... unhook your line from the stream of commerce and go dangle the bait of your brilliant, creative self in the waters of commune-

ity for a time... Random Acts of Beauty.. as many as you can.. or as you choose.... Art Bomb your little local world... make a poem or a drawing & staple it to a telephone pole for all to enjoy, do cartwheels in your local town square, set up a booth by your local post office & offer free face-painting for kids of all ages on any given Tuesday, JUST BECAUSE. lay down your yoga mat in the parking lot of the nearby liquor store and offer handstand lessons to anyone who wants 'em. ... get OUT of your comfort zone. bring your faithful kazoo & perform your 6-minute one-woman show about the beauty of daffodils right by where you buy your morning coffee. Smile at people for no other fucking reason than that shit is Catching... and we need it so right now. Leave a bouquet of daisies, perched happily upon a random parked car,, or better yet... plant a stealth vegetable garden in a public space. .... let's do it. cuz the bad shit is overwhelming i know.. but so is the good... once it takes hold. ... if the concentrated efforts of a few shortsighted men can dismantle a world as it existed, so the consistent, open-hearted efforts of the artfully-inspired many... can re-write it.... turning these base metals of human experience once more.. into GO-LD.... write and tell me what you do! send me a pic. remind me once again that there are amazing people out there in the world, enchanting the sphere, each day.. hoo-ray. 30 DAYS. Let's go..........

splinters...

i was raised in the Bible Belt of California.... (and huh-hoh! lemme just say, for those who doubt the existence of such a place... we're a big ole state, capable of housing any manner of masses, viewpoints & counterpoints.. for better or worse.) ....... and much like the Autistic tends to think in Images.. so the Bible-reared soul (myself at least)has a tendency to engage the world in a stream of vaguely dogmatic, mytho-poetic verse....... one line that comes to mind,again & again... particularly in moments when i am attempting to initiate some change.. act as harbinger in my own daily life.. ( say, errr, daily blogging or taking up running..) a line begins to chime in my mind... "pick up your cross daily..." a token of advice to christ's followers stating, basically.. come on people... get on board. you say you want to live the spiritual life.. walk the spiritual path.. (substitute in here that of the artist, writer, yogi, painter, athlete, avid dog-walker... whatever you choose...) .... it's a daily deal, this life that you've chosen.. rain or shine, come hail or sleet, in sickness or health... you know the tune. ... it speaks to the notion that Love... is a form of action.. committed daily, in ways both big & small... that the world is slowly (but most surely) built in this fashion ... by the daily acts of devotion we take along the path.. as if you could build an altar in your mind's eye (or in your living room perhaps..) that greets you cloyingly each morning with a smile and a query: What have you done for me lately???? for love (or anything for that matter) without action is Dead. ... moot... a sample in a hallmark card... pointless.. inert... in order to live this life, i am reminded, one must inevitably get a little bit dirty... pick up the cross, although it most assuredly contains splinters and wreaks of pine.... strap on your boots, your pen, your ballet slippers - whatever be good for the walkin'.... and follow me... ...... cuz this little girl believing as she does that just the right amount of ART can surely save the WORLD... (most likely 'twere the gospel tale to be re-written by moi, the good lord would prob'ly come down from heaven wielding naught but his guitar and a handful of oil pastels...) ...... and so it is with this daily jingle making its' rounds in my mind that i pick up my pen (or trusty laptop, as it were)...with nothing much more to glean than just that.... and begin (again) this daily business of building the world... aNeW.

...gestation...

i would make a very lousy butterfly.. for indeed i make a very impatient & undisciplined, somewhat cantankerous caterpillar... (to borrow the children's story vernacular for a moment) ... .................................... for i know, to the trained & watchful eye, a chrysalis is, itself, a thing of beauty, enfolding the quiet growth of wings as they are waiting to enfold.. the silence itself, mesmerizing & sipid all its' own.. but from inside... such quiet .. you can drown in it... such darkness.. it can make ya' blind... ......................... reaching deep into the quiet of one's life.. a momentary pause.. where clear-headed, caffeinated mind assures us that yes, this is just a season, a rest, a breath, a sigh... before the lungs begin their ever-busy job of once again carrying this lofty bod ever higher up the path.. but in such times.. i forget. what it was ever like.. to feel the busy-ness, the involved-ness of it all... things to do & places to go... small paychecks received for jobs never truly enjoyed.... small pittance for work not necessarily well-done... moot titles granted for papier-mache hats crookedly-donned... there is much comfort in busy-ness... in part-time labors which lend themselves to outside validation.. a notice, an honorable mention.. a nametag, a placemat.. announcing your small, but (indispensable we assure you!!!) place in the family of things .... .................... for now i have been granted my wish.. a space, a clearing.. a wide, open strip of silence, solitude & expanse.. for which to plumb my passions and my thoughts... and it is under & over-whelming all the same.. ...... i do not want a shitty daytime job. ... i am blessed. ... i do not need it. ... and yet ...... ..... everything i want to do.. seems so very hard. .... and there is no golden cherry-picking award at the end. ...... i want to make ART..... to write books(that people will read!!!) and make music and paint and dance to ridiculous unseen rhythms & share the day & time & space with others who do the same... to do these things i want to do.. it troubles me..... there are no guidelines, no degrees (not really)... no salary, no references, no applications to busy myself and fill.... just the page... waiting, humming, pulsing... daring... .... to do what i (say i) want to do... means to stand in the Ether for a spell.. (forgive me my self-induced visions of grandeur for a spell...) ... shout into the void, scribble like mad, converse with the gods (who have a tendency to respond in chortles, deep-bellied guffaws & maddening SILENCE... .. ...................... and so i return... again.. (once more and to the barre)... this business of practice,, practice,,, pRaCTiCe .... heartened yet chastened.. because this business ... well, my.. it takes work ..... to gRoW WiNGs.......

the pupil...

... a friend relayed the news the other day that a mutual friend of ours' was in the market for a Spiritual Teacher. ... ... now... i find this to be an honorable impulse... noble even.. in this day and age where there are so many directions to turn, many roads to plumb, so many things to buy..... well... it's nice to know that there are those who are striving towards the higher realms.. but it got me to thinking. in the yogic tradition there are thousands of things to contemplate, to initiate, to master... there is asana, the daily hour(s) spent upon the mat, fine-tuning the vehicle of the body, pranayama - refinement of the breath intended to still the processes of the mind, that roguish monkey-chatter... the bhandas, the vrittis, the koshas, the chakras, the yamas.... the layman's acquisition of sanskrit, the alignment with the guru. and lalalalalalala.... and at the bottom of the page, the end of the chapter, that last section of the book you thought contained only notes and literary references, a note: from the teacher that says, in effect: All these things are unnecessary for he who has already attained enlightenment.. these regimes, practices, dictates, & disciplines.. well, hey, if you've already reached the mountaintop, saith the buddha, shit-can 'em. sit back and enjoy the view... and i wonder... in this small, quiet effort to democratize my own life.. to quietly wrest power away from the hospices of madison avenue and any brilliant ad campaign that seeks to take the contents of my wallet by selling me on the notion that true beauty is only attainable in the form of a cream or rosy blush. ... in the effort to re-direct my food supply away from the powers-that-be that care nothing for my health and even less for the planet and back to the work of my own two hands, the soil in my own backyard, the leaves on my own damn tree... in a search to cultivate wisdom, beauty & truth.. to acquire learning, to make the small patch of ground on which i stand a bit more blessed, richer, deep, & MINE.... i have to wonder... another friend reminded me recently of a fabulous title of a book i have yet to read " If you Meet The Buddha, Kill Him" ... Yeah. cuz really.. is not Your Life.... the unsexy details of it all... the Teacher Itself? The beautiful infant child who exists to remind you that Love is a form of Sustenance and that Beauty happens in the still, quiet moments... the gorgeous sunset that stills your mind and Alters your Breath.. the poignant piece of music you play again and again, in the sanctuary of your bedroom, Again & Again, because it fills your being with unspeakable Joy. .. and more even.. is not the teacher nestled in the partner/lover/boyfriend/girlfriend/neighbor/parent with whom you constantly squabble, reminding you that you have a tendency to prize your own stupid opinions over those of others??? the empty bank balance at the end of each month, stating plainly, painfully, that you spend your time & energies on worthless shit.. too much of it.. when what you need to do is fill your life with what is real & true & nourishing - & this shit comes for FREE. perhaps i oversimplify dear reader, but i have to wonder, in an age where we have given so much of our power away... civil rights handed away nilly-willy to keep some unnamed terrorists at bay... profound thought & creativity shuffled aside in favor of near-constant handheld entertainment... real food in exchange for its' chemically-altered, genetically-modified mutant cousin... real life for...... what??? the list, i am sure, continues... but i am willing to bet, and to begin to believe that , we have all already been granted great spiritual teachers... "When the student is willing, the Teacher will appear." but as the words of a modern-day Icelandic poet bespeak (Bjork = ) .... "All is Full of Love... you just Ain't Receiving." so i would like to go on record as saying that I am not seeking. Rather I am finding... the teacher, the lesson, the gorgeous hallowed beauty they told me I would find... if I could just show up, wait & listen.. to this, my oh-so-ordinary life.. and every Gorgeous Speck of Wisdom it is just waiting to Impart . ....

begin it...

i have been giving this "occupation" thing a second (and third & fourth adnauseum) thought. even as the movement itself seems to have come to a blustering standstill ( an uproarious victory, one might coo, for the powers of "same as it ever was"... and "let's all just keep get back to the business of polishing the damn brass of our individual state's rooms onboard this here titanic"..).. but really.. the movement, as such, has left an indelible impact on the larger conversation, and on the one that continues daily in my own mind... and the words go something like this.. what is it, then, to occupy this space? to begin to radically re-imagine a world, a society, a culture, a people, or even an individual life on a grand scale? and i begin to think.. that the truly radical work begins on this very small, cellular level. the devil's in the details and, indeed, the angel's got her fingers in the minutea. for we have been told, again & again, in so many varying tones, that we are to be defined by our jobs, our social status, the car we drive, the people & politics with which we associate ourselves, the damn clothes we wear, the shit we buy or do not buy. hell, even the "Organic Movement" has managed to do little more than turn our thoughts toward another mode of CONSUMPTION. But what is it, really, to stand, un-accessorized, stripped down, raw, messy, scrappy - unswathed in any pat answers or a cure.. but just to live, radically, simply, rooted at the very center of your life??? what is it to show up, day after day, and say something.... I've read somewhere that the most revolutionary act one can accomplish is to Finish A Sentence. So. With that in mind, that is what I herein intend to do. To show up at the page each day... To begin the painstaking process of radically, authentically inhabiting the center of my life... in all its' ordinary, nitty-gritty splendor. ... Because it is Monday ( a nasty, nosy bitch of a day if ever there was one) and because at any given moment there is so much to do - such business that calls to us... start a diet, an exercise plan, do the laundry, clean the damn house, fill out job applications, learn to knit.... and i am coming to believe that the truly powerful thing is to stand, rooted in a certain stillness.. do not pass go, do not collect one hundred dollars... and forgive me, dear reader (whoever you are...) but do not even stop to edit or revise, nor determine how good a thing may be.... Natalie Goldberg writes: writing memoir is a very stupid thing to do. ..... there are a thousand other more logical ways to spend one's time... and yet... it is exactly what i intend to do... today and tomorrow... and all the many days after that. to show up, fill the page, keep my hand in motion.. until i can feel that this little piece of psychic real estate i've been granted.. has been indeed,, properly.. thoroughly.. authentically.. messily & ravenously... Occupied. Perhaps if, collectively, we could all begin to live in such a way - writing, spinning our lives into existence from the inside out - A Movement - may once again take flight. .....