One Precious Incarnation

Here I am in my office.    At my desk.    8:27 pm.    August 31, 2010.    I’m kind of uninspired.    A little nervous about this Lyme’s Disease.    My leg is tingling and my neck hurts a little.    And I don’t really have much to say.

This blog site was a gift from a friend.    I’m not sure if she still considers me a friend.     So I feel like this blog is kind of dying.    I hope not.     I really enjoy the posts.    I really enjoyed how it called me back into the office to make music and see connections.     It was like an open mic or something.

Maybe I’m just in a weak relationship with it at the moment.    There have been other things on my mind.    I still do all those fun things I like to do at night.     Like music.     With Tyler and hopefully Rose soon.    Lots of keyboard.    All the time.   You know me and my little music videos.    Remember this is a scratch pad.    No biggy.

What else?     Tantric Yoga in Albany with Lauren Toolin.    I would really like to be nearer to her and take her classes frequently.   Lots of deeper ways of doing asana.    Turning them into mudra.    Long story.    I could do them but would need to practice.

Oh yeah!    Dinner at Rita Schwab’s!    Beautiful home in the Catskills at Mt. Tremper.

There’s another thing I’d love to talk about now that I’m here.    It’s sometimes delicious.    Sometimes challenging.    Sometimes exhausting.    Useful.    Human colored.     Empowered.    I’m not in a position to talk in great detail about it.   There’s a whole lot though.     Aaaah!

from an image search "Mt. Tremper"

I’m dramatizing. Lost role models. Death of JFK. His long hair. Our dead father. My dead father. My chart. Astrology.

I find I often have fantasies of identity. Who am I in my job? My creative endeavors. Who can I relate to? What archetype drives me? I pick it up and roll with it. It gives me strength. Or at least, passionate inspiration. And I go on. In my moldy FEMA trailer. On my migrant worker wages.

And yet I’m fairly happy. Good natured and yeah, happy. Beautiful gf. I play keyboard daily. Bach. Photoshop. Meditation. Chanting the names of God. Organic food. Pretty happy. Very blessed.

Gettysburg. A rare choice. “Stand firm ye boys from Maine”. The center of the circle. The North came from the South. The South from the North. The pendulum swings. At the extreme right flank of the entire Union army. The significance blows me away.

I feel like this in my job sometimes. As I said, I’m dramatizing. I feel that way though. Bayonets of spirit. Little Round top of the heart. I really feel that way. Role models. Resurrected Fathers. Homelands. I love my country. I love my world.

image search "Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain"

Being kinetic helps me feel integrity.    Moving my spine.     Taking a seat firmly in a pose.    Holding it and moving it in space and time.     Perhaps shamanically.    Or maniacally.     I like it.    It pleases me.    It restores something in me.

And music.    My hands and fingers are thumping the breasts of a fine lover.    Drawing out her milk.

These things bring a firmness of integrity.    Integument.   Integrated.    Asana.    Seated.     Firmly.

I long for this feeling.    This sensation.    I long for it.    As polished rocks in the rain.

Sit up and look.    Or pull.    Pull in threads of attention.     Into my skull.    Behind my skull.

A comet’s coma as she nears the sun.

from an image search "Bamboo"

from an image search "Bamboo"

from an image search "Bamboo"

I don’t remember if I told you this or not.     On my drive up North from Florida to the Hudson Valley, I made it a point to drive through the Shenendoah Valley.     I went right up the great ancient spine and in its Valley.     I wanted to bring healing to the old ghosts of those young men who died in Virginia.    Those great young men of the United States and of the Confederate States of America.

I had watched much of the Ken Burns documentary about the Civil War.     Many men died.     Much blood.     Much suffering.     May all beings be free of suffering and the cause of suffering.

Stonewall Jackson was a very eccentric man.     Military education.     Curious fellow who believed he had to keep one arm in the air so he wouldn’t go out of balance.     He believed it was Man’s duty to pray and fight.

I believe the same thing except for me, fighting is more an internal struggle with authenticity.    One should fight a subtle fight with one’s dharma or true self or life mission.   One should find it and struggle for it.    It’s Chogyam Trungpa’s the Sacred Path of the Warrior.     What kind of warrior?    What is the Sacred Path?

I can relate to Stonewall.    General T.J. Jackson.   A great man.    A great general.    Carl Big Heart just told me I look like him right now.    Like 15 minutes ago.   Or at least he had a vision of the general when I galloped into the DH.    Interesting.    I kind of like that.    Here’s to you brave, fallen men.

from an image search "Stonewall Jackson"

Me