I was reading a book about the way celebrities (and their love-life carousels) tend to wreak havoc on their bodies in the form of tattoos....
And tattoo removals....
And tattoo cover ups.
Some find ways to redeem the underlying ink mistake in a cover up, or sometimes they incorporate the mistake into the next design. My favorite example was Johnny Depp's tattoo for his then wife Wynona Ryder that read "Wynona Forever"....
later (after their separation and divorce) changed to "Wyno.. Forever".
And for some reason that had me thinking about what's really important in my life. (Don't do new year's resolutions.... so this is as close as I get)...
A few of the things that came to mind were.... A). "world peace", (A child of divorce.... I've been working on this one for a while).... 2). A Tattoo.... (actually want a bunch.... but you gotta start somewhere).... and C). Another bottle of Moscato (Italian sparkling wine) that I (Santa) gave my wife for Christmas.
(these are my new years goals...... not necessarily in that order)
But I was reading a little on the Jewish view of world peace and I found that in the book of Isaiah a Hebrew image of a blues-free world is the world as a vineyard, where the best wine is produced. A wine produced for the great big party to come....
That's my view of world peace this year. It's the planting of a vineyard.... preferably somewhere close to the Mediterranean, specifically near the Italian region of Asti, where the best Moscato Bianco grapes grow without interference from any wild or contentious outside force. Where water and soil and sun come together to harvest the perfect grape (my opinion). And where sweet sparkling sun kissed bubbles make their way across oceans and highways......
and into my liquor store, (and stomach) as a reminder of a better world to come. A world made for sour hearted jewish men, and blues men and for (soon to be) tattooed "Wyno's", thirsty for a better world.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Intimate: The Real Bastard Blues
My heart was racing and I collapsed. I was laying there on the bed..... short of breath.... feeling self-conscious. Hurt. Fat..... with self-pity.
She stood and stepped into the restroom. I saw her curved silhouette in the doorway before the door was closed. It didn't belong to me anymore. Her silhouette. She was here... with me. But it felt like she was gone. Left now. Through the bathroom window and out into the world..... with someone else.
I was trying to forgive her again. This is how it goes. It's continuous. I was trying to say one F word. And I was trying hard not to say the other. This is what you're left with once it's broken in the heart.
My bed felt dirty. Unclean.
It's near Christmas time, and Christmas had always mattered to me. The magic as a kid. The story. But now it was different. I was lying there remembering the profanity of the story now. Namely, that he was going to be a bastard. That's what life was dealing him. He was gonna be a bastard like me...
(literally... I was Adopted. But first born to a young girl- unmarried. That was at the end of a time when the world still disdained people like me).
I always loved him for that. I don't mean worshiped in the high Holy sense... (although I've done that). I mean loved. With fondness. Affection. A kinship. Like maybe when I looked out into the chaos of what life can be sometimes, that I wasn't alone. Because he was gonna be a bastard like me. We were both bastard sons together.
But there were differences. The world was a blues-song maker. To that there was no doubt. And as I imagined the little bastard boy in the manger, I was fully aware of the differences between the two of us. I was the real Bastard. Some of the blues of the world was a result of my own choosing. Songs written from sins of a time I had demanded it all my way. Refusing to play well with others and making Senatorial like decisions... Judgements.... about things and people I didn't understand.
Songs about living every day roaming the world profane, like an angry blues man... A guitar playing Cain. Angry. And Hurt. Fighting mad and consuming everything and anything like an industrialized unholy Hell.
And now?........ Wallowing in it. Content to just lay there like a pig. Pitiful, on the temple grounds of the dirty bed that was my world.
She came out from the bathroom and lay beside me. Her skin still felt warm. You know I love you she said..... I didn't look at her.
But do YOU love me? I asked in silence.
I wasn't talking to her. It was the child I was talking to. The would-be bastard son in the manger. The lover of those who are profane.
Do you love me I asked, and then I just lay there naked beside her. The two of us. Adam and Eve, profane; the both of us, on our dirty bed. And I let my heart break itself wide open again in tears before I slept and dreamt. And longed for a world I remembered that was once so much better than this. Can there ever be a world that's better than this?
She stood and stepped into the restroom. I saw her curved silhouette in the doorway before the door was closed. It didn't belong to me anymore. Her silhouette. She was here... with me. But it felt like she was gone. Left now. Through the bathroom window and out into the world..... with someone else.
I was trying to forgive her again. This is how it goes. It's continuous. I was trying to say one F word. And I was trying hard not to say the other. This is what you're left with once it's broken in the heart.
My bed felt dirty. Unclean.
It's near Christmas time, and Christmas had always mattered to me. The magic as a kid. The story. But now it was different. I was lying there remembering the profanity of the story now. Namely, that he was going to be a bastard. That's what life was dealing him. He was gonna be a bastard like me...
(literally... I was Adopted. But first born to a young girl- unmarried. That was at the end of a time when the world still disdained people like me).
I always loved him for that. I don't mean worshiped in the high Holy sense... (although I've done that). I mean loved. With fondness. Affection. A kinship. Like maybe when I looked out into the chaos of what life can be sometimes, that I wasn't alone. Because he was gonna be a bastard like me. We were both bastard sons together.
But there were differences. The world was a blues-song maker. To that there was no doubt. And as I imagined the little bastard boy in the manger, I was fully aware of the differences between the two of us. I was the real Bastard. Some of the blues of the world was a result of my own choosing. Songs written from sins of a time I had demanded it all my way. Refusing to play well with others and making Senatorial like decisions... Judgements.... about things and people I didn't understand.
Songs about living every day roaming the world profane, like an angry blues man... A guitar playing Cain. Angry. And Hurt. Fighting mad and consuming everything and anything like an industrialized unholy Hell.
And now?........ Wallowing in it. Content to just lay there like a pig. Pitiful, on the temple grounds of the dirty bed that was my world.
She came out from the bathroom and lay beside me. Her skin still felt warm. You know I love you she said..... I didn't look at her.
But do YOU love me? I asked in silence.
I wasn't talking to her. It was the child I was talking to. The would-be bastard son in the manger. The lover of those who are profane.
Do you love me I asked, and then I just lay there naked beside her. The two of us. Adam and Eve, profane; the both of us, on our dirty bed. And I let my heart break itself wide open again in tears before I slept and dreamt. And longed for a world I remembered that was once so much better than this. Can there ever be a world that's better than this?
Monday, December 20, 2010
Beating the Blues by Eating Doughnuts
In keeping with my plan of becoming Jewish (Festivus not withstanding), and considering the holiday season, I was reading a little about Hanukkah. One thing I didn't realize until recently is that Jesus celebrated Hanukkah (and why not?........ he was jewish). Nor did I realize what it was all about.
The short version goes something like this: This dude named Antiochus Epiphanes was giving the nation of Isreal the blues, conquering, raping, pillaging, and taxing as old world (and new world) dictators tend to do. And then a faction of Isreali soldiers were able to retake the land and Jerusalem. After restoring the Temple they began the ritual of purification and rededication (the hebrew word for dedication is.... Hanukkah). And after a dude found a flask of oil (olive oil.... extra virgin Im assuming) they began lighting the lamps. The problem was that the flask that was found had only a days worth of oil in it and the ritual was to last eight days. The miracle of Hannukah (also called the Festival of Lights) is that with one days worth of oil the Temple was rededicated for the entire eight days.
So now Jews light eight candles, sing hymns, give presents, and eat a lot of deep fried fatty foods cooked in olive oil (doughnuts: Yiddish: פאנטשקעס pontshkes), fritters (bimuelos) potato cakes: (latkes........sounds like the perfect holiday to me).
That said, Im intriuged at the way Judaism incorporates reminders of the goodness of life into the daily blues of the wourld. I came across this article in a book I was reading by this Jewish dude talking about Jewish Holidays. Check out what he had to say...
"There is a story (undoubetedly apocryphal) about a Jew who attended one of Hitler's Munich rallies at the start of the Nazi coup. While Hitler ranted, cursing the jews, he became confused by a man in the first row who was laughing in derision at the fuehrer. When the speech was over, Hitler's men detained the heckler and brought him to Hitler, who asked the man who he was.
I am a Jew, he said proudly.
Dont you believe that I will carry out my threats to destroy all Jews? This is not a laughing matter, said Hitler.
You are not the first ruler who sought to destory us, said the Jew. Once Pharoah wanted us slain and now every year at Passover we eat matzahs (unleavened bread). Later Haman tried to annihilate us; now each year (during Purim) we eat the delicious hamantaschen (pastry). I couldn't help laughing, Herr Hitler, while I listened to your ranting. I was wondering what delicacy we will eat and what holiday we will celebrate to commemorate your downfall."
(Isreals Holy Days, Daniel Fuchs pg 85).
The short version goes something like this: This dude named Antiochus Epiphanes was giving the nation of Isreal the blues, conquering, raping, pillaging, and taxing as old world (and new world) dictators tend to do. And then a faction of Isreali soldiers were able to retake the land and Jerusalem. After restoring the Temple they began the ritual of purification and rededication (the hebrew word for dedication is.... Hanukkah). And after a dude found a flask of oil (olive oil.... extra virgin Im assuming) they began lighting the lamps. The problem was that the flask that was found had only a days worth of oil in it and the ritual was to last eight days. The miracle of Hannukah (also called the Festival of Lights) is that with one days worth of oil the Temple was rededicated for the entire eight days.
So now Jews light eight candles, sing hymns, give presents, and eat a lot of deep fried fatty foods cooked in olive oil (doughnuts: Yiddish: פאנטשקעס pontshkes), fritters (bimuelos) potato cakes: (latkes........sounds like the perfect holiday to me).
That said, Im intriuged at the way Judaism incorporates reminders of the goodness of life into the daily blues of the wourld. I came across this article in a book I was reading by this Jewish dude talking about Jewish Holidays. Check out what he had to say...
"There is a story (undoubetedly apocryphal) about a Jew who attended one of Hitler's Munich rallies at the start of the Nazi coup. While Hitler ranted, cursing the jews, he became confused by a man in the first row who was laughing in derision at the fuehrer. When the speech was over, Hitler's men detained the heckler and brought him to Hitler, who asked the man who he was.
I am a Jew, he said proudly.
Dont you believe that I will carry out my threats to destroy all Jews? This is not a laughing matter, said Hitler.
You are not the first ruler who sought to destory us, said the Jew. Once Pharoah wanted us slain and now every year at Passover we eat matzahs (unleavened bread). Later Haman tried to annihilate us; now each year (during Purim) we eat the delicious hamantaschen (pastry). I couldn't help laughing, Herr Hitler, while I listened to your ranting. I was wondering what delicacy we will eat and what holiday we will celebrate to commemorate your downfall."
(Isreals Holy Days, Daniel Fuchs pg 85).
Friday, December 17, 2010
The Angry Christmas Blues: A Festivus for the Rest of Us
I've been thinking about not celebrating Christmas this year. Not because of the commercialism and the disconnected traditions. And not because I don't like Jesus. (because I do... I believe all the "big things" about Jesus.... Incarnation... Son of God.... Resurrection.... 2nd coming etc.). But Im thinking about boycotting the holiday primarily because the churchies are screwing it up for me. Last week one of our Senators decided he would no longer participate in the Christmas parade because they had taken Christ out of the name. On first glance, it looks like if you love Jesus it's the only right thing to do. But the problem from my perspective is that it's not the type of thing Jesus did. Rather Jesus seemed to be humble and other-person-focussed. He never would have demanded his own holiday. However, he did participate in the religious holidays of his time (jewish). Our Senator believes evidently that Christ would never participate in a "parade of lights" celebration. And as a representative of Jesus on this earth he's decided to hold the world hostage by denying us his presence until Christendom is fully restored to it's rightful place as King conquering religion of the world. And evidently, short of following Jesus' humble example and his command to Love, he has decided to use any means necessary to make it happen. Manipulate. Coerce. Isolate.... Pout..... Just like Jesus would do. (sarcasm). I'm always amazed at the difference I see in how Jesus did things compared to how many of his followers do them. The kingdom doesn't come by force or manipulation. According to Jesus, the kingdom comes by Love. Jesus said his Kingdom begins in the heart, and works inside-out. Many of his followers seem to think it works outside/in with pressure and political power garnering loyalty and support as the primary "way" of doing things. (Loyalty is not always the best of all values; remember gangsters are loyal). It's the old, rah rah, "let's win America back for God", mindset that has everything to do with steam-rolling the "competition" rather than loving "the people", (at a sacrificial cost if necessary) which is what Jesus did. I've been looking at Festivus recently as a substitute holiday. I like the real, raw dorm-room quality of it. Airing of grievances? Feats of Strength? The efficiency of substituting a tree (old pagan trickle-down tradition) for a beautiful, solid, high strength-to-weight ratio aluminum pole. Besides, it seems less militant and somewhat flexible enough that one might incorporate Jesus in the celebration should one so choose. And ultimately that's the point isn't it? That instead of being manipulated or coerced into the tradition, that one might freely choose? Isn't that how Jesus did it? |
Monday, December 13, 2010
Truth is truth quote
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
Martin Luther King Jr.
Martin Luther King Jr.
Truth is truth quote
Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.
-Dalai Lama.
-Dalai Lama.
Truth is truth quote
If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.
-Mother Theresa.
-Mother Theresa.
Truth is truth- The Demon Driver.
One of the things Ive found is that truth is no a respecter of persons. Truth is as truth is. It's unowned and belongs to no individual person or group of people. Truth transcends time and culture.
Even Jesus once said about people outside of his circle, "You don't know them? You've never met them. They just picked up Love in my name apparently out of thin air, saying the things we say and doing the things we do... and yet they're not one of us.... Foreigners to us...
Don't stop them. For whoever isn't against us, is for us". (Luke 9:50- the story of the unknown demon-driver; paraphrased).
Let me ask you. Was the unknown "demon driver" perfect in his understanding of the truth? Who was he? What were the critical points of his theology? (unknown). What about your pastor yesterday? Did he get it all right? What about the "different" church down the street? The dude on TV? That book you read yesterday?
And how did you and I become the final measure of truth? What about me... Could I have gotten it wrong? What about you?
Truth is truth, and if it begins outside of us, then it must be true for everyone where ever
it can be found. Either that, or it's true for no one at all.
Even Jesus once said about people outside of his circle, "You don't know them? You've never met them. They just picked up Love in my name apparently out of thin air, saying the things we say and doing the things we do... and yet they're not one of us.... Foreigners to us...
Don't stop them. For whoever isn't against us, is for us". (Luke 9:50- the story of the unknown demon-driver; paraphrased).
Let me ask you. Was the unknown "demon driver" perfect in his understanding of the truth? Who was he? What were the critical points of his theology? (unknown). What about your pastor yesterday? Did he get it all right? What about the "different" church down the street? The dude on TV? That book you read yesterday?
And how did you and I become the final measure of truth? What about me... Could I have gotten it wrong? What about you?
Truth is truth, and if it begins outside of us, then it must be true for everyone where ever
it can be found. Either that, or it's true for no one at all.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Jews, Tattoos, and The Blues
Ok. It's probably midlife. Some dudes do the girl thing....(twenty-somethingish). Some do the sports car thing. I remember a guy I started my nursing career with who came in one morning with an earring. It wouldn't be a big thing except earrings weren't his style at all. He was an older dude with a big mustache (looked like Rip Taylor), and the sudden earring (like that ruffly Jerry Seinfeld shirt) made him look like a Male-nurse/Pirate. Or at least a little desperate; like maybe he was trying too hard.
The truth is that anything midlife comes off as desperate. If you're gonna do it.... The goal I think is to be honest with it, and keep it somewhat within character. And for me... tattoos aren't that much out of character. I mean. It's not like tomorrow I'm getting hair implants or a rug......
If I were to do something really big, I think I would become Jewish. Really, I think it's a good fit. I'm already circumcised. I'm really familiar with the Old Testament. (They don't like it when you call their Holy Book the "old" Testament). And ultimately I think Jewish people understand the blues (One of their worship places is called "the wailing wall).
But as it is, I'm settling for getting a tattoo (which is the opposite of being Jewish.... Tattoos- not allowed). And that's unfortunate because Jews and Tattoo wearer's and Blues dudes all have something in common. They all take life and mark themselves with it in some way....
Blues guys have the songs....
Jews have it in their holidays and in the normal "stuff" of life... example; Weekly Sabbath. (Rest). Yom Kippur. (New Beginnings). Passover. (Deliverance).
Tattoos are kind of like that. True... Sometimes people get tattoos just cause they think it's cool. But sometimes it's deeper than that. Sometimes it's about saying something about themselves, or someone they've lost. Or who they are. What they've come through.
Thats like a jewish holiday, Right? And it's definitely like a blues song.
The truth is that anything midlife comes off as desperate. If you're gonna do it.... The goal I think is to be honest with it, and keep it somewhat within character. And for me... tattoos aren't that much out of character. I mean. It's not like tomorrow I'm getting hair implants or a rug......
If I were to do something really big, I think I would become Jewish. Really, I think it's a good fit. I'm already circumcised. I'm really familiar with the Old Testament. (They don't like it when you call their Holy Book the "old" Testament). And ultimately I think Jewish people understand the blues (One of their worship places is called "the wailing wall).
But as it is, I'm settling for getting a tattoo (which is the opposite of being Jewish.... Tattoos- not allowed). And that's unfortunate because Jews and Tattoo wearer's and Blues dudes all have something in common. They all take life and mark themselves with it in some way....
Blues guys have the songs....
Jews have it in their holidays and in the normal "stuff" of life... example; Weekly Sabbath. (Rest). Yom Kippur. (New Beginnings). Passover. (Deliverance).
Tattoos are kind of like that. True... Sometimes people get tattoos just cause they think it's cool. But sometimes it's deeper than that. Sometimes it's about saying something about themselves, or someone they've lost. Or who they are. What they've come through.
Thats like a jewish holiday, Right? And it's definitely like a blues song.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Gay Samaritan
It's funny how close sane people come to insanity every day. (or every night as it were).
I was driving home from work. The sky was ridiculously blue, and I was letting my imagination run wild. I was remembering a dream I had of a time when I was at Seminary learning everything there is to know about God (they would have you believe). And in my dream, Jesus was there; teaching one of my classes.
And also there was a ferret sitting next to me taking notes.
(The ferret who was dressed like a hipster with an anti-stylish coffee mug setting on his desk, was making sure that everyone around him knew he was drinking the finest freshest roasted coffee in the land).
As Jesus was speaking I could tell that my seminary professor (known for his stand on moral issues and family values) was concerned about the apparent "reckless" teachings of Jesus on the subject of love. And so he stood up with a question to test Jesus and he stated his question like this: “So, Professor...... what do I NEED to do to GET eternal life?”. He asked.
Jesus answered, “What’s written in the Bible. How do you interpret it?”He said,
“That you love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence—and that you love your neighbor as well as you do yourself".
The ferret leaned towards me and whispered, "All you need is love".
"Good answer!” said Jesus. “Do it and you’ll live.
But looking for a loophole, he asked, “And just how would you define ‘neighbor’?”
Jesus answered by telling a story. “There was once an old blues man traveling down 11th street. He was walking with nothing but the clothes on his back and a well used electric-blue guitar. About half way down the road he was attacked by some young punks. They took his clothes, and his guitar, and beat him, and went off leaving him half-dead.
Luckily, a preacher was on his way down the same road, but when he saw the beaten man, he angled across to the other side of 11th street.
Then a religious man, a political activist, a real angry guy (looked just like Fred Phelps ...) showed up carrying his God hates fags signs. But already late for his protest, and his hands full, he also avoided the injured man.
But just then a gay man was traveling down 11th street and came up on the injured blues man. And when he saw the injured mans condition, his heart went out to him. He gave him first aid, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. Then he put him in the back seat of his car, made him comfortable and took him to the nearest Emergency Room just down the street.
He gave the receptionist his own information along with 500 dollars and told her, ‘Take good care of him. Im late for an important meeting and have to go. But if it costs any more, I’ll be coming back to check on him, and I'll pay you on my way back.’
“What do you think? Which of the three became a neighbor to the man attacked by these young punks"?
“The one who treated him kindly,” the Seminary professor responded.
Jesus said, “Go and do the same.”
My mind was coming back to the road, but not before I noticed the clock on the wall melting (Salvador Dali-style). The ferret, sitting at my side, took off his thick black rimmed glasses and stood (on his hind paws) giving a rousing round of applause. And then ebbing into my "crazy", I resisted the returning sound of traffic (and "reality") and with one last burst of imagination I lifted up off the ground like a dragon-fly and flew off into the ridiculous, lunatic, electric-blue sky.
I was driving home from work. The sky was ridiculously blue, and I was letting my imagination run wild. I was remembering a dream I had of a time when I was at Seminary learning everything there is to know about God (they would have you believe). And in my dream, Jesus was there; teaching one of my classes.
And also there was a ferret sitting next to me taking notes.
(The ferret who was dressed like a hipster with an anti-stylish coffee mug setting on his desk, was making sure that everyone around him knew he was drinking the finest freshest roasted coffee in the land).
As Jesus was speaking I could tell that my seminary professor (known for his stand on moral issues and family values) was concerned about the apparent "reckless" teachings of Jesus on the subject of love. And so he stood up with a question to test Jesus and he stated his question like this: “So, Professor...... what do I NEED to do to GET eternal life?”. He asked.
Jesus answered, “What’s written in the Bible. How do you interpret it?”He said,
“That you love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence—and that you love your neighbor as well as you do yourself".
The ferret leaned towards me and whispered, "All you need is love".
"Good answer!” said Jesus. “Do it and you’ll live.
But looking for a loophole, he asked, “And just how would you define ‘neighbor’?”
Jesus answered by telling a story. “There was once an old blues man traveling down 11th street. He was walking with nothing but the clothes on his back and a well used electric-blue guitar. About half way down the road he was attacked by some young punks. They took his clothes, and his guitar, and beat him, and went off leaving him half-dead.
Luckily, a preacher was on his way down the same road, but when he saw the beaten man, he angled across to the other side of 11th street.
Then a religious man, a political activist, a real angry guy (looked just like Fred Phelps ...) showed up carrying his God hates fags signs. But already late for his protest, and his hands full, he also avoided the injured man.
But just then a gay man was traveling down 11th street and came up on the injured blues man. And when he saw the injured mans condition, his heart went out to him. He gave him first aid, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. Then he put him in the back seat of his car, made him comfortable and took him to the nearest Emergency Room just down the street.
He gave the receptionist his own information along with 500 dollars and told her, ‘Take good care of him. Im late for an important meeting and have to go. But if it costs any more, I’ll be coming back to check on him, and I'll pay you on my way back.’
“What do you think? Which of the three became a neighbor to the man attacked by these young punks"?
“The one who treated him kindly,” the Seminary professor responded.
Jesus said, “Go and do the same.”
My mind was coming back to the road, but not before I noticed the clock on the wall melting (Salvador Dali-style). The ferret, sitting at my side, took off his thick black rimmed glasses and stood (on his hind paws) giving a rousing round of applause. And then ebbing into my "crazy", I resisted the returning sound of traffic (and "reality") and with one last burst of imagination I lifted up off the ground like a dragon-fly and flew off into the ridiculous, lunatic, electric-blue sky.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Tattoos
Obsessed with tattoos these days. (I think this is my mid-life). Feeling like I've been cheating myself by living by all of your rules. It could be worse...... could leave my family for the hot, young blonde girl - (theoretically)...... Could also buy that corvette. But for me its about different stuff than all that (usually). For me its about self expression.
Don't get me wrong. I love you all. But how did I let you guys decide what I was gonna look like?
I mean, there are certain places you guys belong in my life. But my head is not one of them. Time to do the things I would have done had I not been so concerned about what "people" think. (Respectfully) Its time to live my life my way; not yours. Its time to get some ink.
Don't get me wrong. I love you all. But how did I let you guys decide what I was gonna look like?
I mean, there are certain places you guys belong in my life. But my head is not one of them. Time to do the things I would have done had I not been so concerned about what "people" think. (Respectfully) Its time to live my life my way; not yours. Its time to get some ink.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Intimate: a true story
Do you have the blues? She asked.
I was laying close to her in bed. A hand on her breast. (incidental contact). An arm wrapped around her hips, but Tearful. Distant.
The television was on and I was thinking about the stress of Christmas and money and the F word (previous blog-11/22). It was 5:45. There was a blue tint of light coming from the television casting itself over everything in my darkened room. She was checking her Facebook but stopped and looked at my blue face.
You know I love you, she said, like a question. I didn't really know. This is the way it had been since it happened.
(I couldn't talk).
It was unusual for her to be here now. Like this. With Me.
The way I saw it, there was the Blues and there was the dread. I had grown used to doing the blues alone. But being alone had introduced me to the dread. And there was only one way out of the dread. The blues let me feel it like a reminder that I was still alive. But the dread made me feel it like I was dead.
Your face looks blue she said.
The colors from the television changed with it's own movement. From darker blue to light blue. And then darker..., back to light. I was tired of feeling it. Worn out and tired and silently to myself I asked someone to Please help me. And the F word came to my mind again. The other one. Not the angry one.
And then just like that, underneath the revolving blue tones an answer came to me like an unusual gift.... Suddenly a door unlocked and I was permitted to Forgive.
And so I did.
And though the dread had me losing my self entirely; surprisingly it felt like I was dead for just a moment. It felt like at the beginning of things when you're dead, but suddenly coming back to life.
The television changed to a brighter screen and she looked at me curiously, not knowing my secret inside life. You're getting lighter she said. Your getting lighter and lighter. It looks like you're almost white.
I was laying close to her in bed. A hand on her breast. (incidental contact). An arm wrapped around her hips, but Tearful. Distant.
The television was on and I was thinking about the stress of Christmas and money and the F word (previous blog-11/22). It was 5:45. There was a blue tint of light coming from the television casting itself over everything in my darkened room. She was checking her Facebook but stopped and looked at my blue face.
You know I love you, she said, like a question. I didn't really know. This is the way it had been since it happened.
(I couldn't talk).
It was unusual for her to be here now. Like this. With Me.
The way I saw it, there was the Blues and there was the dread. I had grown used to doing the blues alone. But being alone had introduced me to the dread. And there was only one way out of the dread. The blues let me feel it like a reminder that I was still alive. But the dread made me feel it like I was dead.
Your face looks blue she said.
The colors from the television changed with it's own movement. From darker blue to light blue. And then darker..., back to light. I was tired of feeling it. Worn out and tired and silently to myself I asked someone to Please help me. And the F word came to my mind again. The other one. Not the angry one.
And then just like that, underneath the revolving blue tones an answer came to me like an unusual gift.... Suddenly a door unlocked and I was permitted to Forgive.
And so I did.
And though the dread had me losing my self entirely; surprisingly it felt like I was dead for just a moment. It felt like at the beginning of things when you're dead, but suddenly coming back to life.
The television changed to a brighter screen and she looked at me curiously, not knowing my secret inside life. You're getting lighter she said. Your getting lighter and lighter. It looks like you're almost white.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Learning to say the F word
What if I told you God told me to say the F word? Is that blasphemy? offensive to you? What if God wanted me to say it to blow your minds? Challenge your misconceptions of good and bad? Stretch your views of love and tolerance and acceptance? What if by saying it, it set you free from every religious tendency, or legalistic approach to expressing your life? What if it made you less hateful and more free from the justifications that keep you from being real with other people?
To be honest. I'm still uncomfortable saying it. It's just the way I was raised. But underneath the discomfort there's this rebellious spark; a mean feeling of satisfaction. A final realization that if I was ever gonna make a clear and final break with my self-righteous world of the past, I was gonna have to start using the F word.
When it comes to judging people, identifying those who are able to use the F word is the best way to separate the wheat from the chaff. And it's the forceful way out of the blues. It helps you take off the mask and stop pretending. And it feels good to say it, and quite frankly I don't give a..........
hoot,
what people think anymore.
If you're overly religious, self-righteous, I suspect you haven't made it down my post this far. And for that, I give you the F word as well. And though you're probably the hardest person to say it to, the word being so foreign to you and all, it's for your unwillingness to listen, your tendency to judge and prejudge, your inability to hear or see anything outside of yourself and your own very narrow view of the world.... that to you........ In the name of Jesus who first taught me the F word himself. To you, I wanna say, F-you. (And by F, I mean, FORGIVE).
To be honest. I'm still uncomfortable saying it. It's just the way I was raised. But underneath the discomfort there's this rebellious spark; a mean feeling of satisfaction. A final realization that if I was ever gonna make a clear and final break with my self-righteous world of the past, I was gonna have to start using the F word.
When it comes to judging people, identifying those who are able to use the F word is the best way to separate the wheat from the chaff. And it's the forceful way out of the blues. It helps you take off the mask and stop pretending. And it feels good to say it, and quite frankly I don't give a..........
hoot,
what people think anymore.
If you're overly religious, self-righteous, I suspect you haven't made it down my post this far. And for that, I give you the F word as well. And though you're probably the hardest person to say it to, the word being so foreign to you and all, it's for your unwillingness to listen, your tendency to judge and prejudge, your inability to hear or see anything outside of yourself and your own very narrow view of the world.... that to you........ In the name of Jesus who first taught me the F word himself. To you, I wanna say, F-you. (And by F, I mean, FORGIVE).
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Rational Blues
There was a lady circling the desk (a patient) and she was saying random non sense words, asking questions about the number 9, with an occasional comment about Satan, and the end of the world..... (just in case you weren't already freaked out). And every time she passed me, I tried not to look at her.
As I was getting the medications ready for my next patient, my I-phone was playing a song. It was a Beatles song from my new cirque-LOVE cd (the Beatles remixed... But not jacked up) and while I was getting my meds together, I was thinking about John Lennon and how he had said once (as a response to the blues of life), "all you need is love".
*(of course he also said he was the walrus...... which I never got, but I totally think the crazies would understand).
John Lennon would have made a great blues man cause all blues men know about love. But given the crap that comes with loving people that don't love you, the question I would've asked John Lennon (were he still living) would be, how do you know, all you need is love? Cause (from a 7 Tower perspective at least) sometimes I think all you need is Haldol (antipsychotic medication).
In fact, if life is a debate between whether the world is insane or sound, it's the crazies these days that are winning hands down as far as I can tell.
I have an uncle who thinks he's the opposite of all that (crazy). He's a modern man. He only believes in science, thinks technology is the answer to most problems in life. He scoffs at traditional cultural concepts of the supernatural as superstition... (Not just the "big five" religions.....All of them.... Old Pagan.... New Pagan..... Asian.... African..... Native American......). But he loves science fiction (may speak Klingon). He's reasonable and rational and skeptical of anything outside of what he can see or hear. He believes the universe is a closed box of cosmic dust and that people are not much more than a few brain cells and sex organs and hormones (to keep it all going).
He believes that he came from nothing and that he's going to nothing and that in the end there's nothing more out there than a very lonely compact atom sized dot that the entire universe will eventually collapse back into. But still, every day he stands in the sandwich line at work and gets pissed off when the administrative staff casually cut themselves toward the front of the line, as if anything that happens in this world, good, bad, just or unjust, should finally matter in the end, at all.
(Now that's crazy).
Living life seeing things that aren't really there (Justice, Meaning, LOVE) is the definition of crazy. Right? And yet, deep inside us we all "gotta feeling" (another Beatles song) that all these things are true. (is that irrational?). The problem is that with all the (alleged) evidence to the contrary, we think this life matters. That it has meaning. That maybe after all.... All you need is Love. And either that's true, and we're all living our lives unwilling and detached from something bigger, like some dying leaf on a breeze. Or we're just terribly arrogant. (and crazy). And I'm willing to believe that a little of all three are true. And in the end, you just cant deny the truth.
(* Charlie Dixon once said the blues is the truth. And John Lee Hooker said to; "Let that boy boogie woogie..... cause it's in him..... and it got to come out".).
I picked up my medications to go to my next room but as I stepped into the hall the crazy lady made her way past me with her back bent, head down like a chicken, talking out of her head. I let her make her way past me without eye contact. But this time she looked more familiar to me. Maybe like every single crazy blues man that I'd ever seen.
As I was getting the medications ready for my next patient, my I-phone was playing a song. It was a Beatles song from my new cirque-LOVE cd (the Beatles remixed... But not jacked up) and while I was getting my meds together, I was thinking about John Lennon and how he had said once (as a response to the blues of life), "all you need is love".
*(of course he also said he was the walrus...... which I never got, but I totally think the crazies would understand).
John Lennon would have made a great blues man cause all blues men know about love. But given the crap that comes with loving people that don't love you, the question I would've asked John Lennon (were he still living) would be, how do you know, all you need is love? Cause (from a 7 Tower perspective at least) sometimes I think all you need is Haldol (antipsychotic medication).
In fact, if life is a debate between whether the world is insane or sound, it's the crazies these days that are winning hands down as far as I can tell.
I have an uncle who thinks he's the opposite of all that (crazy). He's a modern man. He only believes in science, thinks technology is the answer to most problems in life. He scoffs at traditional cultural concepts of the supernatural as superstition... (Not just the "big five" religions.....All of them.... Old Pagan.... New Pagan..... Asian.... African..... Native American......). But he loves science fiction (may speak Klingon). He's reasonable and rational and skeptical of anything outside of what he can see or hear. He believes the universe is a closed box of cosmic dust and that people are not much more than a few brain cells and sex organs and hormones (to keep it all going).
He believes that he came from nothing and that he's going to nothing and that in the end there's nothing more out there than a very lonely compact atom sized dot that the entire universe will eventually collapse back into. But still, every day he stands in the sandwich line at work and gets pissed off when the administrative staff casually cut themselves toward the front of the line, as if anything that happens in this world, good, bad, just or unjust, should finally matter in the end, at all.
(Now that's crazy).
Living life seeing things that aren't really there (Justice, Meaning, LOVE) is the definition of crazy. Right? And yet, deep inside us we all "gotta feeling" (another Beatles song) that all these things are true. (is that irrational?). The problem is that with all the (alleged) evidence to the contrary, we think this life matters. That it has meaning. That maybe after all.... All you need is Love. And either that's true, and we're all living our lives unwilling and detached from something bigger, like some dying leaf on a breeze. Or we're just terribly arrogant. (and crazy). And I'm willing to believe that a little of all three are true. And in the end, you just cant deny the truth.
(* Charlie Dixon once said the blues is the truth. And John Lee Hooker said to; "Let that boy boogie woogie..... cause it's in him..... and it got to come out".).
I picked up my medications to go to my next room but as I stepped into the hall the crazy lady made her way past me with her back bent, head down like a chicken, talking out of her head. I let her make her way past me without eye contact. But this time she looked more familiar to me. Maybe like every single crazy blues man that I'd ever seen.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Malay
Spent some time with a bunch of friends from work on Friday night. One of our friends, her name is Malay, is at MD Anderson today for surgery to remove a recently discovered cancer. It's a very extensive surgery. I'd be lying if I said we weren't worried about her. The get together was a surprise send off and we had a great time (and I don't think it was just the alcohol). But I learned Friday night that laughter is a blues fighter.
We spent the majority of the night talking about the crazies on 7 Tower. My favorite story was about one of our nurse aides who was sitting with a patient. The patient was very confused and while our nurse aide was watching him, he fell asleep (as a sitter you never fall asleep-it's like being a prison guard). Of course, as you could imagine, a lot of bad things could go down in a situation like that. (it sometimes has..... once a naked patient ended up at a quicktrip across 11th street). However, the best possible (and most thoughtful) thing happened. While the nurse aide was sleeping the patient climbed over the bed rails, crawled over to our sleeping "security guard" and covered him up with a blanket.
Lesson learned. Not all crazies are Hell bent on destroying the world.
We spent the majority of the night talking about the crazies on 7 Tower. My favorite story was about one of our nurse aides who was sitting with a patient. The patient was very confused and while our nurse aide was watching him, he fell asleep (as a sitter you never fall asleep-it's like being a prison guard). Of course, as you could imagine, a lot of bad things could go down in a situation like that. (it sometimes has..... once a naked patient ended up at a quicktrip across 11th street). However, the best possible (and most thoughtful) thing happened. While the nurse aide was sleeping the patient climbed over the bed rails, crawled over to our sleeping "security guard" and covered him up with a blanket.
Lesson learned. Not all crazies are Hell bent on destroying the world.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Mrs. F.
Sometimes there's a part of me that turns into a child. A little boy. Just for a second. Sometimes just a flash of a moment. Like a flash of hurt; like losing a board game on the floor of some childhood friends house. And then I want to go home. One of the nicest ladies I've ever met died on Monday. She was one of our cancer patients (breast cancer). We diagnosed her on the floor several months ago. A wound that didn't look right. A biopsy. A talk with the physician. A game plan. A surgery. A dose of chemotherapy. Then another. The hair loss. The nausea. The pain. The discharge. The readmission. The discharge. The readmission. The discharge. The readmission. The turn for the worse. The ICU. The DNR. The family. The pain medicine. The unconsciousness. The pauses between breaths. The suddenly slow heart rate. The slowing. The friend... Husband... Wife.... Partner..... Mother..... Father.... Sister..... Brother..... Son..... Daughter..... sitting beside the bed. The slowing. The call from cardiac monitors. The slowing. The family's concern that somethings not right. Something has changed. And finally the slowing to a stop. This is the way it almost always goes. The lady I knew was a body full of Joy. She once grabbed the ass of one of my male nurse aides in a narcotic stupor. And then she apologized like a lady when the medicine wore off. Cancer didn't defeat her. It took her body but it never took her spirit. That's the beauty of the blues of this world. It can never take your spirit. God Bless one of my favorite patients. May you dance with angels while you and the rest of this universe await the promised kingdom to come. |
Monday, November 8, 2010
The Dharma of Jesus
Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins) said that "the world is a vampire", but I'm inclined to believe that it's more like a "big legged woman that ain't got no soul". (Led Zeppelin-Black Dog).
I overheard a conversation between 2 friends at work. (Both of them very compassionate people working with the crazies on 7 Tower). My 1st friend was talking about how she didn't buy into organized religion and how it was all a sham and stuff, and she asked my 2nd friend (who's gay) what he believed. And his answer was, he had a problem with believing in God because of how some things had worked out in his life. And also because of Gods followers (the churchy's and their "God hates fags" signs) but he added, "I like Jesus......... I've always liked Jesus" he said.
It had me thinking about what God looks like. I struggle a lot with my concept of God. Primarily because of my Blues. I was raised in a culture that viewed God as a hateful caricature, some old dude sitting above the clouds; angry, hating everything and everyone, like that Kansas preacher Fred Phelps- (constipated?) with a white beard (Leon Russell?).
I have to admit that sometimes I struggle with my belief in God. Especially the constipated God, cause I don't think the constipated God exists. Sometimes I struggle with all the crap that happens in the world, and why it happens, and why won't God prevent it from happening. Sometimes I ask God questions that they (churchy's") say you're not supposed to ask.
In fact I was reading an article from some religious dude (a Churchy) and he was going on and on about "music these days" (he was a churchy musician). And he was saying how most of the religious music that was coming out was offensive to God, cause it wasn't respectful enough. It didn't put God high enough up in the clouds. But rather it was too base, and worldly, kinda like a- "God as your girlfriend"- romantic love kind of music, and the picture he was painting of God made him feel very distant and foreign to me, like suddenly I was looking at Leon Russell again, way up in the sky.
I was surprised to find that Mahatma Ghandi (Hindu by religion) had found a similar experience with the churchy's. Before he was the non-violent hero of justice in India he was a law student in South Africa and at invitation of a friend he spent some time studying both Holy books; the bible and the Bhagavad Gita (Hindu scripture). With his study of the Bible, particularly the gospels of the New Testament, he found himself intrigued by the teachings (Dharma) of Jesus and so decided to visit a church one day, but was prevented from entering by one of the elders because of the color of his skin. When asked by a christian missionary (at a later time) what he thought about Jesus, Ghandi said, "Your Christ, I like, what I don't like are your Christians". (paraphrased).
Another famous person in India, Mother Teresa of Calcutta, had an interesting perspective of what God might look like. Mother Teresa, who worked with the destitute, the dying, the rejected, the blues playing poor of India, said that she always tried to picture the face of Jesus on every person she came in contact with. (paraphrased). Because it was the Dharma of Jesus that told her that when you offer someone even just a cup of cold water in his name, you're also giving it to Jesus. In a way then his Dharma is that God doesn't as much look like the white bearded old man in the sky as much as in a particular way, he looks like your sister, or your mother..... your brother..... neighbor.... even your enemy. Where ever there is pain anywhere in the blues playing world...... there in the face of the blues, is the person of Jesus.
As for me, my preference these days is to view God as a guitar playin blues man. Maybe making his way through the universe with a guitar strapped on his back. (Some electric-blue Les Paul, I would imagine). Carrying nothin with him but that guitar and a whole host of blues songs about the world that got away from him, that "big legged woman that ain't got no soul". And how he loved her once and then she left him. Spent his money. Stole his car.
At risk of offending my churchy musician friend, what I'm suggesting might be a little base, "worldly", similar to "God as your girlfriend" kind of stuff, but in this case we (the world) are the the runaway woman (don't tell Fred Phelp's that he's a woman). But if it ain't all happening like that on some level, then there ain't nothin in this world that's true at all.
I overheard a conversation between 2 friends at work. (Both of them very compassionate people working with the crazies on 7 Tower). My 1st friend was talking about how she didn't buy into organized religion and how it was all a sham and stuff, and she asked my 2nd friend (who's gay) what he believed. And his answer was, he had a problem with believing in God because of how some things had worked out in his life. And also because of Gods followers (the churchy's and their "God hates fags" signs) but he added, "I like Jesus......... I've always liked Jesus" he said.
It had me thinking about what God looks like. I struggle a lot with my concept of God. Primarily because of my Blues. I was raised in a culture that viewed God as a hateful caricature, some old dude sitting above the clouds; angry, hating everything and everyone, like that Kansas preacher Fred Phelps- (constipated?) with a white beard (Leon Russell?).
I have to admit that sometimes I struggle with my belief in God. Especially the constipated God, cause I don't think the constipated God exists. Sometimes I struggle with all the crap that happens in the world, and why it happens, and why won't God prevent it from happening. Sometimes I ask God questions that they (churchy's") say you're not supposed to ask.
In fact I was reading an article from some religious dude (a Churchy) and he was going on and on about "music these days" (he was a churchy musician). And he was saying how most of the religious music that was coming out was offensive to God, cause it wasn't respectful enough. It didn't put God high enough up in the clouds. But rather it was too base, and worldly, kinda like a- "God as your girlfriend"- romantic love kind of music, and the picture he was painting of God made him feel very distant and foreign to me, like suddenly I was looking at Leon Russell again, way up in the sky.
I was surprised to find that Mahatma Ghandi (Hindu by religion) had found a similar experience with the churchy's. Before he was the non-violent hero of justice in India he was a law student in South Africa and at invitation of a friend he spent some time studying both Holy books; the bible and the Bhagavad Gita (Hindu scripture). With his study of the Bible, particularly the gospels of the New Testament, he found himself intrigued by the teachings (Dharma) of Jesus and so decided to visit a church one day, but was prevented from entering by one of the elders because of the color of his skin. When asked by a christian missionary (at a later time) what he thought about Jesus, Ghandi said, "Your Christ, I like, what I don't like are your Christians". (paraphrased).
Another famous person in India, Mother Teresa of Calcutta, had an interesting perspective of what God might look like. Mother Teresa, who worked with the destitute, the dying, the rejected, the blues playing poor of India, said that she always tried to picture the face of Jesus on every person she came in contact with. (paraphrased). Because it was the Dharma of Jesus that told her that when you offer someone even just a cup of cold water in his name, you're also giving it to Jesus. In a way then his Dharma is that God doesn't as much look like the white bearded old man in the sky as much as in a particular way, he looks like your sister, or your mother..... your brother..... neighbor.... even your enemy. Where ever there is pain anywhere in the blues playing world...... there in the face of the blues, is the person of Jesus.
As for me, my preference these days is to view God as a guitar playin blues man. Maybe making his way through the universe with a guitar strapped on his back. (Some electric-blue Les Paul, I would imagine). Carrying nothin with him but that guitar and a whole host of blues songs about the world that got away from him, that "big legged woman that ain't got no soul". And how he loved her once and then she left him. Spent his money. Stole his car.
At risk of offending my churchy musician friend, what I'm suggesting might be a little base, "worldly", similar to "God as your girlfriend" kind of stuff, but in this case we (the world) are the the runaway woman (don't tell Fred Phelp's that he's a woman). But if it ain't all happening like that on some level, then there ain't nothin in this world that's true at all.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
A Beautiful Confusion
I was at work waiting on an email response from a friend and I was wondering if everything in the world (reality), all that I see and hear, is actually just as I think it is.
I'd like to say my thoughts were inspired by some Taoist-like meditation about the sound of trees falling in the woods and stuff, however, in reality the question came as the result of just another one of my hospital work days, what I sometimes like to call my daily "7 Tower acid trip".
Nursing is a strange combination of skills. You have to look for objective facts and turn them into compassion. It's like starting as a scientist and ending as a pastor. I was getting my medications for my next patient, listening to my IPhone (on speaker) and I was thinking about the patient I had just seen, (one of the crazies) and how ironic it was to be listening to Floyd right now on my IPhone (dark side of the moon).
What I remember about the man was that he was blind.... And nearly deaf. I remember how I had to lean way over to within about an inch of his face and then with the best projected voice my diaphragm could manage I would holler hello to him or that he needed to take his meds. Or sometimes I would holler and asked if he needed to pee.
He was an old black man. (Stress OLD-maybe Could have been a hundred). He looked like he could have been a blues man. But it seemed that no matter what I hollered he always just kept saying the same thing. "Yes ma'am", he would say. And I would say I'm a sir, and I need to know if you've had a bowel movement today, and he'd say "Yes Ma'am". And I'd say how many times did you go? and he'd say, "yes ma'am". And then I'd say you didn't really poop at all did you, and he'd say yes ma'am......... Then as a test, I'd say, "after lunch we're gonna scoot over to the other side of the room and with the help of Physical Therapy we're gonna fly out the window, you and me". And then after my muffled, barely audible, non-words he would yell out "yes ma'am" one more time, emphatically as if that were the end of the conversation (and it was). And then I would leave the room and come back to my med cart and begin working on my next patients meds;......... Pink Floyd playing gently in the background.... all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be.......
While I was standing at my med-cart I started wondering if it was true..... that all I touch and all I see are all my life will ever be? Cause I was thinking about the old blues guy and the modern world and I was wondering if maybe there were things going on around us.... things this modern world with all it's "science-only" business could never hear or understand. I mean what if all kinds of things were happening but because of my condition I couldn't hear any of it. (psychotic?).
My email ring tone went off and I checked my messages to find that it was an update of a friend whose daughter had just come out of surgery. Her daughter had been primarily deaf for most of her young life but for the first time she would be able to hear as the result of these cochlear implants. And my friend said that the doctor said that they would be slowly increasing her reception because at first sound her world would be mostly chaos, hearing words and sounds and noises that she had never heard before. He said that she might even be confused for a while but that she would work through it and start to distinguish things, voices and sounds and stuff, and that she would ultimately have to relearn how to live her life on this whole other level, and the email ended with this phrase from the dialogue between me and my friend:
She might be in a confusion?.... but it will be a beautiful confusion, he said.
As I walked away from my med cart I wondered if some day there might be of a beautiful confusion for us? And I walked on down the hall with my next patients medications and I tried to open up my ears as open as I could, like I was deaf, or crazy, or like I was expecting some kind of alternate world to break in. But the only thing I could hear was the sound of my nurses aid asking my old blues man how many children he had, and the inevitable expected response, "Yes Ma'am. Yes Ma'am. YES Ma'am".
I'd like to say my thoughts were inspired by some Taoist-like meditation about the sound of trees falling in the woods and stuff, however, in reality the question came as the result of just another one of my hospital work days, what I sometimes like to call my daily "7 Tower acid trip".
Nursing is a strange combination of skills. You have to look for objective facts and turn them into compassion. It's like starting as a scientist and ending as a pastor. I was getting my medications for my next patient, listening to my IPhone (on speaker) and I was thinking about the patient I had just seen, (one of the crazies) and how ironic it was to be listening to Floyd right now on my IPhone (dark side of the moon).
What I remember about the man was that he was blind.... And nearly deaf. I remember how I had to lean way over to within about an inch of his face and then with the best projected voice my diaphragm could manage I would holler hello to him or that he needed to take his meds. Or sometimes I would holler and asked if he needed to pee.
He was an old black man. (Stress OLD-maybe Could have been a hundred). He looked like he could have been a blues man. But it seemed that no matter what I hollered he always just kept saying the same thing. "Yes ma'am", he would say. And I would say I'm a sir, and I need to know if you've had a bowel movement today, and he'd say "Yes Ma'am". And I'd say how many times did you go? and he'd say, "yes ma'am". And then I'd say you didn't really poop at all did you, and he'd say yes ma'am......... Then as a test, I'd say, "after lunch we're gonna scoot over to the other side of the room and with the help of Physical Therapy we're gonna fly out the window, you and me". And then after my muffled, barely audible, non-words he would yell out "yes ma'am" one more time, emphatically as if that were the end of the conversation (and it was). And then I would leave the room and come back to my med cart and begin working on my next patients meds;......... Pink Floyd playing gently in the background.... all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be.......
While I was standing at my med-cart I started wondering if it was true..... that all I touch and all I see are all my life will ever be? Cause I was thinking about the old blues guy and the modern world and I was wondering if maybe there were things going on around us.... things this modern world with all it's "science-only" business could never hear or understand. I mean what if all kinds of things were happening but because of my condition I couldn't hear any of it. (psychotic?).
My email ring tone went off and I checked my messages to find that it was an update of a friend whose daughter had just come out of surgery. Her daughter had been primarily deaf for most of her young life but for the first time she would be able to hear as the result of these cochlear implants. And my friend said that the doctor said that they would be slowly increasing her reception because at first sound her world would be mostly chaos, hearing words and sounds and noises that she had never heard before. He said that she might even be confused for a while but that she would work through it and start to distinguish things, voices and sounds and stuff, and that she would ultimately have to relearn how to live her life on this whole other level, and the email ended with this phrase from the dialogue between me and my friend:
She might be in a confusion?.... but it will be a beautiful confusion, he said.
As I walked away from my med cart I wondered if some day there might be of a beautiful confusion for us? And I walked on down the hall with my next patients medications and I tried to open up my ears as open as I could, like I was deaf, or crazy, or like I was expecting some kind of alternate world to break in. But the only thing I could hear was the sound of my nurses aid asking my old blues man how many children he had, and the inevitable expected response, "Yes Ma'am. Yes Ma'am. YES Ma'am".
Monday, November 1, 2010
the french connection
Ok. Truth be known. In the past my favorite French phrase has been, Voile vous coucher avec moi. (if not alive in the 70's, google meaning of Voile vous coucher avec moi.... It's from a Patty Labelle song).
As a result, my newest favorite French phrase has become, avoir le bourdon.... (see previous post). There ain't nothin like lovin to teach some'n the blues.
As a result, my newest favorite French phrase has become, avoir le bourdon.... (see previous post). There ain't nothin like lovin to teach some'n the blues.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Favorite French Phrase
avoir le bourdon (literal translation: to have the bumblebee): to feel down/have the blues
Friday, October 29, 2010
Boogie Chillen': A Blues Parable
Once there was a boy who lived in the Mississippi delta south. His daddy was a music playin man. But his momma liked to run around.
Before the boy was conceived, there were plans for them to head up north to Detroit. But instead his woman left the music man for a devil named Jim Crow.
That was back in the day when white folks in power couldn't take untamed "black folks". And so, they made bad laws. Laws like curfews (imposed only on African Americans). Laws that allowed white folks to "pick up" African Americans for "loitering", simply if they weren't working, or if they were merely walking down the road.
After just a few days the woman got pregnant and the blues they made was a bastard son. A real unruly boy from the devil seed of Jim Crow. But just like a heartless devil, Jim put em out. And with no where to turn she returned back to the music man and he took the both of em back in.
It's a bitter pill, what that devil'l make you swallow. But his daddy loved the blues. He loved that blues made from the devils seed like his own. And so he moved em all up north stoppin off in Chicago and then up to Detroit.
It was there that his daddy took a job playin at a nightclub. A nightclub on Hastings street called the Henry Swing club. And when the music man played, all the towns people would start to boogie.
Born on the 6th day of the week, they called that boy the blues. And on the 7th day his Daddy spoke. And he said "let that boy boogie-woogie, cause it's in him, and it got to come out".
Boogie Chillen' !!
-(inspired by the lyrics of "Boogie Chillen'", by John Lee Hooker).
Before the boy was conceived, there were plans for them to head up north to Detroit. But instead his woman left the music man for a devil named Jim Crow.
That was back in the day when white folks in power couldn't take untamed "black folks". And so, they made bad laws. Laws like curfews (imposed only on African Americans). Laws that allowed white folks to "pick up" African Americans for "loitering", simply if they weren't working, or if they were merely walking down the road.
After just a few days the woman got pregnant and the blues they made was a bastard son. A real unruly boy from the devil seed of Jim Crow. But just like a heartless devil, Jim put em out. And with no where to turn she returned back to the music man and he took the both of em back in.
It's a bitter pill, what that devil'l make you swallow. But his daddy loved the blues. He loved that blues made from the devils seed like his own. And so he moved em all up north stoppin off in Chicago and then up to Detroit.
It was there that his daddy took a job playin at a nightclub. A nightclub on Hastings street called the Henry Swing club. And when the music man played, all the towns people would start to boogie.
Born on the 6th day of the week, they called that boy the blues. And on the 7th day his Daddy spoke. And he said "let that boy boogie-woogie, cause it's in him, and it got to come out".
Boogie Chillen' !!
-(inspired by the lyrics of "Boogie Chillen'", by John Lee Hooker).
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
MLK sings the Blues
I want to be the white man's brother, not his brother-in-law.
-Martin Luther King Jr.
-Martin Luther King Jr.
Mahatma Ghandi
"Love thy neighbor as thyself" is no counsel of perfection. The capitalist is as much a neighbor of the laborer as the latter is a neighbor of the former, and one has to seek and win the willing co- operation of the other. Nor does the principle mean that we should accept exploitation lying down. Our internal strength will render all exploitation impossible.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Strictly Business
When I hit the gas of my mini van.......
(I own a mini van........ I used to be cool once..........)
sometimes it jerks backwards like the transmission's falling out. A couple of months ago it happened again on my way to work and backing out of my garage, I hit the gas. It jumped. But that time I didn't even notice because I was pissed......
And Hurt...
In fact, I was so upset that my eyes started filling up and so I just turned the music up to cover over everything and when I caught the sound; in an instant I knew it was the blues.
My drive to work is always a mad dash of danger trying to keep from being late to work. (new record-only 3 tardies this year). Sometimes I pray in my car on the way to work (working with the crazies will drive you to it..... Most common prayer? Lord Have Mercy.) But my drives are different these days. Its my wife (and me). We had "a talk" a few weeks ago and just like that, my 19 year marriage left me feeling like the transmission was falling out.
BTW,* It would be inappropriate to assign blame here (that is, unless of course I'm the only one reading this blog..... which I totally expect one day to be true. Don't stop reading, Belgium!!!!
But the thing that shocked me, (maybe the thing that happens after 19 years of marriage) was how the conversation was so tame and dispassionate. A discussion of the worst of our life together discussed like facts.... Numb, like it was all strictly business.
That said, I was thinking about that on my way into work. It's always a long drive south down the highway and I pretty much just have my music and my thoughts, but when I get to the Interstate I start looking for the sky-line (my hospital is close to downtown) and then there's the very short drive down 11th street, and all the strange scraggly people that walk around there.
I've noticed that every city has an 11th street. It's the place caught between........ The place where everything between the business-suited-rich and the homeless-poor intermingle (and sometimes collide). It's the place where everyone cross the same street, use the same gas stations and bathrooms; wait on the same buses. But it's also the place where everything is uncomfortable. No one talks or makes eye contact; unless, of course, they have some kind of business.
One of my former business associates recently lost his job. He's been a great boss. Done outstanding things for his organization (on 11th street). Loyal beyond words. When I asked him why it happened, his response (because he's an honorable man) was, "It wasn't personal. Just business. Missed goals". And I thought about how it's all so easily forgotten, how it's such a "what have you done for me lately" kind of world. And I thought about what a common phrase that is; "it's just business".
When I think of my 19 years with my wife (which we're not giving up on BTW) my former boss, the people of eleventh street I wonder, what does it mean that life is just business? How did we come to this? And where is God in a world where people are so blind to each other?.... silent? And expendable? Invisible? Doesn't it seem like there should be something more than this?
I pulled into the parking garage; parked my car and started running towards my clock-in spot. And when I saw I was a minute early I slowed my pace and settled in. And as I continued my walk I wondered about God, and I wondered if God new any blues songs, or if God understood what it was like to be discarded like leftovers, or how it felt to walk down a busy street awkward, alone, and invisible. And I wondered if God in all of God's God-ness would ever consider learning how to play the blues.
(I own a mini van........ I used to be cool once..........)
sometimes it jerks backwards like the transmission's falling out. A couple of months ago it happened again on my way to work and backing out of my garage, I hit the gas. It jumped. But that time I didn't even notice because I was pissed......
And Hurt...
In fact, I was so upset that my eyes started filling up and so I just turned the music up to cover over everything and when I caught the sound; in an instant I knew it was the blues.
My drive to work is always a mad dash of danger trying to keep from being late to work. (new record-only 3 tardies this year). Sometimes I pray in my car on the way to work (working with the crazies will drive you to it..... Most common prayer? Lord Have Mercy.) But my drives are different these days. Its my wife (and me). We had "a talk" a few weeks ago and just like that, my 19 year marriage left me feeling like the transmission was falling out.
BTW,* It would be inappropriate to assign blame here (that is, unless of course I'm the only one reading this blog..... which I totally expect one day to be true. Don't stop reading, Belgium!!!!
But the thing that shocked me, (maybe the thing that happens after 19 years of marriage) was how the conversation was so tame and dispassionate. A discussion of the worst of our life together discussed like facts.... Numb, like it was all strictly business.
That said, I was thinking about that on my way into work. It's always a long drive south down the highway and I pretty much just have my music and my thoughts, but when I get to the Interstate I start looking for the sky-line (my hospital is close to downtown) and then there's the very short drive down 11th street, and all the strange scraggly people that walk around there.
I've noticed that every city has an 11th street. It's the place caught between........ The place where everything between the business-suited-rich and the homeless-poor intermingle (and sometimes collide). It's the place where everyone cross the same street, use the same gas stations and bathrooms; wait on the same buses. But it's also the place where everything is uncomfortable. No one talks or makes eye contact; unless, of course, they have some kind of business.
One of my former business associates recently lost his job. He's been a great boss. Done outstanding things for his organization (on 11th street). Loyal beyond words. When I asked him why it happened, his response (because he's an honorable man) was, "It wasn't personal. Just business. Missed goals". And I thought about how it's all so easily forgotten, how it's such a "what have you done for me lately" kind of world. And I thought about what a common phrase that is; "it's just business".
When I think of my 19 years with my wife (which we're not giving up on BTW) my former boss, the people of eleventh street I wonder, what does it mean that life is just business? How did we come to this? And where is God in a world where people are so blind to each other?.... silent? And expendable? Invisible? Doesn't it seem like there should be something more than this?
I pulled into the parking garage; parked my car and started running towards my clock-in spot. And when I saw I was a minute early I slowed my pace and settled in. And as I continued my walk I wondered about God, and I wondered if God new any blues songs, or if God understood what it was like to be discarded like leftovers, or how it felt to walk down a busy street awkward, alone, and invisible. And I wondered if God in all of God's God-ness would ever consider learning how to play the blues.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
what its like to be in the crap
I was walking down the hallway the other night, and the crazy patients........ (psychiatric)....... were yelling out crazy things from their rooms.
(* and by crazy, I mean literally crazy. Psychotic. Seeing things. Hearing things...... thinking you're the FBI............. or the devil).
And I was carrying the last adult diaper in the hospital towards my patients room. As I got closer to the smell, I thought to myself wishfully, "I'd rather be writing a blog about the blues". And so, here it is.
The Blues is like hospital work in that it's all about what it's like to be in the crap.
At risk of sounding too "smart-ass", (like one of those Star Trek dudes that wear the costumes and speak Klingon) I've been studying Blues music recently and I discovered that the Blues is played on a positive (major) scale with an occasional stretched (minor) note (referred to as a blue note). I think it's ironic that the technical aspects of the music tell the story of a relatively sunny life (major scale) being corrupted by the occasional stormy monday of a blue note, because that's real life.
POINT: generally, Life is good, but sometimes it sucks.
I've never listened to blues music until just a few years ago. That said, I'm a white dude that grew up in the redneck suburbs of Houston Texas, listening to Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. I Played in a couple of "hair bands" (karma?) in the eighties (See pic of me now, above "about me" segment on the right of the screen). And as a child my mother played me the classics like Elvis, Chuck Berry, and Bo Diddley. But, I think if you were to hunt the roots of all that music, you would eventually find the blues. And the thing about the blues is that it's relatable. Somewhere, sometime there were more innocent days, and then somewhere something happened and everything broke loose. (sound familiar?).
So here I am now, walking towards a funky room, carrying the very last disposable thing separating me and all the crap. And all the way down the hall I'm listening to the crazies yelling at me. And suddenly I find myself wondering where all this crap came from, and how it all got started. And of course I wanna know if anyone has ordered the freakin diapers yet, and I'd like to know if anybody knows when the CRAP they're coming in?!!
(* and by crazy, I mean literally crazy. Psychotic. Seeing things. Hearing things...... thinking you're the FBI............. or the devil).
And I was carrying the last adult diaper in the hospital towards my patients room. As I got closer to the smell, I thought to myself wishfully, "I'd rather be writing a blog about the blues". And so, here it is.
The Blues is like hospital work in that it's all about what it's like to be in the crap.
At risk of sounding too "smart-ass", (like one of those Star Trek dudes that wear the costumes and speak Klingon) I've been studying Blues music recently and I discovered that the Blues is played on a positive (major) scale with an occasional stretched (minor) note (referred to as a blue note). I think it's ironic that the technical aspects of the music tell the story of a relatively sunny life (major scale) being corrupted by the occasional stormy monday of a blue note, because that's real life.
POINT: generally, Life is good, but sometimes it sucks.
I've never listened to blues music until just a few years ago. That said, I'm a white dude that grew up in the redneck suburbs of Houston Texas, listening to Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. I Played in a couple of "hair bands" (karma?) in the eighties (See pic of me now, above "about me" segment on the right of the screen). And as a child my mother played me the classics like Elvis, Chuck Berry, and Bo Diddley. But, I think if you were to hunt the roots of all that music, you would eventually find the blues. And the thing about the blues is that it's relatable. Somewhere, sometime there were more innocent days, and then somewhere something happened and everything broke loose. (sound familiar?).
So here I am now, walking towards a funky room, carrying the very last disposable thing separating me and all the crap. And all the way down the hall I'm listening to the crazies yelling at me. And suddenly I find myself wondering where all this crap came from, and how it all got started. And of course I wanna know if anyone has ordered the freakin diapers yet, and I'd like to know if anybody knows when the CRAP they're coming in?!!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Stats
How vain is this? I just started this blog and I can't stop checking the stats to see if anyone else is reading this besides me. As it turns out, the jury's still out on how this blog is doing over here. But apparently I'm very big in Belgium.
Monday, October 18, 2010
The 7 Tower Blues
Sitting on my bed with my oldest son (9 years old). He's laying beside me, drawing pictures of Star Wars "armor, and weapons". He has no idea the kind of things that happen in this world.
I'm very thankful to have a community of people to do life with. It comes in handy in times like these. Working as an oncology (cancer) nurse we have to live with a lot of sad endings. Just found out about a young girl who we've been caring for, giving Chemo, etc. She coded yesterday and did not survive. The things I remember most from taking care of her were the marine like stubble left on her head after she had shaved it from Chemo. I remember her kids coming to visit. Small children. 4 or 5 years old. They will one day have a difficult time remembering her. I remember being happy along with her when she found out she was in remission. I remember the day she found her cancer was back.
I don't want my son to grow up and know the worst of what this world is like. I want him to stay here in this moment sitting next to me drawing pictures of Star Wars stuff. I want to live in this moment with him, this time right before bed, forever. But one day he'll figure it out. One day, on some level, he'll experience something of it himself. My prayer for him is that he has a community of people to go through it with someday. Because, as a friend reminded me recently, you can't do this life alone. Community, I think, is how God lives in this world. I think we see something of the light and love of God through each other. Community is spiritual.
I'm very thankful to have a community of people to do life with. It comes in handy in times like these. Working as an oncology (cancer) nurse we have to live with a lot of sad endings. Just found out about a young girl who we've been caring for, giving Chemo, etc. She coded yesterday and did not survive. The things I remember most from taking care of her were the marine like stubble left on her head after she had shaved it from Chemo. I remember her kids coming to visit. Small children. 4 or 5 years old. They will one day have a difficult time remembering her. I remember being happy along with her when she found out she was in remission. I remember the day she found her cancer was back.
I don't want my son to grow up and know the worst of what this world is like. I want him to stay here in this moment sitting next to me drawing pictures of Star Wars stuff. I want to live in this moment with him, this time right before bed, forever. But one day he'll figure it out. One day, on some level, he'll experience something of it himself. My prayer for him is that he has a community of people to go through it with someday. Because, as a friend reminded me recently, you can't do this life alone. Community, I think, is how God lives in this world. I think we see something of the light and love of God through each other. Community is spiritual.
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