If I never saw another morning sky
nor waked to hear the sparrows on the lawn,
if roses gave no scent when I walked by
and all the butterflies were dead and gone,

there still would be their memory in my mind
(for beauty is not merely for the sense)
and every place I looked for it, I'd find
a way to grow from each experience

For life is in the living, here and now
and does not linger long in sight and sound;
It dwells in death and rebirth, and somehow

remains, among all simple things, profound.
The end? In truth, that day will never come;
we merely pass from bread, to toast, to crumb.

31 MAY 2003

The other night I saw a portion of NOW with Bill Moyers on PBS. He was interviewing Will Hutton (author of the book A DECLARATION OF INTERDEPENDENCE: WHY AMERICA SHOULD JOIN THE WORLD, an old friend of America's, but a friendly critic as well. Hutton was for years Editor-in-Chief of one of Britain's most influential newspapers, THE OBSERVER, for which he still writes a column).

The full transcript is here.

What I wanted to talk about is this. Two of the things that Hutton says worry him about American politics are the increasing role of money in the drawing of political boundaries, positions, etc., and the absolute inability of the Left to put together a cohesive platform to debate the Right, thereby causing the Big Eagle to flop around in circles because frankly, it's really only got one viable wing. There is as a result no real debate, nor ideological banter. There is only a murky middle ground and the Extreme Right.
Of course, in this country we effectively castrated the Radical Left in the first half of the twentieth century with our crusade against the Communists (coincidentally, communism and socialism do not pose a threat to democracy, but to capitalism. Capitalism is in and of itself the anathema of democracy, unless each person has exactly the same amount of money. Socialism/communism strive to give each person the same amount of money, so that they can each buy similar numbers of votes. In both the case of the US and the USSR, which have been for quite some time effective oligarchies, the people with the most money are those who decide and can afford to ignore policy). But ultimately, the tools that the Right and Left use are fundamentally different. Reading Shirer's Rise and Fall of the Third Reich helps put this in perspective. In my opinion, unless things are going great, the Left's position NEVER is more persuasive, particularly since our culture itself tends to emphasize the linchpins of the Right's platform. For example:

The tools of the Right typically are:
Pride, Fear, Blame, Isolation, Reward, Institution and Ritual

Whereas the tools of the Left are typically:
Humility, Trust, Responsibility, Community, Work, Individual and Freedom

So, when you look at it, in a society where true education is not prized, the religious temperament is inclined to blindly follow leaders without personal revelation, and where personal gain is placed higher in the social contract that universal growth, it is no wonder that the promulgators of the Right have so many more followers than the left. Further, in the absence of any true Radical Left, it is unlikely that the anykind Left (which of course includes the milksop, pantywaist Democratic party of which I am a member) will be capable of producing any candidates that are truly worth a damn and that possess any kind of backbone or recognizable agenda - particularly when they, like the Social Democrats and Catholic Center parties in 1930's Germany are not able to put into plain, everyday language exactly what it is they stand for, and why anyone should stand with them.

Ah, well. Perhaps we are indeed in a repeat of history. We certainly are a culture of complete self-interest. Which of course, is what the Right needs to build upon.
Anti-Nazi activist from the 20's and 30's (and early biographer of Hitler) Konrad Heiden said:

Hitler was able to enslave his own people because he seemed to give them something that even the traditional religions could no longer provide; the belief in a meaning to existence beyond the narrowest self-interest. The real degradation began when people realized that they were in league with the Devil, but felt that even the Devil was preferable to the emptiness of an existence which lacked a larger significance. The problem today is to give that larger significance and dignity to a life that has been dwarfed by the world of material things. Until that problem is solved, the annihilation of Naziism will be no more than the removal of one symptom of the world's unrest. -- Konrad Heiden, Der Fuehrer, 1944

A curtal sonnet

If there exists a cause to take up arms,
while breath survives some live to find it just,
and seek to purify themselves in blood,
forsaking for the fray their fields and farms
to wage war on their brothers; for they must,
to raise themselves, throw others in the mud.
Then when their deeds of heroism fade,
and victory's bread is devoured to crust,
when time has dried to dust the victor's flood
of rhetoric, what's left of the charade
is crud.

19 MAY 2003

To be quoted by a thousand scholars,
used as a prop for some hopeless causes,
while earning enough to feed my old cat
bringing in those endless stipend dollars;
the rewards of my royalty clauses
helping me to grow sassy, sleek and fat,
outgrowing these cheap artistic collars -
the mind tends to boggle, as it pauses
to contemplate success so great as that.
And yet, I would rather be known as one,
who despite my many fatal flaws, is
trying to listen and join in the scat
of each new day and moment that's begun,
than that.

20 MAY 2003

It is more than simply a vibration,
a finite number of beats across time
that enter the senses to resonate
and seek to move against the immobile;

there is a color and taste to it, too,
that fills the mouth with flavor and substance,
plays against the eye in patterns of light.
By turns, it is warm or cool to the touch,

and may fill the mind with joy or with dread.
It is alive, ever-changing, and moves
across great distances; as its echo
fades, it is absorbed in other new forms:

the whir of wings, the rustle of dry leaves,
the drip of a faucet, a tinkling laugh.

Drawing it in, we bring the world to us,
open, undisguised and without deceit -
where vision fails, in its grandiose quest
to reach out, conquer, and quickly discern

between the illusions it is offered,
the ear, with its passive, receptive scan
finds no separations, no division
between the self and the sacred other.

19 MAY 2003

I
am
one
lone
voice
that is
silently
and slowly
whispering
a song that
echoes so
faintly
fading
in the
cool
air
in
a
flicker of time.
Like the side
of a candle
at the edge
of your vision,
the sound of
my voice, its
fragile refrain,
seems to draw
your attention
as it waxes
and wanes.

16 MAY 2003

The air is starting to gain water weight -
it sweats like a fat man there at the gate
and leaves hints of moisture with its warm touch;
under its heavy hand, it is too much
work to even sit outside until late.

Even then, as the night blooming flowers
unfold and release their sweet musk for hours,
the damp air is difficult to take in;
each slow breath is a labor to begin,
and seems to soon wilt and lose power.

And in the still dusk, for there is no wind,
the gathering dark seems to suck the light in
and blur all the streetlamps in heavy gauze;
even my cigarette smoke seems to pause
and hang there, dull and lifeless, at my chin.

But the night is alive with living things,
and from sundown to sunrise, the air sings
with whirring and chirping, whistles and croaks,
the Music of life from a thousand throats
and the rustle of countless tiny wings.

As the darkness settles like a thick sheet,
and beads of sweat form from my head to feet,
I slowly breathe in the fetid scent
and sit in silence, my energy spent;
Ode to summer! May your days be fleeting!

14 MAY 2003

A ghazal

When there is nothing left the senses but sound
Even the silence between us will make that sound.
Each breath we take reverberates past our ears
And fills the empty space with cascades of sound.
There is no quiet place that we can keep closed
To keep the soul from hearing our silent sound.
Like circles in water nearing unknown shores,
our reach extends out from the center of sound.
We are but echoes of distant faded chimes;
You and I can only imagine the sound.

10 MAY 2003

Even the moon is full with it; last night
she hung expectant, just showing past half
through her pregnancy, a pale shimmered light
that peeped through the clouds like a wobbling calf

between the legs of its watchful mother.
Under every leaf, too, eggs lie in wait,
and the scent of released pollen smothers
even exhaust and asphalt past the gate.

My own soul feels weighted down too, but calm,
hanging on each moment as it creeps by
letting it pass without regret, knowing that soon
So soon, the soft, healing and fragrant balm
of peace will overshadow the dawn sky
and I will hear the whispers of its tune.

09 MAY 2003

If you get drunk on a half bottle of wine, what do you care how many cases of other liquor the tavern holds? -- Ramakrishna

For those who REALLY want to know some history ...

Thirty years ago, I just entered the second grade, my first year in a population 7,500 town in rural northwest Ohio after having been through first grade in Ferndale, Michigan. We moved to the country 1) because they were going to start bussing kids to the inner city schools of Detroit, 2) my parents wanted to get out of the city in general, 3) my dad's father (my grandfather) was getting sicker (emphysema) and my grandmother needed help with her farm (about 40 minutes away from ours), 4) my mom's father (also my grandfather) was retiring from the police force after 25 years as Greenhills, OH police chief and also was not doing well health-wise, and 5) my sister was just born. Later that year, both grandpas would die, and I would write my first song.

Twenty years ago, I graduated from high school (West Torrance, California), with no plans, few friends, and two weeks to kill before my dad put me to work at his company. Of course, it was for me only a temporary gig, until I was discovered as a rock and roll star. I'm still working in technology, 20 years later ... LOL.

Ten years ago, my father died, exactly one summer (three months) after he retired at age 65. It may be of interest to note that "it was the third of September / a day I'll always remember, yes I will / 'cause that was the day / my daddy died" ("Papa Was a Rolling Stone," the Temptations). It might be also interesting to note that I heard the news from my younger brother (who was obviously dealing with the situation on a somewhat out-of-it basis), who called to let me know (exact words) "I'm calling to let you know that my father has died." This occurred about twenty three minutes after I had just taken two hits of acid in Memphis in the same room with someone who was a Klan member who had in his past committed manslaughter against a minority race individual in a dispute over crack, and also someone who was wanted in three states for a former occupation (cooking meth for the Hell's Angels in Texas). Needless to say, I spent the remainder of the evening engrossed in Ram Dass' "Be Here Now" - or I probably wouldn't be here now.

Five years ago, I was ending a four-year marriage to someone who, to put it bluntly, was absolutely incompatible with me, and I had moved back to rural Ohio to the family farm after living in Seattle. Can someone say I have a prediliction for culture shock? I also attended my would-be (if I had stayed in Ohio) high school's fifteen year reunion, and ended up in the emergency room being rehydrated and my stomach pumped after having passed out and having to be ambulanced from said reunion.

One year ago, I was again avoiding Jazzfest here in New Orleans, enjoying the pre-summer weather with Starlight Dances.

One month ago, I was filling out my tax returns, contemplating home improvements, and inexplicably enjoying a Slim Fast shake.

One week ago, I was spending my tax refund on a plethora of home improvement items - new shutters, shower curtain, new mattress and boxspring (our old one was 15 years old), sheets, blankets ... oh, yeah :) ... new books, a new transverse bamboo flute, statue of Kali (om kring kalikaye namah om) ...

Yesterday, I worked. And then helped with dinner for the Troll Queen and a friend. And then trucked them across the river so they could see the premiere of X2. And purchased new mini-blinds for the front windows. And loved Starlight Dances without question or pause, as usual.

Today, I responded to this meme, put up the mini-blinds, did the dishes, listened to the Beatles, counted my japa beads (om namah shivaya), and contemplated the wonder that has been my life.

There is a fire inside you that must not
Be extinguished. From its heart comes the spark
that lights your life. Once gone, it can't be bought -
and you will have left only the cold dark.

It is this flame we nurture at Beltane,
echoed in each pyre on lonely hilltops,
rejoicing as the pale winter months wane
and the earth begins to sprout our new crops.

It lights a heat in the belly and heart,
a great force of both life and destruction,
giving us both freedom and self-control,

a glimpse beyond our sense of beauty's part
in the wide world's method of construction,
and with its touch, centers us in the whole.

01 MAY 2003