Ain't gonna study war no more

All my life, I have been listening to justifications for war. All my life.

Constantly, whether acted upon or not.

I realized, driving down the road today... this is not the experience of non-Americans. And I was suddenly starkly jealous of all of you. It must be nice to live in Brazil or Nepal or Paraguay or Iceland or Canada or someplace where your country's population and artillery-soaked media is not always always always talking about the need for military intervention in some area of the world most people have trouble locating on a map.

My God, I am so tired of it. I am weary. I am also SICK over the fact that innocent civilians have already lost heat, water, food, roads, medicine, the necessities of life, all because I have a cowardly president afraid to stick to his bullshit lying campaign promises. And let me tell you, with ONE exception ((waves to the peanut farmer from Georgia)), I have had that same exact damn president ALL MY LIFE. Yes, totally interchangeable presidents. We always think THIS ONE (dubbed President Hopey Changey by witty blogger Lotus) is gonna be the one to NOT act like the others. We always think THIS ONE will be better. Somehow, in some way better.

HAHAHA, yeah I was taken in, as this blog makes clear. I have considered deleting my entire blog out of sheer embarrassment, but then, that would be unfairly presenting myself as someone smarter than I was, less gullible than I was. Instead, I was someone A HALF-CENTURY OLD, yet I nonetheless believed the okey-doke, even after I had already seen decades of lying American presidents. There can be no excuse, except that yes, I was operating on HOPE. My HOPE VALVE was on automatic pilot, cruise control... I wanted so desperately to believe.

And now, I see. I see clearly.

I have talked about strategic voting many times on this blog. And with that in mind, I can't say I will never vote for Democrats again. Certainly, here in South Carolina, that would be utterly suicidal. The Republicans hate poor people and openly seek to eradicate us. I can't trust them. We are left with inferior choices in this election year, as we so often are. Why won't the good people run for office? Why do decent ordinary working people vote for politicians who openly despise them?

And why do they promise peace when they intend no such thing?

I am heartbroken and distraught. This attack on ISIS is bullshit to make Lockheed Martin and the other endless munitions makers and military contractors staggeringly rich. I don't believe anything the media tells us; I often wonder if Americans are now as cynical as the citizens of the late-stage Soviet Union were, as the stories we are given change every day, even several times a day.

Lotus, linked above, provided an amazing quote from George Orwell... as always, timely as ever:

Every war when it comes or before it comes, is represented not as a war but as an act of self-defense against a homicidal maniac.

Yes.

And to the media-pundit hacks like David Gergen and the others? When are you enlisting? You were not in Vietnam, you were working for RICHARD FUCKING NIXON... so tell me, WHEN ARE YOU ENLISTING FOR THIS WAR YOU SO ENTHUSIASTICALLY EXHORT US TO GET INVOLVED IN? If I hear another made-to-order Harvard/Yale "pundit" or "expert" (translation: a well-trained media toadie/lackey, who promptly reports whatever they are told to report) from the cushy white suburbs say "Right on!" about poor and already-exhausted rednecks, blacks and Latinos doing another tour of duty in the silos pushing buttons on people, I will SCREAM and SPEW... which is one reason I finally turned off the cursed television. I can't stand to hear their lying filth one more minute.

I am meditating, and I am thinking of all the other people not able to meditate, as their homes fall around them.

All I can say is: I am sorry, Syrian sisters and brothers, my fellow humans.

I was not consulted on your fate when they decided to tax my money to make bombs to destroy you. In fact, I was lied to and told that my votes might even prevent that. And I was dumb enough to believe, since I did not know what else to do.

Please forgive me.

Three Feet

... and I wouldn't be here.

I can't stop thinking about that fact. It seems so... arbitrary.

Suddenly, life seems quite tenuous and so very precious.

On Friday, a 15-year-old driving an enormous Dodge Ram pickup and sporting a Ferris Bueller t-shirt (you can't make this stuff up), ran a red light and totally sheared the front end off my car. KABOOM - it sounded like a fucking locomotive. And there I was, turned at an angle in the intersection during perilous rush-hour traffic (I did manage to hit my brakes) and all these people loooooooking at me like, is she alive? I managed to chug my smashed-up little car into a nearby parking lot. Somebody dragged my flimsy Saturn-bumper out of the road and brought it over to me. Automobile-detritus and various pieces of metal and glass were all over Haywood Road, and people kept running over them, crunchcrunch... eventually both Mr Daisy and my radio producer/Carolina consigliere came to my aid, so that was good. (Needless to say, I missed Friday's radio show.)

After local police pronounced him the officially-guilty party, Ferris drove away, his bad-ass redneck vehicle unharmed and ready to shear off more bumpers. Mine is a total shambles, one of those words you hardly ever hear anymore, but was popular in 60s comic books. Let's bring back the word: SHAMBLES. (One of those great words that sounds like exactly what it is.) However, the engine sounds okay, and I think it could well be salvaged, so we shall see. The car has already been totaled once. (In fact, that was the subject of my second-ever blog post.)

If I had not hit my brakes. If I had accelerated a few seconds faster into the intersection. Just a few seconds. He sheared the front end of my car clean off... and if *I* had been sitting in the exact spot where he sheared off my car?

Three feet. Just three.

As I said, I can't stop thinking about it.

THREE FEET has become a very intense thing for me, the subject of major meditations throughout the weekend. Our life can end at any time. We know this intellectually, but somehow, coming so close, brings the fact home in a very real way.

And you know, some things just don't seem as important as they did a few days ago. They just aren't. And other things are somehow, suddenly, far more important.

My vision has been sharpened, and I hope to keep this new, acute vision as long as I can. I want to see clearly. And I don't want to waste time. I don't want to spend the time I have on nonsense, on arguing, on unhappiness.

I am reminded of a quote by Thomas Carlyle that Harlan Ellison once taped onto a mirror in his home:

Produce! Produce! Were it but the pitifullest infinitesimal fraction of a Product, produce it in God's name! 'Tis the utmost thou hast in thee; out with it then. Up, up! Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy whole might. Work while it is called To-day, for the Night cometh wherein no man can work.

(The last part of that quote is from the Gospel of John.)

Yes. That is exactly how I feel.

Eyes of the World

Eyes of the World - Grateful Dead (studio version)



According to the invaluable ANNOTATED GRATEFUL DEAD (linked above), by way of Deadhead Scott Robertson:

"You are the eyes of the world" is a translation of the noted Buddhist practitioner Longchenpa's practical guide to the tantra (The Jewel Ship: A Guide to the Meaning of Pure and Total Presence, the Creative Energy of the Universe, byang chub kyi sems kun byed rgyal po'i don khrid din chen sgru bo). It was translated by Kennard Lipman and Merrill Peterson and published by Lotsawa of Novato, CA. I believe the change in name occurred after the last publication date of 1987. The song itself obviously held importance for the folks involved in its production for part of [Robert] Hunter's lyrics are printed opposite the title page. After reading the text the relationship becomes very clear since it instructs the reader how to experience pure presence. How many times at a show did I feel that...

I chose the studio version for the multiple sweet, sublime guitar solos. Just like a mountain breeze.

And When the Sky was Opened

A very old woman ran into me at the market today, slammed me in the butt with her cart. She started to cry, and her daughter (about my age) swooped in to rescue her... and I realized that she was what we used to call 'senile'. I guess the acceptable term is now Alzheimer's, that catch-all diagnosis for when the mind goes. I patted her, assured her it was okay. But I was alarmed, because in her distress, I could see myself and what awaits us all.

Buddha told us to meditate on death, and I have.

I once realized the abject terror in the old Twilight Zone episode, "And When the Sky Was Opened" -- was based on the fact that it mirrored our own experience and terror of death. In the show (written by Rod Serling and adapted from a short story by fantasy-genius Richard Matheson), three men come back from a flight into space, and begin to disappear, one by one. The title of Matheson's original story was, fittingly, Disappearing Act.

On the day of their return, the newspaper headline reads "Three Spacemen Return from Crash: All Alive" and then, after a strange chain of events, there are only two. But... there have always been two. The newspaper headline has changed, and now announces: Two Spacemen have returned. It is as if the third astronaut never existed. The two astronauts remaining start to panic, as everyone around them insists, no, there were only two of them, not three. Never three.

At the end, it is James Hutton (father of Timothy) who is the last astronaut left, looking for his suddenly-missing friend, the second astronaut. He then sees the newspaper headline, which now says only ONE astronaut has returned. The expression on his face has remained with me all of my life, ever since seeing this particular Twilight Zone episode as a child. And when I Googled the image, there it was (see above). Obviously, I wasn't the only one.

He knows he is next.

And the show ends with an empty room. None of them have returned from the flight. The camera pans to where their aircraft was. It is gone, too.

My grandmother died in 2004 and my mother died in 2006; it was when my mother died that I realized, I was up next. Maybe not for awhile, one hopes, but up nonetheless. It was no longer a far-away thing that happened to the old people... I was now the old people.

And so it was today, when I saw the old woman in the store, crying and confused. I saw that it was not simply her confusion that made her cry, although it was that, too... it was that she was afraid. I saw James Hutton all over her face. And then, I saw myself.

As I comforted her, I hoped someone would do the same for me.

~*~

Speaking of which, a sweet voice of my childhood is gone. Let us take a moment to remember Scott McKenzie, who recorded John Phillips' folkie-pop hippie anthem, "San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair)".

I remember being in San Francisco, hearing the song and feeling oddly displaced, because of course the San Francisco I had moved to was not the one in the song, although it had always inspired me. I had moved to Kool and The Gang era San Francisco, the end of the disco era. I remember falling asleep under an open window and starry sky in Oakland and hearing it there too, thinking how odd it was that the song had helped make San Francisco too expensive for people like me to live in. For this reason, it made me sad to hear it, one of the first feelings of aging that I ever remember experiencing.

I came home from the market, and my experience of the woman running into me and weeping, to hear that McKenzie had passed.

It was the perfect ending to a day I had started with an extended meditation on death.

~*~

San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair) - Scott McKenzie



In this video of McKenzie performing the song at the Monterey Pop Festival, you see Brian Jones, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Mama Cass... again, the perfect ending to my daily meditation...

Hello America

I filed for an unemployment-benefits extension today, which I did not know was even possible. I learned of my extension-eligibility from a very helpful state employee at the Greenville-area One-Stop center yesterday.

And so, I girded my loins and prepared for today's long bureaucratic process at the unemployment office, where I have not been since November.

I am always somewhat obsessed with bean-counting the minute I enter the unemployment office. It is just so glaringly obvious. Today, about 50 people, give or take (very hard to count precisely, since people are constantly entering and exiting)... with only three white men in attendance, and they all appeared to be over 40. The rest of us, women of all colors and ages, and black men, all ages.

As I said, interesting.

Ever since I started counting, the results have been more or less the same.

My question: Are the young white men really staying employed en masse during this economic crisis, or are they too proud to apply for unemployment?

~*~

At left: Interior of Greenville Mall, around the time I worked there. (from Deadmalls.com)




The One-Stop center is in an old shopping mall, McAlister Square, that has been utterly transformed--you might say the building was recycled. I used to take my daughter there when she was a child; I recall St Patrick's Day and Halloween events that she loved. And now, when I walk in, it is still jarring to me that it is no longer a shopping mall. But I am so glad they managed to find some good purpose for it.

There is a website that I find fascinating, Deadmalls.com, since I am one of those people who actually worries about the proliferation of big-box stores and malls. I often wonder WHAT ON EARTH we will ever do with them.

Ever since I read JG Ballard's Hello America, I've wondered what these entities will be in 100-200 years from now. I imagine the enormous suburban office buildings chopped up into tiny apartments; I see the big-box stores turned into homeless shelters for hundreds of people... or possibly turned into hospitals, schools, or condos. What else could you do with them? Simply knock them down when they are no longer needed?

Greenville Mall, where I worked for awhile and had one of my fender-benders, is now gone; torn down some time ago. It was once the big deal around here, and now it is history. I think of it as a symbol of the fleeting nature of fads and fashion and why it's futile to try to be cool. (Buddhist aside: Empty malls that once attracted the moneyed young, filled to overflowing with hustle and bustle, are a good subject for anicca [impermanence] meditation.)

Cool lasts for a week or a day, and then something else is cool. I always tell people, I was totally cool for about an hour in the late 70s, during which time I visited both Max's and CBGB's. But the hour passed, and I descended back into my usual uncoolness.

It was a nice hour while it lasted.

One man gathers what another man spills

Hey you crazy kidz! I shall now explain another way the Tarot works, in addition to those ways we have already discussed.

I drew The Star today! Yeah! And now I am ready to rock and roll, recite the Chaplet of Divine Mercy, hike my beloved Swamp Rabbit Trail to a fare-thee-well and then go chow down at the Pita House. Exercise and healthy food! This is all because I drew the right card. If I had drawn this one, or this one, or God forbid, this one, I would just stay home and watch Turner Classic Movies, eating popcorn and fiddling on Facebook.

See how it works now?

To the skeptics who bray in unison (squawk!) self-fulfilling prophecy, I answer: well, no shit Sherlock! Whoever said that didn't count or wasn't a factor? You say this triumphantly, as if it nullifies everything, whereas to me, that is just more proof of how it works.

If all of these millions of people can express happiness with their very expensive placebos put out by pharmaceutical companies (some of which I subsidize with my taxes), then I guess I can blog about my placebos, which are just as good as theirs.

~*~

Going on record as very happy with the gay marriage decision in New York. Here is a cool article about the changes in the culture regarding gay couples and acceptance; those who seem to be unlikely supporters of same-sex marriage have had their opinions influenced by knowing someone who is gay: To Know Us Is to Let Us Love (New York Times)

I should be back to trashing Nikki Haley in the next week... what with murdering mommies taking center stage in our national consciousness, I all-but-forgot about the right wing governor attempting to gut our state economy even further... but rest assured, I shall be back on the case soon. (One wonders what ELSE she can find to destroy, but I'm sure she'll find something.)

~*~

I have been reading an amazing Buddhist text titled An Unentangled Knowing, written by the late Thai Buddhist lay woman Upasika Kee Nanayon (aka K. Khao-suan-luang). This text is part of the Thai Forest Tradition --which I think sounds as cool as the Catholic term "The Desert Fathers"--conjuring up visions of mystics who have left civilization to find their own way.

I had attempted the book many years ago and ended up tucking it away in profound spiritual confusion, because I found it unaccountably disturbing and weird. When I found the book again, I was finally ready, even hungry, for it.

It is, quite simply, the Buddhist book I've needed and have been waiting for. Many years ago, I had not studied the texts necessary to get to this point and hence, didn't understand a word. The concept of "emptiness"--in the West--tends to translate to NIHILISM, and no, it isn't the same thing at all. But I didn't truly understand this until last year. I am now ready to fully engage the text, and I have. I have carried the book with me for about two months, reading and re-reading, studying carefully at every available moment and applying what I have learned to my meditations... and...

It has made me very happy!

Not sure why.

But isn't that what we are really doing all this for, when its all said and done?

(The whole text is online here.)

~*~

Your fun Saturday afternoon tune--I've discovered this one goes really good with the Swamp Rabbit Trail--

Exodus (original) - Bob Marley and the Wailers



Movement of Jah people! (Is that the greatest thing you ever heard or what?)

Have a fabulous weekend and hope you find a little bit of The Star for yourself, too. See you on the Swamp Rabbit Trail!

~*~

*derivation of blog post title is HERE. I always assume people know this stuff, then they email me and ask! Sorry about that!

Odds and Sods II

The Lama Yeshe Wisdom Archive has FREE (YES! I SAID FREE!) books available, including the book at the left, Illuminating the Path to Enlightenment by the Dalai Lama. Go here and have a look. They make great Christmas presents for those folks you'd like to give a gift to, but you know they'd feel weird if you spent money on them. :)

I wrap these books up all *Christmas-pretty* and include ordering information, if they should want to order more. If you know non-Christians, progressive Christians, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus, Jains, Wiccans, pagans, etc... most are usually very pleased with these gifts, and you can also have some great (if highly esoteric!) discussions afterwards! (I've never given them to any atheists, so you're on your own there; agnostics seem fine.)



Bonus: Some of the books have Richard Gere's name in the acknowledgments! :D


Of course, you should send money for postage and whatever you can afford. Charity (Dana) is one of the six requisites of Buddhist discipline: Giving leads to being reborn in happy states and material wealth. Alternatively, lack of giving leads to unhappy states and poverty. Lama Yeshe Wisdom Archives is generously providing us lovely, new books, and we should give back.

So, yes, they are free, but I always give something.




~*~








Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance, a day of memorial for all transgender persons who have died as a result of intolerance and violence.

Thanks to Lisa at Questioning Transphobia for the heads-up.

More at Transgender Day of Remembrance and Remembering Our Dead.

~*~

Anthony wants you should contribute to his blog carnival, Surfer's Paradise Hullabaloo. Deadline midnight! Go to Anthony McCune's blog for the details.

~*~

New Grateful Dead Hour shows are posted every Wednesday on the fabulous and invaluable Dead.net. Click on FEATURES and then GD HOUR. Great stuff to get you through your working week!

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Listening to: New York Dolls - Personality Crisis
via FoxyTunes