Creative Processing, Ghost Dog Love

Ghost Dog Love

da pain, da pain, da pain
rains snows sleets dogs and dogs.
epic dogs, pheonix dogs, Rumi dogs
across my core, through our collective soul

Brother John taught me Stinkface.
works for bright light
hard emotions, angry or sad
a mask of facial tension
reflected darkness of our abyss

Ghost dog becomes ghost dog
charges forever inside me.
energy seemed boundless.
Now so in soothe

Timeless Fragrant Love

light grows to dim again
eyes bright one moment
clouded and tired another.
no human power could relieve this suffering,
but relief you channel graceful
flows through us, trees, oceans, bird filled skyways
yesterday and tomorrow blind fiery ghosts
ego slips, macho trips, bring them all back
music beyond our minds
electric heat and cooling
clear sounds not too loud
round and around every little thing spins
orbitals of orbitals cannot obsure this
timeless fragrant love

Riven, Radially

May rains falling right on time, wet and wind driven, cool and not overly happy. They seem to challenge me, like the rest of the world, calling me out. Whatever happened to adventure cycling? Keep having to check myself to see what kind of animal I am, what species I'd like to become, seagull or hawk, panther or wolf, oak tree or mayfly. Riven, radially, as a log.

Yeah, I Got Change [walks away, dispensing none]

Keeping the faith that my big life changes are positive, for all involved. I have cried an ocean of tears and would cry ten thousand oceans more if that is what it takes to be true to myself and what I know is right. Lively drops of salty water fall like soldiers on D-day destined for makeshift incinerators, vaporized with full honors on my face of red-hot coals, some escaping to perish more slow on my black jacket, little salt markers of their temporary resting places. Great happiness cycles through as well, born from knowing that there can be no other way that my innermost self will tolerate, and that the world tastes like good fresh oysters on a warm seashore night. Our time on Earth is not eternal, so we must practice devotion to our spiritual paths now, with a sense of urgency, so that when hard times fall on us we can weather them with confidence, honesty, and joy.

Headed for the Big D & I don't mean Dallas, no malice. Got served in the sauna with a pack of vicious lies, but I don't die, just fly to the sky, no time to wonder why. Layers of pain unveil layers of pain, reveal oceans of loving support. Queen Califia hath forsaken us not, lets blessings fall like rain, then rise as vapor to become cloud art for wayward workers blessed with imagination and second sight.

April 2010, in Some Walnut Shells

Spring storms blow in rough and wild but cannot quench my blistered feet blazing around the verdant trails. Wind and rain, flowers and sun, this tree huggin' soil worshipper zims that vernal edge singing the body electric, feeling real Walt Whitman up in here, Leaves Of Grass, up in here.

"Buddhas do not wash away ill deeds with water, Nor remove transmigrators' sufferings with their hands, Nor transfer their realization to others. Beings are freed through teachings of the truth, the nature of things. --Buddha

Swam Donner Lake at 9:00 AM 4/26/10 for ~1 minute. Yes, there was snow on the beach. Immersion in cold water is some crazy stuff. I do believe I liked it. Then I learned to snowboard; loved it.

Used to wait for my favorite pet wild freshwater crab sitting on the shore of San Francisquito Creek. I did not know one could find crabs in freshwater until she scuttled by my favorite creekside basking spot, little blue devil with her home under rock. I hope her descendants scuttle there still.

Kids' art takes me places people plumb forgot existed, and beyond. My son convinced me to roll down a steep grassy hill in Tilden Park with him, the one between the botanical garden and the Brazilian Room. Had completely forgotten how dizzy that can make a person, but now it's the freshest, way. Daughter did it too, of course - 1st time's free.

Son says "I wouldn't want to live in a little bitty world, and have a little bitty life, because then you would be born and die in like five minutes." Might be good enough for Alan Jackson, but we're looking for that step up.

"Surrealism is not a school of poetry but a movement of liberation, a way of rediscovering the language of innocence, a renewal of the primordial pact, poetry is the basic text, the foundation of the human order. Surrealism is revolutionary because it is a return to the beginning of all beginnings." --Octavio Paz

Chthonic. Look it up. Jung laughs with us while Faust and Faunus smile vacant past unthinkable dreams, or are those memories? Reflections of reflections through looking glasses and shattered knives.

"This life disappears only very quickly Like something written in water with a stick." - Buddha.

Found daughter trying to figure out the cover to Cheap Thrills by Big Brother and The Holding Company, yes the real album cover from 1967. First it brought back memories of myself trying to figure that art out, then I went ahead and actually looked at it. It has to the funniest album cover of all time. Long live R. Crumb. About Janis on the back my daughter said "She's happy."

"There ain't no money in poetry. That's what sets the poet free...cold dog soup and rainbow pie is all it takes me get me by." --Guy Clark Windy

Winter night, edge of Tomales Bay: no tent, old bag, let breeze in strong through zipper. tickling chill woke me every 20 -minutes - I laughed and thanked lucky stars for wil...d gifts, turned over to more ochre dreams.

Feeling inspired for more night hikes after last full moon traipse in the howling cold wind & pouring rain. Have finally realized, with a little help from a extraordinarily visionary friend, that we do not have to wait for any weather, moonphase, or water temperature to arrive.

"May we have the confidence of joy and delight When food and wealth accumulated with miserliness are left behind And we separate forever from cherished and longed-for friends, Going alone to a perilous situation." -The First Panchen Lama

My First Song: Love Up The Dreams That Need Love

Title: Love Up The Dreams That Need Love

Got a righteous good feeling when I gaze at the sky
Light of saturn shines sweet on our smiles
dark green shadows with blue shades of night
Help me to sing out, "It's gonna be alright"

Dance, dance, dancing in downpours,
Skipping, laughing down every trail,
So alive, and so very willing,
To Love up the dreams that need love the most

Got a righteous good feeling when I smell salty water
Light of Neptune tastes salty on our lips,
dark green shallows with dark blue shades of the deep
Help me to sing out, "It's gonna be a great leap"

Dance, dance, dancing in downpours,
Skipping, laughing down every trail,
So alive and so very willing,
To Love up the dreams that need love the most

SO excited to live this good life

Yesterday I sailed for the 1st time. We left the Richmond Marina late morning and returned at sunset, gorgeous, giving, feeling, beyond previous experiences. The folks were friendsome and I was on point, maybe a little jacked up with the thrill of the saltwater and blue sky. Stopped at San Francisco Aquatic Park for lunch, realized a 10-year old dream of swimming there, delightful, delightful, cold, and salty. Dominique and Chris swam too, and we felt quite fab about it.

Just got home from the wildest full moon hike yet, and I have been leading them for years. Just one taker and I drove to the back entrance to Kennedy Grove Park in the blooming storm of the decade, disappeared into the shadows beneath the old trees, smelled the bay trees smelling bayish, brought the moss & ferns inside us, marveled at them, then turned ourselves inside out, the better to know the lonesome hill entire. Ineffable, ineffable, but still I feel the urge to try to describe this blessing based in mud and the windy woods at night.

A woodpecker, sounded like a big old flicker to me, tapped on a tree to let us know we had left El Sobrante proper and entered into a realm most humans will never know. The storm blew in hard, whipping the trees, tearing through the forest like a herd of elephant spirits, leaving branches akimbo. Abandoned the Black Oak Grove trail in favor of the more sheltered Upper Sea Foam trail, which led us to the Lake View Lookout, where the wind promptly blew my hat off and threatened to crush my taker's umbrella, but we endured, nay, even dove off the west side of the slope into the fierce cold wind, down Lower Seafoam trail. She pointed out cracks in the soil indicating major earth movement; I raised my eyebrows while feeling for the creep of the hill, got a little giddy, passed by the dripping bench. It got steep, the storm blowing in arrived in force, dropped giant drops on the steep trail in quantity, traction got low, my hat became porous, navigation got tricky. With the miracle of Goddess we made it down without falling, stopping every now and then just to listen to the sounds of the storm whipped woods at night. Words cannot describe, but these tears of gratitude must mean something. I feel good, blessed, like I have stepped into the light after a month in the dark, those foggy trail visions will circle my mind until the electricity fades from my eyes.

These two wonderful trips, in addition to the 11 bands, party at the gym, day hike, and birthday lunch more or less top off my birthday celebrating month, and yes, I have no shame, might even see Hank III tonight...

BE HERE NOW

love love @ 40

mmmmm...40-years today. feels unreal, and I still love my skateboard. ready to lope across the ridges, down into the greenest glens, wildly aware

Tidbits, Trains, and Cycling

"I'm ain't nothing but a dirty dog, a briny hound, a dirty dog." --Jimmie Revard's Oklahoma Playboys

Cycling loves me so much that reciprocating comes preternatural. Had a way sweet ride along the Richmond shoreline Saturday - Point Isabelle to Ferry Point then back through the tunnel by Point Richmond, through what the wife & I used to call "Illegal Activities Land", back to Point Isabelle. To top it off our wonderfully unhurried trio threw in some impromptu adventure mountain biking to attend a King Cake party at the Albany Landfill, where I of course got Frog (the saviour) in my slice of cake, and so will be hosting a party this Friday in Oakland (buzz me for details, or comment on this post). Little sore, super stoked, "like a couple of kids, flipping our lids".

Been wondering what gets us through the nights not fun. Each of us with our own set of tools - meditation, liquor, television, books with yellowed pages, hot baths, the wild wonders of ancient and modern medicine, + a wide variety of excercise routines. More to the point is what might get me through this dark & stormy now. Sleep, bicycling, better things. No Selping! (not Sleeping + Not Helping)

My favorite part in André Gide's "The Counterfeiters" was when they dared each other to lie between the tracks as a train passed over. Then that one guy (my hero) did it. He passed out from fear as the train passed over him, then woke up feeling transformed, not to mention with an awful ringing in his ears. I'm a firm believer in donning one's stunner shades, ear plugs, helmet, gloves, and going dumb. Push your luck!

"I'm going down to the railroad, lay my head on the track. When that train come along I'm going to jerk it back." --from Dirty Hangover Blues by W. Lee O'Daniel & His Hillbilly Boys. That line cracks me up every time. As Homer Simpson so astutely put it: "I thought I had an appetite for destruction but all I wanted was a club sandwich."

Adventure waits in the dark cold

Icy winds of approaching winter become me, beckon me to dance myself warm while the kettle boils for one more cup of tea. Adventure waits in the dark cold, reserved for us with inner heat.

Ever new bliss is really the way to go.

Feeling good, looking to stretch that vibration.....stretching....stretching...ooo it feel so damn wonderful.....stretching...can barely take the whelming wonderfulness...ha ha ha... that tickles....hee hee ho ho hoo hoo, whoo hoo hee haw.

let's party

Heritage

As the 1st anniversary of my father's suicide (12/15) approaches I feel much while coming to terms with the fact that I ain't nearly processed this whole deal yet. Not sure I ever will, but the heritage part's been bugging me for awhile because the stuff I wrote about it in 2006 did not include detailed blood quantum analysis, so I am:



1/4 Scottish
1/4 Sudanese (Arab)
1/8 Welsh
1/8 English
1/16 Creek
1/16 Black
1/16 Irish
1/32 Cherokee
1/32 Choctaw

dig it

The Process

out of direction, out of streets to drive down for the first time. Haven't written much creative lately, and I feel the pent up insanity slapping slimy old cold fish against the backs of my knees, can't wake up, bloated, green, and covered with a hundred kinds of crabs and flies. Inspiration! Problem solving! Problems that used to baffle me! Conjuring intuition. These are but a few of the benefits of spitting what ought to be spit. Swallowing that black lung butter I hack up daily ain't good for a digestive tract; got to spit it out, in an appropriate place.

Listening to Robert Goulet croon Ave Maria; loving it with the setting sun. Not even five yet, golly is November good for activities best done under cover of night.

Night People, hanging out, talking 'bout "Day People" - they don't know what it's all about.

I'd Flap My Wings

Zimming calm down El Sobrante's main drag this morning, on my way to Richmond, to drop off my darling 3-year old; she busts out with: "If I was a bird I'd flap my wings". If I were a thousand year old thought-dream I'd sing the body electric, zap.

Fall 2009, We Love You

Star filled skies rest gentle in my pupils. Fog drifts in and in then burns off with love. Autumn enhancing earthy nerves tuned to harvest. Better times come; ever new bliss along lonely trails, long piers delving the bay, impending steep ascents.

Chamomile Harvest

First year we planted a vegetable garden. Planted chamomile as a border and it came out great. Turns out that the boy just loves harvesting - kale, chamomile, tomatoes, potatoes, squash, corn, you name it, his joy shines so bright I have to wear dark glasses. Darling daughter likes it too, of course, but the garden started as mainly a father-son project so she just gets in on the good parts. My dad allegedly once told me spouse that I didn't know how good I had it. Sometimes I wonder.

Listening to Funkadelic and loving it, sweaty from too much caffeine.

Campfires & Creeks

Memories of Memorial Park in San Mateo cycle through my mind, giant redwoods, quietly flowing water, and one unforgettable night of crackling fire. The kids want to camp again, soon. This world rises and falls with or without our valiant efforts, but still my chakras glow with growing helpful energy.

Fear of Cycling

I'm guessing that my father's passing last December had a more profound effect upon me than I first would admit. The thing is, cycling, one of my favorite things, has fallen by the wayside, which I now blame for myriad mental and physical pains. Enough blogging about it, I've just got to get back on and peddle or find some other strenuous exercise to enjoy.

Life is for the living.

Boxcar Bertha would have liked me

Sister of The Road: The Autobiography of Boxcar Bertha - as told to Dr. Ben Reitman by Ben Reitman


My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Generations cycle through, cry through endless nights then molder in graves cold, but the habits & desires of society and individuals abide. So modern to believe we live like none before us, but the the things that don't change prove most uncanny & ubiquitous. I love Bertha for her honesty, I love hitchhiking, wide open spaces and concrete jungles. Found out that there's a movie loosely based on the book that came out in 1972 (two stars). One disappointing thing, however, was finding out at the end that it really was written by Ben Reitman, which I admit it says on the cover, but then it also calls itself an autobiography. Bertha still feels real to me, because I got to feeling her strong living as I read. Got the urge to ride the rails stronger than ever. My Uncle Tony used to ride the rails, got shot at by railroad dicks and everything, and I knew some folks in college that tried it, but somehow I missed the train. I'll wait until my kids grow just a little more first, but then it's motorcycle riding, hang gliding, and hobo vacation time, all the time.

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Time Upon Time, Love Sings

Transitions sweet & bitter, still left with now and a thousand thoughts knocking at once. Back to loving gratitude, buzz of insects in the spring, wind in the trees. Purple flowers remind me of how wonderful life can feel, the depths of shared human experience, so good the smiles shine through the thickest of grays. Photos won't upload for now, hmmmmm