Time has told me you're a rare find, a troubled cure for a troubled mind

It's cold and bleak outside and a Nor'easter is about to batter most of the north east. Well, what else would you expect in the middle of January? Hold on, it's still October? This could be a long, brutal winter. Or not. We shall see.

I've been fascinated and uplifted by the Occupy movement. It seems as if it's too late to squash it, but those in power will continue to try. And when it doesn't go away? Well, stay away from the fan, because it's going to be covered in shit. No matter what, things are coming to a head, whether there's an Occupy movement in place or not. Interesting times, to be sure.

I'm hopeful. Spira and watched some videos by Anonymous last night and each of us got the chills throughout. One video we watched was the one in which they announced the date for the first day of Occupy Wall Street. "We do not forgive, we do not forget. We are coming", the digitized voice behind the Guy Fawkes mask said at the end. And, boy did people come! People everywhere in the world are waking up to oppression. Harmony, which has been stifled for far too long is flowering. Things might get worse before they get better, but I think it's inevitable that they will get better.
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Been listening to a lot of the Lavender Hour podcast. So good. Ruined me for regular, sanitized radio. Not that I was a huge fan to begin with, but I'm just saying. Actually, I have been listening to the radio in my car quite a bit. Mostly just classic rock. I rarely visit sports radio anymore because it has almost zero relevance in my life and most of the talk radio is awful and spin-heavy. And sometimes, when I can't find any music I like, I pop in a Bieber CD and melt away to his beautiful and often sexy songs. Oh, Justin, will you be mine?

There will by some yoga today; there will be some reading from Buffalo Girls; there may or may not be a viewing of The Mill & The Cross with Janelle (at this stage of the day, it's dubious); there may be some Lavender Hour listening; there will be time devoted to meditation; there may be time devoted to watching the rest of the beautiful The Scent of Green Papayas; there may be the writing of music; there may be some job searching; there may be a surprise guest; there may be the watching of Seven with Spira later on, provided the snow doesn't prove to be a barrier. Or maybe I'll sleep the day away and wait to die.

I have options.

A wolf among wolves and a man among men

Deep in meditation last night I discovered an interesting technique. I had a hair tickling the back of my throat and it was taking all my will not to break into a fit of coughing, which would have not blended well with the quiet state I had entered. Intuitively, I visualized stepping out of my body and then sitting across the room from it. The tickle in my throat was gone or, more, it was still there, only in the body I left behind. Slowly the image of that body dissolved and my new body became my only body. I determined this technique could be effective in a multitude of ways. I may try it again when I meditate tonight. It'll be a neat way to discard whatever negative energy I've got clinging to me. We'll see how it goes.

I just watched Vice Guide To Travel's Liberia episode. It was more frightening than any horror movie I've ever seen. These guys go deep into the bowels of hell, consorting with war Generals, prostitutes, junkies, and cannibals. One area, called West Point, truly embodies hell on earth. There is no plumbing, so the streets are rivers of piss and shit. The beaches are where everyone goes to shit; every square foot is covered with it. I can't believe how far these documentarians were willing to go. Into the belly of the beast.

Time to meditate and maybe finish watching The Scent of Green Papaya. I'll definitely read from Buffalo Girls at some point and who knows, maybe I'll work on music, something I've done surprising little of these last few weeks. I feel the lack.

There's a terror in knowing what this world is about

I've liked this weekend. On Friday, I ended my work day in Lawrence and was able to take advantage of the Market Basket that was near by. I came home, practiced yoga, meditated, watched Andrei Rublev, and other food for the soul type of stuff.

Yesterday upon waking I walked to Davis Square with the intended purpose of visiting the Good Will store and take care of one or two other errands. I ran into Foley and Leesa on my way. They were were with a group about to head down to King Richard's Fair. They asked if I wanted to go, but I had to decline for various reasons. I was very close, however, to going; I love King Richard's Fair (Is there an "e" tacked on to the end of that? I don't know and I'm too lazy to take the few seconds to find out).

I had a vague hope I'd find Howard Zinn's People's History of The United States at Good Will, but I didn't. Instead, I picked up Larry McMurtry's Buffalo Girls. I'd been thinking about McMurtry lately and I'm convinced it was foreordained I found this book. Still, I debated whether to get it. I don't know why I did that. Anyway, I've been enjoying the book quite a bit and all it takes to inject me with joy is to see it resting on the furniture, waiting for me to curl up with it.

Last night, Craig and I went over to Union Square to watch Pat's band play at The Precinct. Good times. Kevin Smith was there, Alie was there, Mike Chiumento was there, I was there, Craig was there, Pat was there, I was there, Ali was there, Mike Chiumento was there, I was there, Kevin Smith was there. A sizable bunch, as you can see. Good times. Kevin and Ali gave me wet willies throughout the night, more than I've ever gotten. I had my revenge here and there, but I think they got the better of me.

Today, I went to my grandmother's house to attend the dual birthday party for my Aunt Maureen and my dad. Nice seeing everyone. After we ate, I spent the rest of my time there chasing around my niece Colleen and my nephew Patrick. At one point, I managed to corner Patrick. He turned coat without a second's thought. "No, Uncle Kevin, I'm on your team now!". I wanted to tell him no one liked or respected a Benedict Arnold, but I didn't want to expend the effort, knowing in my heart of hearts it's his nature to be cowardly and no amount of teaching by me or anyone else will be able to reduce or erase the verity of that fact.

I stopped at Trader Joe's on the way home and picked up a mushroom, cheese, and truffle sauce flatbread. The place was packed but I made it through with an ease I didn't expect.

Over the last several days, I've been re-watching the last season of Parks And Recreation on Netflix. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Ciao!

I woke up this morning and I got myself a beer, the future's uncertain and the end is always near

What elevates us from our primitive selves is the ability to see beyond the self and recognize the Self. Well, there are other things involved, yes, but I'm just saying.

I'm about to establish a precedent. This post is going to be all over the map. It's the only way I'll make it through.

Prepare thy selves, as we are about to proceed on a twisty, but in the end completely satisfying, ride.

I think of Janelle when I hear and sing these lyrics: Wide eyed walker/Do not wander/Do not wander through the dawn. Not because of the lyrics, but because I have fond memories of singing along to it with her.

Speaking of Fleet Foxes, I've concluded their music sounds the best to me in autumn. By gum, they are a fantastic band, but when the leaves are falling...

Occupy Wall Street is the flowering of humanity. Not just before our eyes, but from within us all. I say that with certainty and don't give a wit whether it comes off sounding pie-in-the-sky. The Apocalypse approaches and not, I don't believe, in the guise of destroyer. Here's the definition of Apocalypse: An Apocalypse (Greek: ἀποκάλυψις apokálypsis</i>; "lifting of the veil" or "revelation") is a disclosure of something hidden from the majority of mankind in an era dominated by falsehood and misconception, i.e. the veil to be lifted.

The veil is lifting. Shadows are shrinking. I am happy to be alive.

I wish I could figure out a way to stop saying "Bless you" every time someone sneezes without hurting their feelings and coming off like an uncaring prick. That little piece of etiquette, like so many others, is just fucking insane. Really, it is. It's right out of the OCD handbook, to begin with. And, I'm sorry, but the whole concept of needing to bless someone when they sneeze should have been left back in the Middle Ages where it belonged.

I think I'll watch the rest of Andrei Rublev tonight. Despite the fact that I've found it to be engaging, I've fallen asleep during it twice already. Is that a paradox? Anyway, I'm thinking about applying a pair of jumper cables to my love cannon when I watch it tonight so I'll stay awake. I'm only thinking about it, mind you.

I had a good time at Tracy and Ray's the other night. It was great being around Faith and James, their young children. I rode in the roller coaster they made out of a cardboard box (The trick was to sit on the edge of couch and slide into the box. Your weight then spills you out onto the floor), and had countless staring matches with Faith (I usually suck at this game, but she always laughed before I did). And during the sublime dinner of Indian dishes, I had the two of them tickling and grabbing me from under the table. I suppose that was karma, because I used to be an under the table terror at family gatherings when I was a wee lad.

I might skip Andrei Rublev and watch The Scent of Green Papaya. Could it happen? I don't know. Why are you asking me? We'll see.

It won't be long before someone steals my ideas about how to capitalize on the Occupy movement. One could make some benjys releasing a single called "Roccupy Wall Street" or releasing a porn movie called "Fuck-upy Doll Street". Or something along those lines. Before you judge me on lack of creativity, know that I'm not looking for cred, I'm looking to GET PAID, son!

And looking to get laid. Just figured I'd throw the line out there. Never know, I may get a nibble.

With that, I will venture off to something terribly fascinating. Mind the store while I'm gone.

I was raised up believing I was somehow unique, like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see

My inner life has taken precedence lately, hence my blog inactivity. It's not that I'm adverse to sharing my experiences, but it hasn't occurred to me to do so. When you tread beyond the ego, beyond linear structures, you have other concerns. If I just sounded pompous, which is not an unreasonable assessment, you can see why I've been mum. It's not easy to express this stuff, but I'll try.

In the midst of my recent car troubles, I stepped up my meditation practice. It helped quite a bit. I've also immersed myself in spiritual books and lectures. I've been reading Dr. David Hawkins "I" and an old favorite, The Tao of Pooh. At night, when I get under the covers, I've been listening to people like Wayne Dyer and Eckhart Tolle speak.

I'm am by no means an avatar at this point, but I have felt a shift in consciousness. I'll leave it at that; my ego would love to describe it to you, but, as profound as some of my experiences have been, I'll be better served remaining quiet on that score. At least in this forum.
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I ran out of gas the other night and I found myself in a bit of a spiritual crisis. Let me start by noting that I've never run out of gas in my life. I've rolled the dice on more than one occasion, to be sure, but I've always made it to a gas station in time. Sunday night was a different story.

I had just spent the day at Spira's and was on my way home. It was around five o'clock and I had intended to come home much earlier, but I dillied and I dallied. I wanted to get home, eat dinner, and watch The Trip. I live pretty close to Spira; even though I knew I needed gas, I opted to wait until I reached a gas station closer to my house; the one I near Spira's was too expensive for my liking.

I didn't get too far. As I was about to get on the McGrath Highway on-ramp, my car shuddered and quit on me. I managed to pull over safely. I was about to walk back to the gas station I had passed about a quarter of a mile back, but decided it would be quicker if Spira came and got me.

I called her and she showed up about fifteen minutes later. She had stopped at the gas station, hoping she'd be able to surprise me with a canister of gas, but it wasn't meant to be. They didn't have one to lend out. On top of that, Spira almost threw down with an obnoxious woman while she was there.

We drove to another gas station and they didn't have a canister to lend out, either. They suggested we go to Target and buy one there. I'll be honest with you, I thought it was going to be a lot simpler than it was to get gas. Turns out, not many places lend out gas cans like they did in the days when people operated as if they lived in a society (That's changing, though). Spira recommended I call AAA. I did and was told someone would be out shortly.

Shortly amounted to close to an hour. Spira left after I made the call to stop by her art studio. I called my grandmother and found out she was nursing a broken rib. "It's one thing after another", she said, but not in a woe is me kind of way. That should have put matters into perspective for me - temporarily it did - but after I got off the phone with her, some negative energies had a field day with me.

Stewing in my juices, I sat in my car, raving about how the Universe was fucking with me. I frothed over how I was deterred from getting gas earlier in the day by a road race, which incidentally blocked me in to such an extent I had to wait for its completion before I could leave my neighborhood. Yes, the Universe, rather than a benign, loving, force, was really a fucking asshole. I raved like a lunatic. I say "I", but I was nowhere to be found. There were statements like "Every time you have hope or think things are getting better, we're going to fuck you right up the ass, Kevin. That's what we do."

Even in the midst of all this, I was conscious enough to note all this talk of "We". How did things become plural? I took note of this disturbing development but continued to wallow in negativity. Spira came by and brought me some water and chips. She hung out with me until the tow truck came. She helped provide me some perspective and, despite my earlier unconscious behavior, I looked at the situation with clarity.

Things had been piling up lately. Nothing was coming easy, everything a struggle. Running out of gas felt like the straw that broke the camel's back. This is what increased devotion to spiritual practice has gotten me?, I asked myself more than once.

The AAA driver was told I needed a tow and didn't have any gasoline with him. I drove with him to a gas station and then we came back to the car. My battery was dead from my hazards being on for so long, so he had to give me a jump, too.

When all of that was done, I drove home, ranting all the way. By the time I made it into my house, I was spent. It took me two hours to travel a handful of miles. The ranting continued, but died down when I told my ego to shut the fuck up already. I ate and took a hot shower. Under the soothing stream, I burst into tears for about thirty seconds. I needed to vent. Later on, I meditated and cleared a lot of the negative energy away. I felt as light as a feather afterward. Victory!

It carried over into yesterday. I was blissed out almost the entire day. I was like the lillies in the field. I felt like I had overcome something big, though I'm not naive enough to believe the ego has had its last say. No, it's been threatened lately, which is why I think the raving was so over the top, and will not go down lightly. So be it. I know its tricks.

Man, I'm beat. I wanted to riff on the Occupy movement, which continues to move me profoundly, but that will have to be for another post. And so will my sleepover at Tracy and Ray's the other night, which warmed me throughout. Good times.

Namaste.

Sing to the east, sing to the west, sing to the one you love the best

I'm taking comfort where I find it. Right now, it's Deerhoof. Ahh, Deerhoof.....take me away. Another challenging day. Not too long ago, I would have reacted to it less charitably. I would have sulked about how shitty it was and why was everything so hard and why, tell me fucking why, was the Universe against me. I'm not saying today has been a good ol' hoot, but it has been manageable. Life is a school and my most recent class was not gentle with me.

The details? It doesn't matter. Car concerns, empty pockets, ego-manufactured jealousy, frustration, a touch of despair. All there in bloom. But there was also presence, the feather touch of my pineal gland that would pulse throughout the day, understanding, gratitude, understanding, and some humor. I was not without resources.

Though life has handled me like a rubber ball in a room full of puppies these last several days, I've been sleeping like I've not a care in the world. Really, I never have nightmares, and whenever I wake up throughout the night, I always feel kind of blissed out. Does that foretell brighter days? Or does that indicate my only solace is found in sleep? Hmmm....

Whatever. I'll meditate later and hopefully plug my ass directly into the celestial realm. Wish me luck.

My parents have helped me out so much I think, based on that alone, they should be anointed sainthood. Or, you know what, maybe it's just desserts for raising me to be the monster that I am. I'll have to think about this.

Anyway, I love my parents and I'm grateful they've always had my back. I stopped over for dinner last night. We sat and talked before dinner (My mother got all heated up about Occupy Wall Street. She's supports the movement but wants a clear mission statement. I understand where she's coming from, but I see it differently, and tried to express my point of view, which includes the notion that not having a clear mission statement adds to the power of the movement). After dinner, I helped them with some computer stuff (My mother wanted to know why she couldn't add movies to her queue on Netflix. I discovered the problem. She would add a movie and then arrow back to the page she started on to see the changes she made. I told her, "Mom, when you arrow back like that it's as if you're going back in time. Any changes you make will not be seen. Instead of that approach, just select queue from your current position." I'm not sure she caught my meaning, but either way, I was able to successfully add The Lincoln Lawyer to her queue.

Okay, off to experience a hot/cold, hot/cold shower. An immune system boost and fat burner; I'm really digging these soaks.

Peace, my brothers and sisters.

I'll show you around this alphabet town

It's October, but it's been like summer the last few days. Winter will be upon us soon enough; we're relishing this, to be sure. And speaking of relish, I like some on my hot dogs. Just in case you were wondering (When people start hosting trivia nights centered around this blog - and they will (I suspect they already have) - that little tidbit could score you some points. Just saying.

The road to Enlightenment is fraught with snags and distractions and consequently it often feels as if any gains that were made were in vain. David Hawkins likens the experience to taking off in a rocket. It's rocky at first - the pull of gravity doesn't relinquish its subjects easily and that first part of the ride is shaky and perilous. Once you breach the atmosphere, however, it's smooth sailing and you're as light as a feather.

While I've encountered snags and distractions, I've felt a noticeable shift in my consciousness lately, which I'm confident is mostly due to increased meditation and my yoga routine, but I haven't breached the atmosphere quite yet. I've gone places during meditation, lost everything of my self but a gossamer thread, but mostly it's helped me remain present and clear. That has been essential, especially throughout the turbulence of the last several days.

Janelle and Pooch Edward stopped by last night. We walked over to True Grounds for some coffee and then headed over to the park, found a bench, and talked for a while. As always, it was great seeing her. Whenever I do, I always hope that some of her inherent kindness rubs off on me. I think it worked: I woke up this morning feeling kind of lousy about throwing tomatoes at that baby in the stroller (I do not want to get into it, so don't ask). Kind of lousy, but not entirely; that little shit deserved a good ol' fashioned pelting.


My financial woes are at Defcon 4 (Or 5. Whatever the highest one is). There is hope, though, and I will not despair. One favorable development over the last week or so has been increased hours at work. We've been pretty damn busy lately and I'm lapping up every extra bit of work I can get. I need to get paid, son!

I've had my car back for a few days now, but I don't feel confident behind the wheel. Who knows how long it will hold out. I hope for a while because having transportation is kind of a big deal. Ah, things will be fine.

Spira and I watched Hot Tub Time Machine the other day. It was pretty much what I expected it would be. It was rife with dumb jokes, gross out humor (Ok, let me vent a little here. I've noticed an increase in vomiting, pissing, and other bodily excretions in comedies on TV and in movies. Now, I hardly ever watch TV anymore and I rarely watch comedic movies, but it just seems that when I do, I'm subject to a lot of gross and entirely unfunny sight gags. To wit, The Office, in one of it's cold opens last seasons had the entire cast puking. Maybe I'm a sour puss, but I wasn't ROTFL over that. There was a welter of puke and piss and maybe even cum (I can't recall, thankfully) in this Hot Tub movie. I'm not a comedic sophisticate by any means, but I don't see the humor in bodily excretions. Not so much because I get grossed out, but primarily because it's too easy, a short cut to being creative), sex, and at least one collective "Ohhhhhh Shiiiiitttt !!!!" moment in the midst of a dangerous and potentially life-threatening act. There were some laughs here and there and some cool 80's references ( Guess which decade they go back in time to. Seriously, take a wild guess). My grade: C+.

Almost finished reading The Lost City of Z and about halfway through Shakespeare's Henry V, both of which I've been having a great time reading. Regarding the former, I'm probably going to move on to Percy Fawcett's memoirs when I'm through. Fascinating man, he was. Lost forever in the jungle with his son and his son's best friend. Were they killed by an aggressive tribe of Indians? Did they find Z and it's advanced citizenry and decide to never leave it? Or did they starve to death, alone and delirious? I suspect we'll never know.

Been playing a lot of mandolin lately. Can't say I saw this coming. I've had a mandolin for years, but hardly ever played it, mostly because it wouldn't stay in tune and also because I couldn't figure out how to play it. About a month ago, I dug it out of the closet and started noodling around on it. Then I began playing every day. With improvement, my desire to play it increased. I'm not quite proficient yet, but I'm markedly better than I was and, most importantly, it's been a companion through some hairy times. Quite therapeutic, this mandolin o' mine.

Having dinner at the folks house after work tomorrow. And, on Friday, I'll be heading up to Tracy and Ray's for dinner and laughs. In the meantime, I'm of a mind to watch a Woody Allen film. Perhaps it will be Stardust Memories I choose. Or maybe Zelig. Or Alice. Might have to flip a coin. Pray for a favorable outcome, dear readers.