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Tag: awareness

Let Us Be Unbound: canzone

Canto I: Happenstance

It happens once, and you can act surprised;
the second time, maybe you didn’t see.
But by the third occurrence, if your eyes
don’t register it, you are either blind
or willfully avoiding it. Disguise
that as you wish, but it’s on you:
if you don’t know, you’re telling yourself lies.

You may seek out forgiveness, but the facts
are plain enough; you just don’t want to see.
Maybe you’re just too comfortable, or set
up to somehow make a profit. Honestly,
when you avoid your share or part of blame
you’re not absolved. You don’t keep dignity
or get to play the victim for your friends.

What is the point of playing at this game?
When everyone else loses, do you win?
Who cares what team ends with the highest score,
or which side live with might-have been?
We are all still connected, just the same,
and end together, just as we begin.
There’s no escape from it, my friends.

Canto II: Coincidence

It seems so obvious, and yet our eyes
deceive us if we see no malice where
the crowds around us suddenly are thinned
until we stand alone, and must do battle there
against an enemy, no longer shy
or hesitant to strike or play unfair.
What can we do, except defend ourselves?

You may believe your wounds are just mistakes,
that no one sought to hurt you. But your blood
still spills, and for each move you try to make,
you can’t pretend there is no pain or fear.
Maybe it’s just bad luck, an unfair shake,
or your opponent doesn’t realize
their actions – as they cause your bones to break.

How do you still convince yourself you’re free,
and that your life is surely not at risk?
What further evidence could surely be
enough to show you of the game afoot?
When recognition comes at last, you’ll see
the error of your ways, but far too late,
when all along, you’ve fed your enemy.

Canto III: Enemy Action

It comes at night, and never in the day,
for sunlight melts dark shadows all away;
we all must sleep, sometimes, and in our dreams,
we are equally vulnerable and brave.
There is no hiding now, we must arise,
and stand against the beast before it grows.
We cannot hesitate now, goodness knows.

You may not understand, but make a choice:
a life in shackles, mute, without a voice,
or reaching out to something else quite new
that you may fear but need to try to do.
The time is now, the hour is growing late,
and you must learn to fight. It is your fate
to stand, and not to kneel, against the beast.

What good is your compliance with a smile?
How long before the malice visits you?
While there is life, you must start to resist,
or you betray all others who exist
and understand there is a better way.
The enemy grows strong as you delay;
there is no time to simply think and pray.

25 APR 2025

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Inside the Henhouse: byr a thoddaid

The danger isn’t always so clear;
sometimes, it can amplify our fear
in ways we do not recognize, or see,
subtly in disguise.

We seem easily surprised by this,
wishing it were all lies.
While we were sleeping, it crept in;
destroying our sweet might-have-been.

24 APR 2025

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What Good Is It: blues sonnet

What good is it to stand and curse the dark?
Yes, in the black of night, to curse the dark?
If you want some more light, create a spark.

What good can come from waiting out your time?
What good can you get done, just doing time?
To get out of a pit, you need to climb.

What good will grow if you don’t plant the seed?
No good will grow if you don’t plant the seed;
from nothing sprouts up nothing, guaranteed.

What good becomes of empty words and song?
Can you change anything with words and song?
You either lead or learn to sing along.

What good is it to know and not to do?
The world can grow or die, it’s up to you.

22 APR 2025

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Your Feet Know the Way: benison

Your path begins there at your feet;
the first move is the hardest one.
Until the last step is complete
you will not know the task is done.

Along the way, you’ll see the world;
you’ll wonder why, and how, and when,
and sift through miles of sand, and pearls,
each whole day through, and then again.

What answers will you seek, or find,
no one else knows. They are your own.
If you will learn, or lose your mind,
depends on you and you alone.

You have a choice, with every breath:
to love or hate, to lose or gain,
to see rebirth in every death,
to seek out joy or dwell on pain.

May you find what you need to do
to build more bridges where you can,
so that when your time here is through
you don’t regret taking a stand.

Your path begins right here and now;
your feet already know the way.
You need not wonder where, or how,
but only when: and that’s today.

21 APR 2025

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A Song to Sing

One of the things that I fear people asking, that I imagine to be the greatest torture in the world to which I can attest with personal experience in the matter, is “What kind of music do you play?”

Ok, so maybe that’s a first world problem. Could be that most people even in the most obscure, bizarre and strangely unusual circumstances would not find themselves needing to consider it. And I’m ok with that if you are. I mean, what I’m not able to communicate will be more than offset by what you’re not able to understand, right? And visa versa.

It wouldn’t be so bad if there really were specific types or genres of music that folks use to clearly define the sounds they hear, imagine they’re hearing, or wish they could hear, when their lives, like a Broadway or Hollywood musical, need some music or a song to get through a particularly thorny plot point or epiphany. But the truth is, those common shared definitions don’t exist. Ask any two people on the street to define jazz. Or punk. Or country. Or classical. Now ask any two musicians. Of the four answers you have, do any agree with your own descriptions?

When I was at Berklee, one of my professors told us that when Duke Ellington was asked that question, he replied, “Why, beautiful music, of course.” I’ve used that answer since myself, but I always feel both a little guilty – and also a bit skeptical. After all, beauty is in the eye (or ear) of the beholder. There are more ways to divide the spectrum of beauty than almost any other abstract notion in human history. As my dad used to say about working at the Detroit Department of Sanitation, “It may be shit to you, but it’s our bread and butter.”

The beauty you see, absorb, and reflect in the world, and the music you hear, internalize, and echo back to the cosmos, are in that respect very much the same. In many ways, you find the beauty or song you need at the precise moment you need it. That’s why it makes such an indelible impression. Just like you are not the same person from one set of space-time coordinates to the next, but are constantly if unconsciously evolving into something never before quite finished, you’re never really done with beauty and music because once they’ve touched you, they’re never really quite done with you either.

That’s what makes the question so difficult to answer. Not just because the answer changes, but because it doesn’t. It’s the etudes you first learned to play before you knew the names of the strings on your violin. It’s the first piece you practiced for hours preparing for that piano recital. The song you wrote after coming home from your grandfather’s funeral. The tune on the radio when you stormed out of the house and broke up with your first girlfriend. The last of music you hear before you die, when you don’t know you’ll never hear anything else.

In a brief bio of Sandy Denny, I read, “The mark of a great singer is that he or she always tells a personal truth regardless of the given material.”

So you sing your song or somebody else’s, regardless of who actually wrote it. And that’s the kind of music you play. Because nobody else can.

People will keep asking, because they don’t recognize their own life’s soundtrack. And your answer will never be their moon or its light, or even a reflection in a dewdrop of water. But it may be useful as a finger pointing the way.

20 Apr 2025

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A Walk In The Rain

Well, into every life a little rain must fall, and the careful man learns to keep himself dry.

Another great line from The Bat (1959) starring Vincent Price and Agnes Morehead – two paragons of the styles of performance they each represented. Whatever that means to you. They’re both very watchable, to me. And ever since I learned that Agnes played Orson Welles’ love interest and confidante Margot Lane during his stint as radio’s The Shadow, I’ve liked her even more. Vincent? Well, he loved art and wine. But I often wondered why he bothered wearing disguises in any of his movies. He was usually the only really tall person in his films. So who could that masked villain be? It isn’t gonna be the little guy. But I digress – as always.

Back to the quote – and in this movie, it’s the chauffeur who gets the best lines. I would extend this a little further: rain is going to fall, but it’s not always in your best interest to hide under your umbrella. As the Sufi saying goes, “Never name the well from which you will not drink.” In the desert, a drop of hot sweat can seem like a cold drink.

The trick is when the rain does fall, to find a use for the water. And make sure it’s appropriately distributed. Is that some kind of socialist ideal? Not at all. No more than public highways, law enforcement, armed services, or health and welfare safety nets.

The other thing about rain is it’s not the same everywhere. Altitude, latitude, and distance from large bodies of water affect climate, seasons change the receptivity to precipitation, and that’s even before you toss in the human factors like lack of green-space, overpopulation, inappropriate ground cover, non-native species, loss of topsoil, carbon emissions, and chemical imbalance.

An inch of rain in one place is a deluge in another. So keeping dry, if that’s what you need to do, is not always so simple. But it’s an important job, particularly if you’re not just looking after yourself. It deserves a bit of study, practice, and consistent application.

Because it’s not always sunshine and rainbows, is it?

19 APR 2025

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Anger is an Energy

Just being angry isn’t enough. In fact, anger alone is the absolute worst way to approach any situation. I get it: there are myriad things popping up almost constantly in this world that can make you upset, disturbed, disgruntled, out of sorts, and irritated to the point of distraction. And as John Lydon so eloquently put it, “anger is an energy.” But just seeing red is no better than only viewing the world as black or white. It may get you through the battle, but it won’t help you win the war. it’s not a long-term or really sustainable solution. Because anger is horribly hard on your system. Ignorance and even bliss can numb you deeply enough you don’t recognize the self-preservation signals your body and mind are genetically programmed to give you. But anger, like uncontrolled diabetes, eats away at your psyche, at your body, until before you know it, you’re old, tired, and feeble with frustration at not being able to get over it. Whatever it is.

If you’re going to fight, flee, or freeze, anger convinces you that leaving or shutting down is the least favorable option. When you’re angry, your muscles tense up, your heart rate and pressure build, and your normally ADHD scanning mechanisms narrow to a razor-fine focus. You’re ready to dive into the fray. At the same time, anger doesn’t give you appropriate weapons for every battle. In some situations, it really is true that when you only have a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. But it isn’t. And you know it. You may get loud and puff yourself up to be as intimidating as possible, but the fact is, as you learn when seriously playing heavy metal music, that volume is not an ultimately effective substitute for power, even if your knobs go up to eleven.

But we can’t help getting angry, right? And so much of the vitriol we find ourselves brimming with is really just disgust at ourselves. When we meet the enemy, and it is us, we are merciless. We beat ourselves up for letting ourselves into the corner we’re backed into, we harangue ourselves for believing in the bullshit yet again, we harangue ourselves for ignoring the warning signs and red flags indicating we’re once again on the eve of destruction. Worst of all, we get upset about getting upset. After all, the mystical traditions all tell you to let it go. Let go, let God. Attach yourself to the process and not the results. It’s not about you. Just breathe. Breathe in Jesus, breathe out Satan. Forget about the wrongs done to you and focus on the wrongs you’ve done to others. All great advice, when you’re not blown up like a pufferfish and imagining yourself wielding a cast iron skillet in a dance with someone’s convenient skull. OK, maybe you don’t get that extreme. I don’t, really; at least outwardly. But you get the idea. Not particularly helpful.

Your nature and nurture both play a role in this. In my own case, throughout my childhood I never witnessed any two people de-escalating conflict. Regardless of whether the pot was watched, it came to an inevitable boil and nobody reached to turn off the stove. My exposure to playground politics, sports, and family dynamics all served to instill in me both a great amount of fear and trepidation and a generous helping of passive-aggressive response mechanisms – sarcasm, dark humor, sullen sulking, isolation, and inappropriate laughter. The bubble, bubble, toil, and trouble in my external circumstances were nothing compared to the cauldron of dangerous chemicals brewing inside me. Worst of all, when you work yourself into that state, you become very susceptible to persuasion. Just witness a bull fight. The angrier and more frustrated the bull becomes, the easier it is for the picador to sneak up with the spear. The more inevitable the matador’s rapier becomes a permanent fixture behind the shoulder blades. When you’re angry, you can be led. You can be misled. And it doesn’t really matter which direction that leadership takes you. If all you know is escalation, all roads lead uphill. Unfortunately, gaining altitude in that way doesn’t necessarily give you any kind of perspective or wider view.

There are so many advantages to moving beyond anger. But so few concrete examples of what that looks like to the untrained (or angry) eye. We talk about peace, love, understanding, and compassion, but these are feelings we’re not all that ready to handle. Because they involve surrender – something that anger sees as the anathema. The last thing an angry person wants to do is compromise, cooperate, or coexist. Before we can communicate as equals, we need to get back to the full spectrum of colors and ease out of the red zone.

Who is demonstrating those skills in the wider world? Even the noblest among us seem to rely on an undercurrent of pointed humor to navigate a sea seemingly chock-full of flaming, cavorting assholes with no redeeming features. When they leave the room we mumble under our breath, roll our eyes, and say, “There but for the grace of god, go I.” That’s not an interdependent world view. It’s not even anywhere near the middle ground.

We try to “channel” that negative energy into positive works, right? But without solid, tangible experience with how that happy place feels to live in, we don’t really even know when we get there. Ultimately, we’re still hog-tied to the results, useless babbling that the ends justify the means. And we stay mean. Not in our words, or outward deeds, or even physical expressions – although Paul Ekman would probably disagree.

That anger, if we let it stew on the burner long enough, becomes a roux of hatred. And if you start with a burnt roux, it doesn’t matter how much water you add or how much butter you fold in after the fact, the gumbo you come up with is going to taste bitter. That’s the danger. We need to not control our anger, or deny it, or bury it. We need to find ways to use it for fuel, not as an ingredient in the stew.

So how does that work? You can’t say you’re not going to get angry, not going to let feelings of hate well up in you like acid reflux. That will happen. It’s as inevitable, as they used to say on the radio show The Shadow, as a guilty conscience. What you can and must do is examine some underlying conditions. Something doesn’t “make” you angry. You choose to “be” angry. To let anger at some situation external to yourself (usually) become the way you choose to define yourself. Usually when that happens, like those who do not suffer fools gladly, we are greatly troubled by the presence of reflective surfaces in our environment. Because anger is not pleasant to look at it, any more than it is to feel. And hate? Besides being the only way to surrender control of your being to something you consider an object (the focus of your hate), it is the only way to absolutely destroy anything beautiful in yourself and the world.

A hateful seed grows only thorns. An angry bulb sprouts into a poison flower.

Anger is an energy, all right. But it’s not an efficient, healthy, or economically viable fuel source. You can run your car on it for a little while, but sooner than later the reckoning comes due.

As Douglas Hofstader put it, it’s a record that contains the frequencies to destroy the record player.

10 APR 2025

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