"I believe in the sun even when it’s not shining,
I believe in love even when I don’t feel it,
I believe in God
even when He is silent."
- found on the wall of
a prison cell in Europe.

There are times when I think a little about things spiritual. I've never been overtly religious, have seen too much harm and limitation possible in following doctrine and dogma. I won't get into a rant here. Hell, I don't think I've ever ranted about anything in my life... well, I just did on this blog about Zappa, I guess, but come on, some things are important.

I just like the sentiment in the poem above. In a certain mood I've got loads to say about the power of faith, the succor to be found with belief. I got in with Alcoholics Anonymous 12 years ago, and one thing that's stressed is finding a Higher Power for yourself, even though that can be such an impossible-seeming thing when you're first sober. I found my Higher Power, finally, and He/She/It suits me just fine. Every time I see a sunrise or sunset like the one in the picture, I say hello to my Higher Power. We have a very cordial relationship.

He/She/It's everywhere, in everything, everybody, you see. Huge. Dynamic. It has a lot to do with the interconnectedness of all things. And karma. Eclectic, eccentric. Like me, I suppose. As I said before, suits me just fine.

little poem

sky blue

eyes glued
trees bare
winter's share
sun and shadows
dream of green meadows
little poem then
not much to say, again,
brain numb
struck dumb...

Zappa Lives!

Bought a DVD the other day, Frank Zappa hizself in concert circa 1984, and had a great time watching him and the band weave their way through all the old classics - The Dangerous Kitchen, Dinah-Moe Humm, Dancin' Fool - lotsa fun.

I love this guy, always have. There are two artists who've held my head up over the years, Clapton and Zappa. I'm a guitar man... hmm, that sounds a bit like "I'm an ass man." Guitar is the only instrument I've cared enough about to try and play myself, with some limited success. And, yeah, there's a plethora of axemen out there, amazing players all. But do they play the blues? Not too many, and those that do whizz-bang it up as if to say 'yah, I'm playing the blues, sure, but just listen to how I'm playing it."

Clapton has almost singlehandedly kept the blues alive over the span of 40+ years. I admire him and his obvious integrity, and might even credit him with keeping me sane a few times. He's definitely my hero, and my life would be perfect, musically speaking, if I could one day shake his hand and thank him for working so hard.

And then, yep, there's Mr. Zappa. I think it was late Spring, 1968, at a high school dance, where I heard his stuff for the first time. The band was from Boston, excellent where we'd listened to uniform mediocrity beforehand. They could play anything you asked them to, and were cool enough to play a couple of Cream songs for me. As they played, I hung around the stage watching the guitarist weave his magic (I was a guitar-teen, too.) As I watched and listened I noticed a large poster behind the drummer of a mostly naked guy on the toilet with the caption 'Phi Zappa Crappa'. When I got the chance I asked the band who the guy was, and the guitarist said 'just give a listen, man, we're going to play a couple of his songs.'

So I listened. And so began my contrary love of FZ's music. Contrary because otherwise I'm a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to what I listen to. Well, I don't know if perfectionist is the proper term. I like intricacy. I like Pink Floyd's The Wall for that - because really, it's seamless. I ate Jethro Tull's Thick as a Brick for breakfast, lunch and supper when it came out, and thought that Crime of the Century by Supertramp could never be equaled by anyone.

Maybe it was just that those groups and albums weren't afraid to say 'this is our stuff, this is the direction we want to take rock and roll.' As a late-middle-aged man, I'm discovering almost daily that there is still so much to be learned from music, then and now. Music sustains me, music feeds me. Frank Zappa, at certain times, reminds me of the timelessness of music while taking the top of my head off with some high-octane riff. Zappa is another of my heroes because he brought irreverance and perfectionist-relief to me. I have an old recorded tape of the album Ship Arriving Too Late to Save a Drowning Witch, with the song Envelopes followed by Teenage Prostitute. Get hold of that if you can, and play it LOUD. I dare you to tell me that ain't some of the best shit you ever heard.

Zappa Lives!

babies

to sleep

and so to dream, if sent my way,

of my babies long ago.

my passion finds me here - ruinous, righteous.

my desire keeps me here - to love, to live.

my tears hide me here - sorrow, joy.

so to sleep

and hope for jewel-like dreams

of babies:

passion desire tears

all so long ago;

these things ringing like bells

up and down the years.


(for Jeffrey, whose eternal Soul parallels mine on this segment of the journey. I love you so, my son.)

my Jenna and the music

my darling girl,
your voice shaky in anticipation of the festival,
the music and the celebration,
as I drove you up the mountain -
your precious voice, excited and true;
"oh, I love you guys," to your friends in the back,
and all the way up the mountain
I wanted to stop the car and pull you to me
as I did when you were small,
when my heart was so warm and so open, so open to you -
as I suddenly found it now, and realized
it had been so long since I had told you -
I wanted to put your perfect head on my shoulder
and tell you
how very, very much
I have always loved you,
my beautiful
darling girl.

old journals...

Journal excerpts:

29 March 1996
* The more the songs I hear become poetry in my mind, the more my poetry resembles song, the closer I come to freeing my inner artist, the closer I come to participatory creation. The Great Creator calls to me to come out and play, and though still housebound, I find myself listening, waiting to hear the call of the greatest Artist of all. I tune in like a radio receiver, surprised to find that merry-go-round voice has always been there while my antenna has been down for long repair.
Poetry to song. Song to poetry.
Imagine that.

25 April 1996
... I seem to spend so much time in grief. There seems so much to grieve for, so much to regret. So much loss and sorrow.
But all around me, about and inside me, is Beauty, and Love.
And we all balance as best we can. We cry and we laugh. We grieve and we rejoice. And if we’re lucky, we remember to thank God for it all. Everything. Everyone.
Creation. Duality...

... and the ultimate miracle of our power simply to perceive it all. And to participate, all in our own way, in Creation. What is happening all around us every day is infinity unfolding. Time exists only in the now, in this moment. I’ve lived an infinite number of moments. And an infinite number of moments await me.
I’ve lived a long, long time. And an infinite number of moments from Now, I will stop.

13 May 1996
... Thank you, my Treese, and be careful. Walk with God, as He has always walked with you. Hang on to Love, my baby, always remember Love. And remember, there is no one, no one, here on Earth who loves you more than I do.
I promise.

21 May 1996
... And out my window, there is finally green again. Gaea and Her time schedule - we need only be patient.
So, after this long, long winter, I hope to begin again. As things start growing again in the earth, so might I begin as new once more, somehow get back to that magical time-box where not only each day, but each moment, is the only one I have. Existing in time as I know it, hand in hand with the Great Creator. My participatory moment-to-moment existence. Sometime in there I may find my poetry again, sometime in there I may start feeling good about myself once again. My hand in Yours, God, I only have that one wish. A return to innocence, living paradoxically able to instantly spot deceit. God, make me as wise, and as innocent, as I can be. Let me participate and therefore touch all about me, gently, to embrace or reject as Your wisdom and Your presence dictate. I am Yours, my will and my life, moment to moment. I have always been Yours.

27 March 1995
... I live eclectically. All things balanced in the constant awareness of duality, the essential dichotomy of life. Evangelists and Satanists, holes and humps. Heaven’s a toilet bowl and Jesus is working the flush. Universal balance is gridlock constipation and Satan’s selling Ex-Lax. Think I’ll go hug a tree.

letter

"... then touch me in the dark
touch my secret places
and make your amends
as you will."

(found, after his departure,
on his bedroom floor, along with
an envelope with,
"Open only when you've become human"
written on it in perfect script.)