August 31, 2012

Joy comes from simple and natural things...


Mists over meadows, sunlight on leaves, the path of the moon over water. ~Sigurd F. Olson

August 12, 2012

Love calls for creativity

Keeping open to love
by Paulo Coelho

There are moments when we would very much like to help someone we care about deeply, however we can't seem to do a thing. Either circumstance prevent us from drawing closer or else the person has shut off to any gesture of solidarity and support.

So, all we have left is love. In those moments when everything else is useless, we can still love--without expecting anything in return, any exchanges or thanks.

If we can manage to act this way, the energy of love begins to transform the universe around us. When this energy appears, you always perform your work successfully.

"Time does not change men. Will power does not change men. Love changes men, " says Henry Drummond.

I read in the newspaper about a child in Brasilia who was brutally beaten by her parents. As a result, she lost her body movement and her power of speech.

Admitted to the Base Hospital, she was taken care of by a nurse who said to her every day: "I love you." Although the doctors guaranteed that she could not hear and that the nurse's efforts  were all to no avail, she kept repeating: "I love you, don't you forget that."

Three weeks later on, the child had recovered her movements. Four weeks later, she started to talk and smile again. The nurse never gave any interviews and the newspapers did not publish her name--but let it be registered here, so that we will never forget: love is a great healer.

Love transforms, love heals. But at times love builds mortal traps and ends up destroying the person who has decided to surrender completely. What strange sentiment is this that deep down is the only reason for us to go on living and struggling and trying to make things better?

It would be irresponsible of me to try and define it because, like any other human being, all I can do is feel it. Thousands of books have been written about it, plays put on at the theater, films produced, poems scribbled, sculptures carved in wood or marble--and even so, all that the artist can convey is the idea of a feeling, not the feeling itself.

But I have learned that this feeling is present in the small things and manifests itself in the most insignificat of attitudes we take, so we must always have love in mind when we act or fail to act.

Picking up the phone and uttering that affectionate word we have been putting off. Opening the door and showing in someone who needs our help. Accepting a job. Leaving a job. Making that decision that we were putting off for later. Apologzing for a mistake we made that will not leave us in peace. Claiming a right that we have. Opening an account at the flourist's--which is more important than the jeweler's. Playing music loud when your loved one is far away and lower the volume when he or she is nearby. Knowing how to say "yes" and "no"--because love involves all of man's energies. Discovering a sport that can be practiced by two. Not following any perscrpition, not even those listed in this paragraph--because love calls for creativity.

And when none of this is possible, when all that is left is loneliness, then remember a story that a reader once sent me:

A rose dreamed day and night about having the company of the bees, but none ever came to land on her petals.
The rose went on dreaming: during a long night she imagined a sky with lost of bees flying towards her and kissing her tenderly. In this way she managed to resist to the next day, when she opened again to the sunlight.
One night the moon, knowing how lonely the rose felt, asked her:

-Aren't you tired of waiting?
-Perhaps. But I have to struggle on.
-Why?
-Because if I don't open up, I will wither.

At moments when loneliness seems to crush all beauty, the only way to resist is to keep yourself open.



July 13, 2012

The search for security is an illusion

by Deepak Chopra

The search for security and certainty is actually an attachment to the known. And what is the known? The known is our past. The known is nothing other than the prison of past conditioning. There's no evolution in that...

Uncertainty, on the other hand, is the fertile ground of pure and creativity and freedom. Uncertainty means stepping into the unknown in every moment of our existence. The unknown is the field of all possibilities, ever fresh, ever new, always open to the creation of new manifestations.

In your willingness to step into the unknown, you will have wisdom of uncertainty factored in. This means that in every moment of your life, you will have excitement, adventure, mystery...

When you experience uncertainty, you are on the right path--so don't give up. You don't need to have a complete and rigid idea of what you'll be doing next week or next year, because if you have a very clear idea of what's going to happen and you get rigidly attached to it, then you shut out the whole range of possibilities.

June 24, 2012

Freedom awaits within the unknown

 Walking along the shadows inhibited,
 Egoic mind grasps and clings to past words that are written, 
A step at a time, walking a fine line, 
One comes to the edge of the limited, 
Taking the step out of the known, 
Freedom awaits within the unknown,
One’s true nature is revealed, 
In all its glory and love so real, 
Soul gently whispers, “It’s ok, keep going ahead.” 
One is led towards embarking on a grand new adventure,
Rough, tumbles and jumbled experiences, 
Produce enough friction, 
From coal to diamond one transforms, 
Into ones real Essence & true nature that is beyond physical form, 
Emerges boldly with joyful storm. 
Shattering the illusions of the known and limited, 
One experiences the total bliss of freedom that is 
 -Dipali Desai

April 9, 2012

Drugs are a bet with your mind

My junior year of college I took an oral interpretation class....it was actually pretty awesome. Our teacher was a huge hippie and would begin each class with the Salute to the Sun yoga sequence. We had to recite a poem for the class and I chose this one by Jim Morrison from his "Wilderness" collection.


What are you doing here?
What do you want?
Is it music?
We can play music.
But you want more.
You want something & someone new.
Am I right?
Of course I am.
I know what you want.
You want ecstasy
Desire & dreams.
Things not exactly what they seem.
I lead you this way, he pulls that way.
I’m not singing to an imaginary girl.
I’m talking to you, my self.
Let’s recreate the world.
The palace of conception is burning.

Look. See it burn.
Bask in the warm hot coals.

You’re too young to be old.
You don’t need to be told
You want to see things as they are.
You know exactly what I do
Everything.

April 6, 2012

Sunday starts at Saturday's dusk

On the day his son was born, the astronomer screamed out the window: You! This! This thing that beats the inside of our hearts? Is a beautiful curse! Know this & fling it hard enough into the air to make new charts! Shortly afterwards the astronomer realized his newborn son, his wife, & the birth all were but hallucinations, so he sat with a pot of tea & became a trapeze artist instead.
by Anis Mojgani

I found you inside a book of stars called
Sunday Starts at Saturday’s Dusk.

It was turned to a page marked “For when.”
I crumpled up my spine and became a mouse.
You were a planet.
I was the one prayer spoken
in the short little life
of a dust mite
trying to be a sword
hoping to become a twig
a constellation
or at least an answer
to somebody’s question.
I was born in the year of the swan.
My arms
were born in the year of the fish–
a corner of me was something truly spectacular.
My tongue felt like truth.
I had trouble swallowing it.
Names came from legends.
Or legends from names–
I forgot the order.
My mother wrote the origins of myth
on the inside of underpants.
I walked pantless to become closer to what I was.
I set the wheelbarrow on fire
climbed inside
and looked for a hill to ride down.
I was at the bottom of one.
I pushed the barrow up it.
Halfway up it rained.
Cussing doesn’t come from a lack of vocabulary–
I know all the other words.
None of them speak the same language that my fucking heart does.

April 5, 2012

I knew You'd be good

FLOCKPRINTER
by Buddy Wakefield

Flockprinting is an aggressive electrostatic action
using severe heat to force finely chopped fibers
onto patterns of fabric
ultimately resulting in
soft touch.

When they told You that this was your assignment
You flockprinted straitjackets and suits of armor.
So I asked if you wanted to trade jobs
because damn, baby,
that
is poetry.

And yeah, these arms fell backwards
when ya did it
chest outstretched
open to the way you palms up turn me.

I knew You’d be good.
I just didn’t know how good.

Even before we met
when the assignment was to draw words
with their own literal meanings
I would write out each letter of the word LOVE
using winning halves of wishbones, melted Crayons
and the toe tips of the great dancers who’ve quit dancing
because I don’t give up on shit like that.
I always knew I’d find You.

Even before we met,
when the assignment was to partner up in ice water, and keep our heads above it
I’d watch boys with girls take the shallow end of the 8th grade
like
suckerfish
swapping skin deep aquarium air tubes
trying to make each others shivers fit.
We don’t swim that way.
Never gonna.

You have been a long time comin’
and the clouds have rolled You in slowly.
But I ain’t mad at the upshot sky.
Rain,
it’s my lucky number.
It’s the author of release.
It taught me monsters are easy to come by
so I went out and found the beast
before we met.
When the assignment was to incomplete myself
with sad songs and recycled insults,
when I was spun out eyes bagged teeth fist first in lust and considering Jesus,
You were there.
You have been the whole journey
and I ain’t got nothin’ against goin’ home
to You,
Flockprinter.

You look good in yer tidal wave,
toe-to-toe with the mean blue moon,
head raised up like a lighthouse.

You are buttercups spraying
out the mouths of doves,
fireworks stuck in the air.
You’re a freestanding landing pad held together by choir claps.
You’re a god
not afraid
to walk with the saviors
who ride monkeys around on their backs
kicking up mercury
spreading upward openly,
carrying breath.
Well.

You’re an18-stringed guitar heart sparkin’
off roots dancing out of the river’s edge.
You walk like a free country
with an affinity for thick skin.
You live
humming to the tune of let loose like a railway
banging through the middle of Novocain,
an open winded under water fire escape.

Flockprinter,
You have, now are, and always will be
my reflection of individuality
carried out by the acoustic drift
of a snowflake…
livin’ with a fingerprint.

And I
am rumble motion jawbone
waterlogged with ink spots
smiling ear to ear
armed with backbone and busted zoo gates
promising You
from the bottom of my harmonica pocket
forever,
You will never have another lonely holiday.

Even now,
where the assignment is to live without a destination,
I end up with You and the rain, released.
Both,
flockprinting stars
between me and the beast.


April 4, 2012

Music of the soul

Voltaire once described poetry as the music of the soul. Thomas Gray referred to poetry as thoughts that breathe and words that burn. Robert Frost stated poetry is when an emotion has found its thoughts and the thoughts have found words. William Wordsworth said it is the spontaneous flow of powerful emotions whereas Emily Dickinson believed it is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion. One can believe whatever they want about poetry, but for me, T.S. Eliot described it flawlessly:

"Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unmade feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves."

To put it simply: poetry has the ability to awaken emotions buried deep inside our beings. Whether we chose to acknowledge and delve deeper into those feelings is completely up the individual. However, in my experience, letting those emotions resonate and by listening to what those feelings are saying, I have learned more about the person I am and discovered the music of my soul. By being more in tune with that melody, I am now able to see and appreciate the beautiful wonders of every day living. Life is a miracle and I am blown away every day I open my eyes.

April is National Poetry Month so I thought it would be appropriate to share some of my favorite poems throughout the upcoming weeks. Since there is such a vast array of poets, I will tap into the different eras from E. E. Cummings, Jim Morrison, Buddy Wakefield and so on. For the few people that stumble upon and will actually read this, I hope you find something that speaks to you…just remember to listen.


Moving Forward
 by Rainer Maria Rilke

The deep parts of my life pour onward,
as if the river shores were opening out.
It seems that things are more like me now,
that I can see farther into paintings.
I feel closer to what language can't reach.
With my senses, as with birds, I climb
into the windy heaven, out of the oak,
in the ponds broken off from the sky
my falling sinks, as if standing on fishes.

March 23, 2012

Be like a river

by Paulo Coelho

“A river never passes the same place twice,” says a philosopher. “Life is like a river,” says another philosopher, and we draw the conclusion that this is the metaphor that comes closest to the meaning of life. Consequently, it is always good to remember during all the year to come:

A] We are always doing things for the first time. While we move between our source (birth) to our destination (death), the landscape will always be new. We should face these novelties with joy, not with fear – because it is useless to fear what cannot be avoided. A river never stops running.

B] In a valley we walk slower. When everything around us becomes easier, the waters grow calm, we become more open, fuller and more generous.

C] Our banks are always fertile. Vegetation only grows where there is water. Whoever comes into contact with us needs to understand that we are there to give the thirsty something to drink.

D] Stones should be avoided. It is obvious that water is stronger than granite, but it takes time for this to happen. It is no good letting yourself be overcome by stronger obstacles, or trying to fight against them – that is a useless waste of energy. It is best to understand where the way out is, and then move forward.

E] Hollows call for patience. All of a sudden the river enters a sort of hole and stops running as joyfully as before. At such moments the only way out is to count on the help of time. When the right moment comes the hollow fills up and the water can flow ahead. In the place of the ugly, lifeless hole there now stands a lake that others can contemplate with joy.

F] We are one. We were born in a place that was meant for us, which will always keep us supplied with enough water so that when confronted with obstacles or depression we have the necessary patience or strength to move forward. We begin our course in a soft and fragile manner, where even a simple leaf can stop us. Nevertheless, as we respect the mystery of the source that gave us life, and trust in His eternal wisdom, little by little we gain all that we need to pursue our path.

G] Although we are one, soon we shall be many. As we travel on, the waters of other springs come closer, because that is the best path to follow. Then we are no longer just one, but many – and there comes a moment when we feel lost. However, as the Bible says, “all rivers flow to the sea.” It is impossible to remain in our solitude, no matter how romantic that may seem. When we accept the inevitable encounter with other springs, we eventually understand that this makes us much stronger, we get around obstacles or fill in the hollows in far less time and with greater ease.

H] We are a means of transportation. Of leaves, boats, ideas. May our waters always be generous, may be always be able to carry ahead everything or everyone that needs our help.

I] We are a source of inspiration. And so, let us leave the final words to the Brazilian poet, Manuel Bandeira:

“To be like a river that flows
silent through the night,
not fearing the darkness and
reflecting any stars high in the sky.


And if the sky is filled with clouds,
the clouds are water like the river, so
without remorse reflect them too”

March 13, 2012

She will show you what you've missed

So tonight I rediscovered my love for Pandora. The past few months I became so consumed with Spotify that Pandora became a distant memory of the past. I was THRILLED when Spotify was released because I used to hate the damn advertisements on Pandora and their lack of variety. However, there is no Spotify app available on the Ipad so whenever I'm using my Ipad and want to listen to music, I have resort to the good ole days of Pandora. It wasn't until tonight I realized I missed the simplicity of Pandora. The music is picked for you and have no choice but to listen (I always use up my 6 skip limit the first 5 minutes listening to Pandora so I'm forced to listen to whatever they got).

I met with my spiritual advisor earlier tonight so I've been in a rather reflective mind set and Pandora presented me with some real gems. When I'm using Spotify, I always look for the newest releases and I forget about the older stuff. I'm not talking classics and shit....I'm talking about the music I missed the past few years because no matter how much time I dedicate to discovering amazing music, I am always going to miss something. Well, I missed the following song. To keep it simple, it's unbelievable. The writing captures the most beautiful form of honesty I have ever encountered. All I can say is, whoever this writer is....the way he writes about the girl in this song....I could only hope that one day someone could even think those things about me. Anyways, before I get all mushy and shit, here's the song....Comfort Inn by Lewis & Clarke.



Click here for the lyrics to this song.

March 12, 2012

Help me to make it



Check out and download the first single from the new Beach House album, Bloom coming out this May. Perfect for a rainy Monday where the last place you want to be is at work.

March 8, 2012

We're walking in the air

We're floating in the moonlit sky

The people down below are sleeping as we fly

February 21, 2012

Without freedom of expression, good taste means nothing...

...according to Neil Young, and I have to agree.

The beginning of 2012 has been a phenomenal time for indie rock music. Awesome bands released new albums and others have begun to get some serious recognition not only by the independent industry, but from mainstream society. The quality and quantity of indie rock experimentation is at an all time high, resulting with an endless amount of astounding music waiting to be discovered. I decided to make a playlist of a just a sliver of my recent discoveries along with new tracks from more established indie bands such as my boys, Dr. Dog. Check out the tracks below and enjoy! 


Heart by Oberhofer



Hit the Ground (Superman) by The Big Pink



That Old Black Hole by Dr. Dog



D-D-Dance by The Concept



Toothache by Kenetics



Midnight City feat. Mandy Lee (M83 Cover)—The Knocks



We Got It Wrong (Xaphoon Jones Remix) by St. Lucia




Are We Ready/Doubt by Safari


Back to Back by Wolf Gang




Taller by Alphabet Backwards



Unique by In Golden Tears



A Knight (Acoustic) by New Ivory


You As You Were by Shearwater



Child (What I Know) by Man & Ghost


On Your Shoulders by Morning Parade

February 20, 2012

Even waves retreat to make room for new ones

Derrick C. Brown...how do I put into words the awesomeness of this man? He pretty much is the cat's meow. Thank God for Blaire Miller Bommer. A few years ago, Blaire burnt me a copy of his spoken word album, Black Urchin and from the moment I listened to that CD something sleeping inside of me awoke with rapture. I was clueless about spoken word poetry...I never knew how insanely beautiful words can be when spoken. Anyone can write if they surrender their soul to a page, but to speak what you write is incredible. A poem is just a piece of writing until the poet speaks and it becomes a story, a piece of art. Words come alive and find meaning. Not only do you hear the poem as it was intended, you feel. It is a honest heart revealing the artwork of its soul.

Last night I was checking out what new books are coming out on Write Bloody and to my great surprise, Derrick has one coming out on March 15 entitled, Strange Light. Joel Lovell from the New York Times wrote,

There's something that happens when you read Derrick Brown, a rekindling of faith in the weird, hilarious, shocking, beautiful power of words, that they haven't been worn out and retreaded. How can a writer be so alive to the world and all its crazy-ass mysteries? Beats me. But when you read "Strange Light," when you read any of his work, really or when you have the fantastic fortune to watch him perform in person, you yourself are a bit more alive, too.

A few of his poems are available online as a sneak preview to the book. Usually the sneak-speaks are nothing compared to the awesome shit inside, however this sneak-peak, though short, is quite phenomenal. There is something about his words that make me want to share them with the rest of the world, or anyone willing to listen. Below is one of the poems from his new book. Be sure to go out and get yourself a copy, trust me, your soul will thank you.


LOVERS FIZZ

Remind me of Spain.
Let the propane
light from the barbecue
glow the back of your hair into
silhouette.

Set.

Put bicycle grease on your bedsprings.
Let no one hear your love.
Subtle your lust. Lash it to your spine and walk funny.
Stand in front of the mirror with a camera
waiting for the love of your life to show up.
Drive to me.
Scuttle your plans.
Drive with the radio off.
Drive like a Trucker that's been face-punched.
Peel your car out and shoot gravel back into the sky.

Don't be Amsterdam, be Holland.
I've never been to Spain. I'm asking you to remind of it.
Don't just be tits, be all the tits, be wanted.
Don't puss out on love.
Put some ice cream in the dead man's float.
You're either someone's dinner or you're someone's genius,
either way doesn't matter as long as you're zizzing delicious.
Allow me to be an ocean, allow me to freeze.
I'm saying I can hold you up,
even the waves retreat to make room for new ones.
I need you to forget all endings that demand paradise.
Your terror moves me. Your failures have whittled you fine.
Scream into the road map until your lungs are transmission hot:

Dear Lord, is that all your got?

Some giant sky pushes
the head of night down
into the sea
and a crown of stars bubbles
on up. Fizzle that way.



I have to leave you with Derrick performing. Below is one my favorites because it combines the art of music and spoken work and because he performs with one of my all time favorite bands, Cold War Kids.


This is the audio to one of his most brilliant poems, "a finger, two dots, then me". Speechless.