Again, Naturally

Heart of the Anti Matter

The irony of Los Angeles, for me now, is that it’s nice outside. However, the city doesn’t appeal to me at all so I’m inside.

I remembered this conversation for some reason and recent advances in technology allowed for a speedy return to a thought.

So now I’m listening to traffic and pondering the concepts of both visualization and resurrection.

“I saw the Lord in a vision and I said to him, ‘Lord, I saw you today in a vision.’ He answered and said to me, ‘Blessed are you, since you did not waver at the sight of me. For where the mind is, there is your countenance’. I said to him, ‘Lord, the mind which sees the vision, does it see it through the soul or through the spirit?’ The Savior answered and said, ‘It sees neither through the soul nor through the spirit, but the mind, which is between the two, which sees the vision”

I do at times feel as if a calling is an involuntary reality, though I may be taking your words out of context, please pardon my appropriation for the moment…

I built a world, a reality around something I believed to be my purpose and what would fill me with meaning. I’ve learned fairly recently that these things were merely a bridge, or a vessel to understanding what it may in fact be that I’m here to do.

I’m starting to believe that I’m here to resurrect something. I feel that many of us are. I’ve felt it through the soul and the spirit, however it’s been the mind that has been in charge of processing it all. Our minds are of the flesh, and though they are infinite in their capacity, they are in most cases stifled by their immediate environment.

I liken it to when you have a fish or other pet that will only grow as large as it’s tank or cage. We quite often use literal sense of sight as the purveyor of reality. We rely on the tactile, the tangible. Our minds by nature, rely on form and definition where the spirit and soul live outside these realms.

Similar to the quote above, things get lost in translation.

Our minds are these great translators, though through studying language we know now that there are concepts, feelings, and ideas that exist outside of certain vernacular, these differences are in most cases due to culture which can then be again brought back to environment. Sometimes we just don’t have the words, or even the alphabet or the overall experience to transliterate.

As inherent creators, it is our only minds eye that is capable of truly visualizing our calling, in inspiration, imagination, and dreams.

I’ve been surrendering to this process for some time via my art, and craft. Having said that, I’ve been fighting a much larger calling as of late.

Part of me fears a hefty responsibility attached to it, another part hates the idea of cutting losses or moving away from something where I’ve invested so much time in.

A friend told me recently “letting things go is difficult, accepting things is easy”

The universe has had me in a headlock for a while now,

Might be time to submit

A submission

Both a surrender of a status quo, and a proposal to plot a new course.

You see the dots seem to be connecting themselves, without the use of a straight rule, or even pen. I see them, so perfectly. I’ve always known the way, only now that I renounce fear do I have the will do follow it and the eyes to see it.

Once again, similar to that fish in the tank. It could be an enormous aquarium so it grows to be as large as it possibly could be. Well adorned with coral and plants and the like to simulate it’s natural state, it’s home. But that fish knows what is real, it knows innately, we all know innately.

But we are told what reality is, as that fish was ripped from it’s home and poured into it’s new world, for someone else’s pleasure.

When we finally awaken, some of us fight.

At first with ourselves, then with the powers who enforce.

We’re made to think we’re crazy. That our senses and intuition and body’s intelligence are somehow misguided.

That we’re broken.

Reality is both ephemeral and subjective, however it is also ours to create. One cannot create without love, without happiness.

I believe that Faith is a keepsake entrusted to us by Happiness, and Hope is the seed of Faith.

Now, I will spread these seeds wherever I go.

This life is greater than expensive coral and a gilded hamster wheel.

My hand is no longer guided, as I can now follow my course

Sans map.

Can’t Fake It, The Boy Can’t Fake It…

Acception to the Rule

There are many things you haven’t told me, I can assure you none of which could bore me.

Things we can’t shake

Those who we were, at times are very much who we are

Multi faceted, encircling.

We get all of it, there’s no sieve that can separate the coarse from the fine

The crucible that will boil down our experience is ourselves, and our understanding

I believe that there is a law, the Conservation of Experience

It states that an experience cannot be created or destroyed, only discovered and accepted.

It’s all in you, as you unveil it you place it in your pocket

Upon acceptance, it is transformed into a thought or a memory, and disappears from the world of form

Leaving only a beautifully empty pocket waiting for your next discovery.

Some things we don’t accept, they build up in the small pouch, leaving us no room for something new, and no place for our hands when they need some protection or warmth

I used to wait till my pockets filled and I was miserable and even angry at the the contents.  My hands would freeze, and ache and all the while I would blame these perfectly innocent stones, these exploits I acquired through living this life.

My life.

I would unhappily accept them in a fit of pain, anger, frustration. I was again duped by the universe into conceding, and would force my frigid mitts into their compartments so they could thaw. I couldn’t even enjoy the warmth, as I was too busy trying to win.

However, as we know, the house always wins.

I now realize that I am employed by, and own stock in the house.

I am always winning, even as those around me win bigger and others lose their shirts.

As we embrace what is to be, as well as what was and what is, we lighten our load.

An empty pocket opens the mind and clears sight lines, for when you have a place to put your stones, you tend to be on the lookout for new ones.

Pourquoi Pas?

Still life, with living.

While on the road, especially outside of the US, many people ask what it’s like to live in New York. I will give a wholehearted “great”, though for me it’s like asking a twin what it’s like to be a twin…. They have no other basis for comparison really.  I grew up here, a bit outside of the city but always had access. Later moved into Brooklyn proper after some school on the west coast. Thing is, up until recently I cannot honestly say I’ve been living in New York.

I’ve been surviving.

Now that I have no permanent residence I find that I’m finally living again.  I’m reminded of a moment a few years back when I was walking through midtown. I’m not sure if it was my day off, but I remember walking by the Grace building.  I realized that I needed to kill some time, for what I can’t recall.  Within that moment, I began to slow my pace, my gait; even my breathing came to a much more balanced and relaxed rhythm.

All of a sudden the act of “killing time” birthed consciousness. How did I go from attempting to extinguish time to taking my time?  This led me to question if in fact I was actually taking anything at all. It became clear to me that act of savoring a moment is in most cases categorized by the persona as languishing.  Only when the act is deemed active and with purpose does it lose its stigma and become acceptable behavior without judgment or remorse.

I began to explore the feeling further, conducting an exponential ritard upon myself. What I came to was stillness.

On tour, days off are coveted. Many times we just end up walking around an alien city.  I find it quite interesting though that even without an agenda we always wind up in one of two places.

Castles or Museums.

We were at the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam; I was slowly gliding along with no real plan.  I try not to think too much anymore when it comes to art, or rather what the culture of humanity designates as art.  Some periods resonated with me immediately, firing my senses.  Then I got to Still Life, and found myself bored and restless.  As I took a final step out of the apportioned area it hit me again.

Stillness

My inability to appreciate life in a singular moment stopped me abruptly.  There was such a clear metaphor presented through the irony of the whole experience, I smiled and laughed out loud.

Touring incessantly has forced me to stay in a moment, quite the paradox as we’re constantly moving.  The fact is though, that without the ability (or perhaps luxury) of looking back or planning ahead, I am very much here now.  I rarely know what day it is on the road, whether it be the name or the number.  Every day (or sometimes in less than a day) we are hearing a new language, in a new time zone, and exchanging currency. Gigs, cities, venues all start to amalgamate into one experience.  People always ask why I don’t blog daily, for me it’s never been about that.  I feel that currently on this Earth many of us employ a reductionist theory to life.  Pull out all of the nutrients that compose an experience in order to derive what the status quo considers to be beneficial.

Contentment Concentrate.

What I’ve come to understand is that when such a method is utilized all that we are left with are the symptoms of happiness.

I no longer ask the Universe for specific things. The intention I set now is simple, Happiness.  With this method I allow the Universe to fill in the blanks as to how that joy will manifest.  It’s great; I can only compare it to a surprise party or Christmas morning every day.  Though without the ability to be here now, we’re not capable of even seeing the gifts under the tree.

Gratis

Les Enfants

Perhaps it is that mom has her masters in primary education, or that I have always embraced a bit of a peter pan credo, but children have always made sense to me and in turn been attracted to me.  I teach at a fairly prestigious finishing school downtown, they allowed me to design a curriculum, which led to a publishing deal.  My area of expertise is a bit on the conceptually esoteric/technically advanced side of things which attracted more of an international and older student base.

It was quite exciting for a while, people wanted to know my thing.  I was part of a critical mass that was pioneering in a small niche. There was no rulebook, and I wasn’t about to start writing it.  However, I quickly learned that the vast majority wanted a rulebook. It hadn’t really clicked until then, but most people enter into an institution to gain some type of validity. They seek some concrete proof of their worth, regardless of what they actually retained or if any actual growth is achieved.  They wanted a checklist. One student after seeing a particularly conspicuous display of speedy and arcane technique asked me my age. When I told him he responded with “ok, so I have two more years to get as good as you”.

This was the beginning of the end for me in said arena.

Though, I did enjoy telling him that his timeline was useless being that I will never stop pushing myself as an artist, and as a human being.  The day that I will be at my highest level as a player will be the day before I die. (Also that he could impersonate my voice all he wanted, but mimicry was neither flattering nor becoming, and that he should realize and embrace the sound of his own voice, even create his own vocabulary).

Around the same time Willy’s mom contacted me. She was your typical younger Upper East Side mom, very proud. The CEO of a major online retailer, they’re loaded.  She proceeded to tell me how incredible her son was, at five and a half. This was very young. I’d never taken on a student anywhere close to this age.

“Can he count?”

“Sweetheart, the kid is doing long division”

Sure.

Within 5 minutes of our first lesson it became clear that Will Cohen was capable of long division, amongst other things. A feisty lil Aquarian, he loved input and success. I fell in love with this lil wiggler. He looked, sounded and smelled like a kid, and did little kid things. He laughed and I would be so energized whenever I was around him, he was like this satellite battery pack (or maybe more like midget on acid) He was a total manipulative jerk too, but we worked on that.

He called me daddy by accident once, I secretly loved it.

He asked me if I loved him.

Yes Willy, I love you.

Then there was the first time I read to him, as we take breaks within an hour lesson…Five year olds have the attention span of a fruit fly. There’s something about sitting down on a couch with a child and opening a book. They curl up in the most perfect oblate spheroid and somehow quickly nestle into a pocket of your chest cavity before you can get your first syllable out. I would have read for the entire hour if I could.

I managed to acquire six more students on the upper east, all less than twelve years.  I cut my teaching at the school down to one day a week. Though the socio-economic demographic were similar within my new student base, the personality types and quirks couldn’t be more stratified.

The catholic school kids tended to be either quiet and sheepish, or feigned happiness. The Jewish kids were healthy and much more animated (though I’m an Italian kid who grew up on Long Island so maybe I just relate more easily…as a friend once said we’re just Jews with better food). The old money wasps vs. the new money Indians.  Mommy’s bedroom is across the hall from Daddy’s. So many different dynamics, for me they were just as intriguing as the kids themselves.

I started to pick up their idiosyncrasies.  All one has to do is give a child a new concept which requires concentration or any real generation of thought, and you can gain very pure insight into their upbringing and current familial experience.

Some would smash their sticks as hard as possible, anger.

Others would want to quit after two tries, futility. Low self worth.

A few would try to avoid something new altogether, citing that it was too hard, fear of failure.

Sometimes, they would scream at themselves and not stop till they got it right. This was the one that hit close to home, perfectionism and pride.

I never studied psychology formally, but I have studied people.  I believe in them.

I began to realize that so many of these kids don’t talk. They’re not given the time or the option. So I began to talk with them, about school, their friends, their dreams. Phoebe wants to be a drummer and a scientist, though until I assured her she could do both she was not under the impression that it was an option.  Willy wants to be a pro baller or a rapper. Pauly’s friend Daniel isn’t nice to him anymore and he’s falling behind in math. Devan’s mom is making him go do mission work in Malawi. Noah is still being a kid, and is perfectly fine in not knowing what he wants…I love his parents for embracing that.

Then there was Jason. He was reading Oscar Wilde at 13. Elena was onto Proust by 15.  They started to ask questions. Things that they knew not to even bother their parents with. They wanted answers, and they were frustrated with the state of the world.  They wanted to talk to their parents, without the coddling, and the baby talk. They wanted to be taken seriously and they turned to me for that.

People have said that I’m going to be a great dad. I look forward to it, but am in no immediate rush. I had a recent breakthrough via the experiences with my kids. For many, being a father is merely a biological symptom.  I look at couples or families who want to adopt, and the incredibly tedious and thorough process they have to go through to earn the privilege of fostering a life.  Meanwhile back at the ranch anyone with a functioning reproductive system can, and many times feel entitled to bring a life into this world.

Children are not accessories; they are neither requirements nor prerequisites.

They are teachers, students, explorers, visionaries, and sheer possibility.

Unadulterated

They are future perfect.

La Finestra di Fronte

Hope Floats

As the seas rose, and days of dry land looked to become extinct, a vessel was built.

Soon after, many more craftsmen assembled many more vessels.

Being true to their craft, they took their time, as they knew that these ships would be home until the seas quelled or higher ground was discovered.

The community rallied around these workers, as they knew that their passion and purpose would help lead them to a new world. Farmers brought them food; seamstresses donated blankets and sails, the blacksmith provided tools, rivets and other metallic components.  The woodcutter supplied lumber. Even children would bring their spirit and praise to the workplace daily.

They worked diligently, yet deliberately. When sleep found them, they slept. When hunger rose within them they ate.

Everyone except for the banker and the tax collector seemed to be very pleased with their work.

The banker, a rather ornery fellow, was not happy with the speed in which the barques were being erected. He spouted his ill repute with little reverence for what massive undertakings were at hand.

When asked when the ships would be completed, the workers simply replied:

“All in good time.”

The tax collector on the other hand, another truculent creature, was dismayed with the entire town.  He did not like seeing the workers of the community giving away their wares and services. He felt he was being robbed, for he believed they owed him a share of all they earned, and some of them back taxes as well.

When asked when he would receive his dues the citizens of the village replied simply:

“All in good time”

Most days they would sit in their large houses, far from the village and common folk, reviewing their numbers and accounts while enjoying the comforts of opulence.

However, from these houses high on hills, they were not able to see the shore, and the ever-rising sea.  By the time they were able to reach what was now a wharf there was only one ship left.

The two men manically pushed each other aside, shambling as quickly as possible to the portside.

Before them were two young women, and the architect of the ship.

The craftsman greeted them, but also informed them that there was only enough room on the ship for two more people.

Without flinching the banker pushed his way forward, and flashed a stack of coins and bills.

“Here, take all of it, it’s my entire treasury”

The craftsman looked at him, a bit befuddled at first.

“These coins, they will only weigh us down, and this paper already has words and pictures written on it, it is of no use to us here, or where we’re going.”

Seeing a window of opportunity, the tax collector swerved forward.

“All of you, you’ve dodged me for months, you owe this to me!”

Again, a bit perplexed the artificer took a moment

“We owe you nothing, as you’ve neither rendered us any services, nor sold us any goods”

Awestruck, the banker and tax collector stood their ground, as the pair of young women remained quiet. The craftsman motioned for the women to come forward and board.

“And what do these two have to offer you?”  Exclaimed the collector

“This woman is a painter. She sees the world in a way that the rest of us do not. She makes the present world understandable, and the future visible. This woman is a poet. She distills words into beauty, and hope into faith.”

The women entered the ship. As the sea became level with the top of the wharf, the drink washed over the shoes of the three remaining men.

Now sullen, the banker and collector looked to the craftsman with an ache in their eyes. It was apparent that they were in search of an answer, something, anything, as their demise was now eminent.

“What did we do to deserve this?” asked the Banker

“You made time your enemy, and you feared scarcity, of time and of resource.  We beings are deciduous by nature; we experience times of abundance and times of want. Only when we accept this do we exist in harmony with our world. As I told you, All in Good Time”

With that the craftsman bid the two men farewell, but did leave them with one final proclamation.

“You now have what you’ve desired all the while, to own this entire land, we now grant this unto you”

The ship pushed off heading to the northeast as the two men headed back to their residence on top of the hill.

The craft drifted through expanse, into an unknown time ahead.  Their assets few, but their bonds and convictions buoyant.

Together

The exiled men sat in their respective abodes, awaiting their quietus. Strangely, the sea only rose to their doorsteps. Allowing them to live out the remainder of their days in luxury.

Alone.